Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

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

Additional Tags:

Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Inspired by Heated Rivalry (TV), Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Depression, Panic Attacks, Implied Sexual Content, Forced Proximity, thunder by lana del rey, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Player Shane Hollander, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-29 Completed: 2026-02-19 Words: 38,313 Chapters: 18/18

a moonbeam in your hand

Summary

"We have newest member of the team with us today, as you all have seen.”

Shane glanced up again, watching as the captain gestured vaguely toward Shane without looking at him. “Shane Hollander.” The name came out of his mouth like it was laced with poison.

Shane became very aware of many eyes turning to him now. He felt a few claps on the back and tried to force a tight smile. But his eyes wandered back up to Ilya Rozanov, who was looking at him with so much quiet contempt, that Shane started to understand the phrase ‘if looks could kill.’
 

/

OR: Ilya spirals into a deep depression when Shane breaks things off with him definitively after a horrifying run in with their feelings (and tuna melts).

They go no contact for close to a year until Shane is unexpectedly traded to Boston the following season.

Shane finds his new captain is a version of Ilya he's never seen before: dark, icy, and distant.

But their newfound proximity mixed with old feelings creates a complicated dynamic that they can't ignore forever.

Notes

title inspiration: "Thunder" by Lana Del Rey

Chapter 1

The hum of fluorescent lights overheard, the shuffle of feet, the carrying of deep voices, too many in one space. These were all sounds Shane Hollander had grown overly accustomed to. In fact, he could probably play a loop of locker room sounds to help him fall asleep. They blanketed his ears in a safe, grounding familiarity. But the illusion was broken the moment he allowed his eyes to focus.

The colors were all wrong. Black and gold darkened the space around him, enclosing him there, forced to take it all in. The faces that offered him studying glances and tight lipped smiles all morphed together in his vision. They were supposed to be unfriendly faces. It made him feel like he was existing behind enemy lines.

His eyes flicked up to a locker, his locker, and the jersey hanging inside. He ran a finger idly over the stitching, HOLLANDER embroided boldly into the black fabric. It made it feel real. Suddenly, his Under Armour was feeling too constricting, like the high neck was squeezing at the base of his throat.

Shane knew that this move was going to be far from easy. His life was so centered around rigid control and predictable routine that even a small change could leave him feeling overwhelmed. But this was the life uprooting type of change that knocked his world completely off axis.

He realized that in this moment, he was not feeling dissimilar to how he felt when his agent and Montreal team reps sat him down to tell him about the trade. Claustrophobic. Dizzy. Like oxygen wasn't properly filling his lungs.

And now here he was, in the Boston locker room, feeling so absurdly out of place that he thought about just sinking onto the floor and disappearing all together.

He knew he would need to get over it, sooner rather than later. He couldn't let his first impression to the team be him freaking out before he could even step into his skates. He took a breath, trying his best to steel himself, when he heard the locker room door swing open. And suddenly, the room felt like it took a tectonic shift.

The feeling was bizarre enough to pull Shane out of his mind, his head whipping around over his shoulder without really knowing what exactly he was looking for.

His eyes immediately settled on the Boston captain's side profile as he stalked into the room. Shane felt like he was watching a storm roll in, a presence so commanding and unyielding that it changed the pressure in the air around him, heads turning to follow him as he took his place in front of his own locker.

Shane was not at all immune to it, his eyes slowly tracking the figure across the room. Ilya Rozanov.

The tension in the man's jaw only did more to make his already sculpted face look like it was plucked straight from a Greek god. Shane was sure he could pick that face out of a sea of thousands. He was, unfortunately, and undeniably, remarkable. Intense eyes stared forward, his full lips set into a natural pout.

Only when Rozanov started to speak did Shane realize he had been staring.

“Coach is still in meeting. We will start practice. Gear up and be on the ice in 10.”

His Russian accent curved around his words, which came out short and clipped. Rozanov did a quick scan of the room, as if taking mental inventory. Then his eyes stopped on Shane.

Shane couldn't help but notice how dark Rozanov's eyes seemed. In truth, they were a brilliant color, a sparkling blue and green that always seemed to be taking on a blazing glow. Shane would know. He had stared into those eyes at close proximity. Those eyes had blazed straight through to his soul more than once. His mind, in a brief shock, flooded with an image of the Russian man hovering inches above Shane's face, both of them panting heavily.

His body crashed back into reality as he now stared back across the room, into dilated pupils over stormy eyes, taking stock of him like a predator would. Shane quickly turned to his locker, grasping at his jersey (perhaps a bit too harshly), as he attempted to flee from the moment.

“We have newest member of the team with us today, as you all have seen.”

Shane glanced up again, watching as the captain gestured vaguely toward Shane without looking at him. “Shane Hollander.” The name came out of his mouth like it was laced with poison.

Shane became very aware of many eyes turning to him now. He felt a few claps on the back and tried to force a tight smile. But his eyes wandered back up to Ilya Rozanov, who was looking at him with so much quiet contempt, that Shane started to understand the phrase ‘if looks could kill.’

“Thanks guys. It's uh…it's great to be here. Excited to get out there with you.” Shane was speaking, but he felt like he was hearing his own voice from across the room. The situation didn't feel like it could get any more uncomfortable.

Not only was he pulling on the jersey of his long rivaled team, in a different city, in a different country, away from everything he knew…but now he was forced to look into the face of his new team captain. The same face he had looked into 10 months ago when Shane said they could no longer see each other.

He had been haunted since by a vision of blue eyes, crowded by tears, filled with fear and confusion.

Now he felt maybe he was being haunted by something much darker.

Feeling the cool rush of stepping out onto the ice helped to pull Shane somewhat back into the present. No matter how impossible this day was turning out to feel, this was hockey. And hockey Shane could handle.

Just as he was ready to skate out, strong hands grasped Shane's shoulders.

“Welcome to Boston, Hollzy!” Cliff Marlow's booming voice seemed to echo over the ice. The man was huge. Shane was used to trying to avoid him, so having him crowding his space with a big smile plastered to his face was disorienting.

“Yeah, thanks, man.” Shane nodded.

“I'm sure it'll take some getting used to, but we're excited to have you.”

“It's definitely been weird so far.” Shane gave an awkward laugh, leaning against the boards. He had to crane his neck up to look at Marlow.

“Well you should let us take you out soon. You're gonna love it, man, Boston is great. The fans are gonna worship you.”

“I don't know, you really think they'll warm up to me that-”

“Hollander!”

The sound cut sharply through the arena. The familiar intonation of his name in that Russian accent made his mouth snap shut. He looked up to see Ilya Rozanov tapping his stick against the ice impatiently. Shane mumbled a curt apology to Marlow before skating out to take his place.

“You are ready?” Ilya's voice was thorny with annoyance. Shane only gave a tight nod in response.

Ilya tensed his jaw before skating off backward toward another group of players, leaving Shane and his group to start their drills. Shane swallowed hard as he couldn't help but watch Ilya's retreat. He had strong legs and a long stride, balanced out by his broad shoulders. Even with how strong he skated, his movements were surprisingly graceful.

They had been playing against each other for years. His movements on the ice should have been familiar to Shane. But they still somehow caught him off guard.

He decided he needed to snap back to focus before he was accused of holding up practice for a second time.

“Hayd, I don't know how I'm gonna do this, it's too weird.” Shane was dragging a hand over his face, sinking himself into the brand new couch in his brand new apartment. As much as Shane loved to have control over things, he was always happy to relinquish it to an experienced designer. He lifted a hand to feel the coolness of the exposed brick wall against his skin.

“Shane, you gotta stop freaking out. You need to give it some time. Settle in.” Hayden was saying over the sound of high pitched squeals and a too loud TV in the background.

“You don't understand. He was looking at me like he wanted to murder me. Like actually murder me.” Shane closed his eyes, thinking back to the dark, animalistic eyes that glared at him from across the room.

“I mean, you are about to steal his spotlight. I'd probably be pissed too. Plus, he's an asshole.”

“Yeah. I know, Hayden. But this was…it felt different than that.”

Hayden was quiet for a beat, considering. “You really think he's still not…over it by now?”

Hayden had been the first person Shane told. The only person. He had returned to their hotel room that night in Boston, unable to stop the tears that he was desperate to will away. Hayden had listened, patient and kind. It had made them so much closer. Hayden was his lifeline, the only person who knew his heaviest secrets.

He was weighing Hayden's words now. In truth, Shane had the same exact question. Was this cold anger from Ilya just resentment over having to share his space, where he was supposed to be the superstar? Or was it something deeper?

Shane tried very hard to not think about that night at all. Ever. But when he did, it came in flashes.

Shane's first name coming out of Ilya's mouth like a confession. Shane returning the sentiment before his brain could even catch up. Jumping out of Ilya's lap. Moving across the room, trying to put all the space in the world between them. Panicked apologies as Shane frantically tried to compose what he needed to say.

“I can't do this.”

Ilya trying to play cool as he pleaded with him. Then Ilya practically chasing him out of the house, grasping at his arm, begging him to stop.

Shane wrenching free from his grip. “No. You're not listening to what I'm saying!”

But the words were coming out harsh and wrong. “I can't- we can't do this anymore. We cannot do this anymore.”

And those blue eyes staring back at him, so full of emotions that Shane was not prepared to see. He ran away and didn't look back.

He realized now that he had waited a bit too long to answer Hayden's question. “I mean…maybe. I don't know. I really don't know.”

He swallowed back the terrified surge in his chest as an unbidden thought overwhelmed him.

What if I'm not over it?

Chapter 2

From the moment Ilya had found out that Boston was trading for Shane Hollander, he decided that it was his punishment from God. Punishment for all of the unmentionable things he had done. Punishment for being a relentless, insufferable asshole. Punishment for having no self control.

God was taking every single bad decision Ilya had ever made and shoving it sadistically back into his face. It made Ilya want to rip the cross right off his chain. Instead, he pressed his palm flat against it through the thin fabric of his undershirt.

He had tried desperately to let Svetlana quell his anger last night. But as soon as their clothes were off, all Ilya's mind could produce was images of brown eyes staring at him through dark lashes, freckles scattered over flushed cheeks, and a smooth, hard body with solid thighs and strong hands.

When Ilya had thrown his clothes back on in a frustrated rush, Svetlana did her best to assure him that he was just wound up over having to see Shane again.

He appreciated that she didn't bring up the multiple other times this exact scene played out over the past 10 months.

He stood now with his back pressed to the metal of his locker, as if the coolness would do something to de-escalate his emotions.

Ilya knew he had become a shell of himself. A sad, bitter shadow of the charismatic man he was known to be. He was a terror on the ice, strong and loud and never letting anyone ignore his presence. Off of it, he was a charmer, as bold and confident as they come. Now he wasn't sure of the last time he had been any of those things.

He decided that pursuing Shane Hollander was the worst bad decision he had ever made. A bad decision that just kept growing, morphing into falling dominoes that led him straight into a downward spiral. And now he was sitting at the bottom of a pit, hopeless and lost.

The only solace was that his team still loved him. They still followed him fiercely. The fans still screamed his name like he was the greatest thing to walk this earth. But Hollander had come to complicate that, too.

Seeing Hollander in his locker room, on his ice, had caused a surge of icy anger that he didn't care to hide. He was angry at his team for bringing the league's golden boy in to save the day. He was angry that the league's golden boy was Shane Hollander. He was angry at Shane Hollander for breaking his heart. He was angry at Shane Hollander for showing him that he even had a heart to break.

But after a few days of practice had passed, and the shock of seeing Shane had started to settle in, his anger dropped away and morphed back into the quiet despair he had been lugging around since the day Shane left.

It was now offering him a strange sense of clarity. He was definitely angry about all those things. But he was mostly angry at himself. He was angry that he still cared so much, that he couldn't bring himself to get over it. He was angry that he wasn't good enough. Not for his team. And not for Shane.

Not only was he not good enough for Shane, he just wasn't good for Shane at all. Shane was a good person. He was fair and honest and determined. Ilya felt that he was none of those things. He felt that maybe he would have ruined Shane.

That was enough thinking for today.

Ilya took a breath, yanked his compression shirt off, and let his eyes scan the room. Marlow was chatting with Hollander again. It was like he had taken in a stray puppy. As Ilya turned his attention to them, he caught the end of what Marlow was saying.

Something about ‘Cap' and ‘always standing around brooding.’

Ilya clenched his jaw, balled his shirt in his fist, and strode over. “Maybe standing around brooding is better than always running your mouth, Marly.”

Marlow barked out a laugh and grabbed Ilya by the bare shoulder, squeezing. “I'm telling you, Hollzy. He's not always so intense. But lately all this guy does is brood and work out. They need to put him on the cover of GQ or some shit!” He slapped a hand over Ilya's abs, then used it to tousle his sweat soaked curls. Ilya flashed him an annoyed look.

“Mm. Yes. I will make sure you get special edition so you can jerk off to me every night.” He elbowed Marlow away.

Marlow laughed again, clapping Ilya on the back. “We're going out tonight, man. No excuses. It's been a hell practice week. I think you need to get laid.”

Ilya turned to him sharply. “I think you need to shut your idiot face and stop thinking so much about my dick. I will think about going out.” He waved a hand dismissively.

It then occurred to him that Shane had just been sitting silently on the bench, inches away, watching the interaction. Ilya looked down at him. He felt his stomach twist, seeing Shane's flushed face, glistening with sweat. His mind flashed an image of Shane's head laying on his chest, both of them breathless. His fingers trailing through dampened hair. The feeling of Shane's warm skin against his.

Shane quickly looked away. Ilya bit the inside of his cheek and stalked off to the showers.

Ilya wasn't even sure what the hell Marlow was getting at with the whole ‘getting laid’ part, because they ended up meeting in a private room at their typical bar.

He walked in quietly, perching himself on the side of the bar to order a drink before anyone could notice him. He needed vodka if he was going to act somewhat normal tonight. As soon as the glass hit his lips, Marlow's hulking frame was crowding him.

“There he is! The Prince of Russia has graced us with his presence.” Marlow made a show of bowing, getting some hoots from the guys scattered around the room. Ilya rolled his eyes, but threw an arm around Marlow's broad shoulders.

“I thought you were on a mission to get me laid tonight, Marly. Unless you expect me to fuck one of you?” Ilya leaned his back to the bar, gesturing out to his team. That got another show of laughing and whistling from the guys.

But as soon as the words left his lips, his eyes landed on Shane Hollander. He could not believe the timing of it. As the rest of the guys reacted to Ilya's jest, Shane locked eyes with him, and Ilya almost let out an incredulous laugh.

Half because he couldn't believe Shane would actually agree to come out, and half because of course, out of everyone in this god damn room, he would lock eyes with Shane Hollander as soon as he made a comment about fucking someone.

The universe loved its cruel jokes. Ilya felt too sober for this. He tossed back half the glass of vodka in one go.

“We would be so lucky, right? We all know you're a fucking legend, Roz.” Marlow elbowed him.

Ilya only hummed in response, fingers tapping at his glass. This conversation was doing nothing to improve his mood, because all Ilya could think about was the fact that there was indeed a person in the room who had gotten the full experience. Many times.

He was trying now to ignore the way his stomach felt as he became overly aware of Shane's presence, though he was halfway across the room. He needed to not be thinking about this. But his brain decided to replay their first real time together, when Ilya had taken Shane in his bed in Montreal.

Fucking Shane Hollander had been incredible. Maybe better than incredible. The best, probably.

Why wouldn't it be? The thrill of taking the league's golden boy to bed after challenging him on the ice was enough to leave Ilya breathless.

And of course, knowing that Hollander had never done it before should have made Ilya dizzy with self satisfaction. Like he was marking a territory. Setting a precedent. Any other man who ever touched him would have to measure up to Ilya Rozanov. Ilya was a conqueror, taking Shane Hollander for a prize.

That's what he maybe should have felt, anyway.

But somehow, it hadn't felt like that at all.

What Ilya had really felt was their body heat mixing together, their heavy breathing falling into rhythm. Soft skin and firm muscle yielding under the pressure of his fingertips. His own heart pounding so loudly, he could hear it in his ears. An intoxicating heat flooding his veins, pushing him to the brink of ecstasy. And an inexplicable bliss when he felt Shane Hollander's pleasure light up the room, filling him up like its own form of oxygen.

He had felt it all. Every breath, every movement, every sound. He could still taste sweat and skin on his tongue. He could still feel the way both of their bodies had shuddered with release, trembling and uncontrolled. He could still feel the way he had come to the terrifying realization that this was not just a hookup. It was something far more. More than Ilya had been prepared to understand.

Ilya gripped the edge of the bar so hard now that his knuckles turned white. If he had known Hollander would be here, he definitely would not have come. An overwhelming, empty sadness clawed at him from the inside, cold and unrelenting.

Even in this room full of teammates that adored him, he felt so incredibly lonely.

Chapter 3

This day was turning out to feel like it existed solely to test Shane. Or to fuck with his mind until he couldn't think anymore. Maybe both.

On the ice, he felt relief in that he and Ilya had not been forced to practice together at all. They were on different lines, running different drills. The distance made it feel more possible.

But the moment they got back to the locker room, he could feel it all coming undone. As Shane was taking off his pads, he caught himself watching Ilya from across the room.

He had that look on his face again. The icy cold eyes, paired with a hint of a pout. He had heard so much from the rest of the team all week about how the Russian was the life of the locker room. But it seemed to Shane that he was nothing more than a looming figure, observing.

Marlow must have caught Shane's line of sight.

“I know, all you've seen of Cap this week is just him standing around brooding. You probably don't believe any of the shit we say about the Russian menace.”

Brooding was a great word for it, Shane thought. Just as he was about to respond, Ilya appeared in close proximity, his compression shirt balled up in his hand.

Shane felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of him. Incredibly, he had avoided seeing Ilya Rozanov in any state of undress so far this week. He made sure to hang back at the showers, and to keep his back pointedly turned toward Ilya's locker.

No matter what he felt, Shane still was, unfortunately, very attracted to this man. It was awful.

Shane got a face full of hard abs, a trail of dark hair running suggestively down to the waist band of Ilya's pants, and the deeply outlined V of his pelvis. Ilya's skin was slick with sweat, and it still had the light bronze glow of summer.

He slowly raised his eyes, swallowing hard as they landed on the glinting gold chain nestled between his pecs.

Suddenly, Marlow was saying something about Ilya needing to be on a GQ cover and smacking him on the abs. It sent a jolt through Shane, but he couldn't look away as Marlow tousled Ilya's damp curls. He could feel his heart rate quickening, feel his own fingers twisted up in those same curls on countless nights.

Ilya and Marlow exchanged a few more words that Shane didn't exactly hear. He felt paralyzed, staring at that face.

And when Ilya's eyes met his, there was a flash of something there. An uncomfortable familiarity. A pulse so quick that Shane could almost pretend it wasn't real. Almost.

Shane wasn't quite sure why he had let himself be convinced to come out tonight. When he called Hayden looking for a good excuse not to go, he was instead met with his best friend encouraging him to go out and bond with his team. He knew Hayden was right, but it didn't make it any less annoying.

Some of the guys had, thankfully, started to warm up to Shane. He was particularly thankful for Marlow taking him under his wing, even if Marlow was Rozanov's best friend on the team.

He had been trying to nonchalantly spectate on a game of pool when their captain entered the private room, and all attention seemed to turn his way.

Shane was determined to pay this no mind. He needed to learn to exist in the same space with Ilya Rozanov, one way or another.

“Unless you expect me to fuck one of you?”

The sentence had caught Shane entirely off guard. He hadn't meant to look up, or even react at all. But his eyes met Ilya's as soon as the words left his lips, and he felt dread grab a tight hold on him.

Suddenly, Shane felt like everyone had seen that glance. Had understood the meaning of it. It was an absurd thought, but his brain was buzzing with it.

“You're a fucking legend, Roz.”

And god help him if he were to start to think too deeply about the truth of that statement sitting here in this bar.

Instead, he started to think about the countless times their eyes had found each other in a crowded room. It didn't seem to matter where they were or what was happening around them. There was something intrinsic that pulled their attention toward each other, some invisible force that Shane could never understand. He felt like in any life, in any timeline or universe, his eyes could find Ilya's.

He forced himself to pretend that it meant nothing.

After watching another round of pool, Shane sat at one of the high tables, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. His attention was broken by Marlow taking a seat across from him.

“Thanks for coming out, Hollzy.” He gave him a rough pat on the shoulder.

“Yeah, for sure. Thanks for the invite.” Shane slid his phone into his pocket, trying not to look in the direction he'd been avoiding all night.

But there he was, leaned against the bar, darkened eyes studying the floor.

Feeling a sudden surge of boldness, Shane decided that maybe he could pull some information out of Marlow.

“So. What's his deal, anyway?” Shane nodded toward Ilya, trying to be as casual as possible.

Marlow looked back over his shoulder at Ilya, sighing, before moving in closer to Shane. “I think he's really having a rough time, the poor guy. It all kind of started in the middle of last season. He just totally shut down. We had no idea what was going on. Then his father ended up passing. We found out he had been really sick, but Roz obviously wasn't able to get back to Russia to help. Then over the summer he had to go back home again and deal with a bunch of bullshit with the estate. Apparently his brother is a real piece of shit. It's just been a terrible year for him. I feel for him.”

Shane swallowed thickly. Suddenly, he felt like an idiot. He had heard the news about Ilya's father passing, it had been reported on when he had to fly back to Russia and miss a few games. But for whatever reason, it didn't cross his mind that maybe it was part of the reason Ilya was acting so strangely. That it wasn't all about him, or about hockey.

He felt a sinking in his stomach, looking back across the room at Ilya. Something started to rise in him, unbidden and seemingly out of nowhere. A longing pang in his chest. An overwhelming feeling that he hated seeing Ilya look so sad and distant.

He remembered now, a moment on the day that he ended things with him. Ilya answering a phone call. Though Shane couldn't understand the conversation, he could hear the worry in Ilya's voice, paired with Papa.

When he had asked Ilya if everything was okay with his father, Ilya studied him so carefully. And then he had smiled at him. It wasn't a huge smile. But he could feel a brightness radiating off of him.

And now, sitting in this dark bar all these months later, it seemed to finally click in place. In that moment, Ilya had felt seen by Shane. And it had been important to him.

Seeing Ilya hurt was never what he wanted. But their feelings for each other felt like they had been on a collision course to something far more dangerous than Shane had ever imagined. What they were doing was impossible. What Shane was feeling was impossible.

To let them continue on that way, Shane knew it would only get worse. Ilya had pulled away so many times before, creating a maddening distance between what they were and what Shane felt in his heart.

But on that day, the walls had come crashing down, suddenly and without warning. Napping in Ilya's arms. Sitting on his couch, in his home, eating his food. His head on Ilya's chest as fingers ran soothingly through his hair.

He didn't want it to ever stop, and that thought was the most dangerous of them all. Like trying to catch a moonbeam in his hand. This intangible, beautiful thing that he wanted so desperately but knew he could never have.

So he had ended it, right then and there, before it could get worse for either of them.

And now he felt a burn at the back of his throat, harsh and unyielding. He wished that he could have somehow stopped this trade to Boston from ever happening.

“But, I'm sure once the season starts up, he'll get back to normal. No better distraction than hockey, right?” Marlow smiled at him, and Shane swallowed back the sickness in his stomach.

“Right. Definitely.”

“Hey, you uh, you still date Rose Landry?” Marlow sipped his beer, elbows leaning on the table.

Shane felt his cheeks burn. “Oh. Uh. No. We broke up a while ago.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “It just wasn't going to work out, with our, um. Our schedules.” That part wasn't totally a lie. But he certainly wasn't going to admit to Cliff Marlow that his ex-girlfriend figured out that he was gay.

“Ahh, that makes sense man. But hey, legendary pull.” He playfully shoved Shane, who thought he could not possibly feel more uncomfortable in this moment, until he realized Ilya had been watching them.

His eyes cut between looking down at the table, and up at Ilya, until Ilya downed the rest of his drink, threw a bill on the bar, and walked out without a word.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Ilya dragged a gloved hand across his mouth, hanging his head low. “Again.” He said, miserably, skating back out toward center ice.

This was their first full practice, and something with his line just wasn't clicking. The season was rapidly approaching, and they couldn't afford to be making stupid mistakes. He was acutely aware that Shane Hollander's line was working better than his own, and he wasn't going to allow that to happen.

They ran the play again. Ilya passed, cut outside, and tapped his stick to the ice in an impatient signal that he was open to take his shot.

But the pass was too late, and all wrong, and was intercepted. Again.

“Fucking fuck!” Ilya yelled, ripping his helmet off. And suddenly, he was feeling too frustrated to even get the words out that he needed to. He knew, realistically, that he needed to step up and help coach his line through this. He was the captain, after all. But he needed a moment to even find the words in English, his frustration mounting to a boiling point.

He turned his back, taking a few deep breaths, trying not to come unraveled. But his efforts seemed all for naught once he turned back around and saw Shane Hollander coaching his line.

Shane was adjusting the position of one player's stick, while pointing across the line, explaining something that Ilya couldn't hear from this distance. But he closed the gap quickly, skating up to Shane with fervor. He took the butt end of his stick and stuck it square into the center of Shane's chest.

“Worry about your own line, Hollander.”

Shane looked at him, amber brown eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed. “I was just-”

Ilya tensed his jaw, shooting him a warning glance. “No. There is no ‘just’. You are not captain here. I know this concept must be difficult to understand.”

Shane huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Christ. I was just trying to help out. We're on the same fucking team, if you haven't noticed.” He pushed Ilya's stick away in a decisive shove. “Your line is never gonna learn if all you do is sulk and brood in the corner alone.”

Ilya yanked his own helmet off, which caused Shane to rear back slightly.

But before things could escalate any further, Coach was yanking Ilya by his jersey, not unlike grabbing a puppy by the scruff.

“Hollander, you're in for this last one. Rozanov, you'll be on his wing.”

Ilya felt his jaw drop open. “I- what?”

“You heard me, Rozanov. Enough fucking around. If you can't play nice with your own team, I'll force you to figure it out until you can. Go.” He dropped his hand off Ilya's jersey with a small shove to the back of his shoulder.

Ilya glared over at Hollander, who was making a point to not look at him at all. He felt all the anger rising in an uncomfortable heat inside of him, like he would melt the ice at any moment.

This is exactly what he was afraid of. To lose yet another thing to Shane Hollander, much like he had already lost his heart. And probably his sanity.

But still, he did as he was told. He let his skates bite hard into the ice as he took his position, his breath coming in hard rises.

Shane Hollander moved with a speed that truly could only be rivaled by his own. Shane exploded off the drop, and Ilya moved in tandem, his focus sharpening.

He cut outside, then in, weaving through the defenders. Something prickled under his skin. A feeling of recognition. He took a clean pass from Shane, then dropped back, weaving back out again before firing off a pass backhanded to Shane without even looking at him. It felt like they were the only two people on the ice.

Shane took a shot at the goal, hitting it in the top right corner of the net.

Ilya watched as Shane's face lit up in excitement. The way his smile made his face scrunch up. It was like staring directly into the sun. His stomach dropped.

He was vaguely aware of everyone around them expressing how impressed they were with the play, how they had fallen into that rhythm on the first try. Chemistry, they called it.

It was a great thing practice was over, because Ilya felt sick. He skated off wordlessly, moving quickly to the locker room.

Chemistry.

Something that can't be faked or manufactured. It exists between two people, or it doesn't.

And Ilya had never felt it with anyone quite the way he did with Shane Hollander. Not even close. It was like an electric current ran between them, interconnected and unable to be stopped.

He knew where Shane was on the ice, because he could feel Shane in any room, like a burst of heat flanking him. The same way you don't need to turn around to know it's the sun warming your back on a late summer day.

Since they were teenagers, he had known there was something different about Shane. Something that captivated him in a way that made him feel pathetic and desperate.

Playing alongside Shane was a painful reminder of how obvious it was. How easy it was, and yet, how horribly impossible. He let the cold water of the shower rush over him, as if it would wash away the buzz left on his skin.

Learning to exist on the same team as Shane hadn't gotten any easier, but it had become a manageable flow of pathological avoidance that they both seemed to live by dutifully.

It was not lost on Ilya the way that Shane always seemed to time his shower just perfectly to never be there at the same time. Or the way he kept his back turned while they dressed.

On the ice, Ilya was glad that he didn't need to look at Shane to play with him. It meant he didn't have to see the way he scrunched up his face with determination. Or how his eyes brightened with excitement. Those things were dangerous.

He had made the mistake in their last game of looking Shane dead in the face when he scored the game winning goal. Shane was beaming and breathless, pushing his dark hair away from his flushed face as he ripped off his helmet. It made Ilya feel weak in the knees, as if his bones had reduced to nothing and he would collapse into a puddle on the ice.

He was determined to not make that mistake again. Though that seemed like an impossible feat, given the night's circumstances.

Tonight, they played in Montreal for the first time this season. Though they had already played Hollander's former team at home, the stakes felt entirely different the moment they stepped into the visiting locker room.

All eyes seemed to be on Shane, quiet and studying. Assessing exactly what this was going to mean for him.

Ilya could imagine it had to be surreal, and probably nerve wracking. Shane had probably assumed he would be in Montreal for the rest of his career, the same way Ilya felt about Boston. But they allowed their star center to slip away the moment they didn't make the playoffs, like they were chasing greatness that they couldn't possibly achieve with Shane Hollander.

It was ridiculous. Everyone knew it. And the shame written all over Shane Hollander's face sitting in this locker room was making Ilya angry. Not at Shane. But at the stupid organization that discarded him and made him feel lesser. Shane didn't deserve it, and Ilya could feel his heart starting to ache at the way Shane kept his eyes trained on the floor.

He steeled himself, realizing all at once that he needed to buck up as the captain and stop letting his personal feelings be a barrier for what he needed to do.

“Okay, boys. Listen up.” He called out, banging a fist against the locker with an echoing clang. “I am not here to tell you how important it is to beat Montreal. If you did not already understand this, please remove your fucking skates and retire right now.” That roused some laughter, and the air in the room seemed to shift. He could see his teammates sit up a bit straighter, leaning into his words, as if they could sense some part of the captain they knew was actually making an appearance tonight.

“What I am here to tell you is that this is not normal game. Is not just any other game we play against division rivals. Tonight, we show every single fucker in the Montreal organization that getting rid of Hollander was dumbest fucking decision they ever made.” He cut his eyes over to Shane, who looked up in surprise, eyes meeting Ilya's as a few other members of the team shouted their agreement.

“Every single one of those people who made that choice is here watching. And we know Montreal will be out for blood, trying to prove they can do shit without him.” He pointed at Shane, who seemed to be either mesmerized or dumbfounded.

“Are we going to prove them wrong?”

“Yes, cap!” The roar in unison made something in Ilya's eyes turn fierce.

“Are we going to show them who really has best fucking line up in this entire leage?”

“Yes, cap!’

“Then let's get the fuck out there and do it.” He took in the buzzing energy of whoops and chanting, posting himself up at the door to fist bump and knock heads with every player as they exited and made their way out to the ice.

Shane was last to get up, wearing an expression that Ilya couldn't quite read. He approached slowly and with caution, as if toeing a line of uncertainty. He stepped up to the doorway, his eyes slowly moving upward to meet Ilya's.

Ilya hoped he had the greatest poker face in history, because god, he felt like his soul had detached from his body. Everything he ever wanted was staring back at him with those molten brown eyes. Ilya gave him a small nod, then a quick pat to the back of the head.

It was nothing he wouldn't do to any other player. A completely innocuous gesture. But the feeling of Shane's glossy black hair gliding under his fingertips for that brief second made him shudder. He quickly dropped his hand to his side, following Shane out the door, trying to convince himself that he could actually keep doing this, and that his swell of emotion wasn't threatening to swallow him whole.

Chapter End Notes

y'all I know nothing about hockey forgive me lol

Chapter 5

The weight of Ilya's words were still bearing down on Shane's chest as the whoosh of sound and lights and cold flooded his senses.

The last time he was in this arena, he was the star player in Montreal. The team captain. He could look out and find a sea of people screaming his name and wearing his jersey. He was with the team he thought he would retire with after a long, successful career.

But as he crossed the threshold, decked out in white and black and gold, he felt like he was entering his own nightmare.

The pressure has started mounting the moment they all piled into the locker room. He could feel the eyes on him, as if it were a visceral touch, waiting to see his reaction. He felt like a caged animal, cornered and observed. He wanted to crawl inside his pads and shut the world out.

And the last thing he expected was Ilya Rozanov dedicating an entire pregame speech to him. It felt just like getting knocked off your skates and sliding across the ice with no sense of direction or control. He couldn't place the sentiment. Couldn't decide if Rozanov actually gave a shit, or if he was just saying what he felt like he should say.

Shane was aware that the team had all started to become increasingly worried about Ilya as the season was progressing. All hopes of him returning to his old self were dampened by the way Ilya had become increasingly more distant. Like he was trying to sink so far into the background that no one would even care to notice anymore.

Ilya Rozanov was possibly the most perceptive person Shane had ever met, so it wouldn't surprise him at all if he were completely aware of how close the team was to staging some kind of intervention. So maybe this speech served to placate or disarm. To tiptoe so carefully around any real resolution that everyone would just drop it. That, after all, would be a very Ilya thing to do.

But when it was only him and Ilya left in the room, and Shane stared into those impossibly blue eyes, it didn't feel that way at all. He could see the way Ilya's eyes tracked ever so subtly, as if they were searching for something written on Shane's face. He hoped Ilya couldn't read that Shane was ready to collapse into him. To ask Ilya to take him apart until he could think of nothing else, in the way that only Ilya could.

More dangerous thoughts that he couldn't afford to entertain. Especially now that he was stepping onto the ice, feeling thousands of faces pointed directly at him.

He decided to stretch next to Marlow, who was always chatty enough to be distracting. But when he saw his best friend skating toward him, he almost came completely undone.

Shane got to his feet as Hayden threw an arm around him. “I'll never get used to you in this uniform, dude.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” Shane admitted, leaning into Hayden's side.

“You ready to do this?” Hayden dropped his voice a bit.

Shane swallowed hard. He wasn't ready. Not at all. He could feel the slow rise of panic in his gut, hot and unwelcome.

“You got this.” Hayden squeezed his shoulder. “Okay?”

Shane nodded, clenching his jaw hard.

“Call me later?” Hayden said, skating off backward.

“Yeah. Later.” Shane's voice felt small, swallowed up everything around him.

This wasn't supposed to happen this way. Montreal was supposed to be home. This was the organization that told him over and over and over again just how valuable he was, yet they pulled the rug out from under his feet as if he were nothing more than a business decision.

He looked across the ice at his team. His former team. The rich blue and red uniforms, in stark contrast to his own. He wondered if any of them thought he was complicit in this. Like the trade was somehow his idea. Like seeing him here in their arena would spark a bitter disdain for how he had left his loyalties behind.

Shane's head was beyond swimming now. He could not afford to freak out like this. The game hadn't even started yet.

He skated back toward the Boston bench, but the moment he reached the boards, he doubled over. All his thoughts collided at once, punching him straight in the gut. He squatted down, ducking his head. “Fuck.” He muttered, feeling his breath quickening. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying and failing to block out his own panic.

He heard the creak of the boards. The sound of skates hitting the ice. But his mind had spiraled too far to place it.

“Hollander?”

He heard his name, but kept his eyes firmly shut.

“Hollander.”

The sound seemed distant, as if he were hearing it from underwater.

“Shane.” Warm, firm hands on the sides of his neck jolted him, his eyes opening. Inches away from his face, Ilya looked at him under slightly furrowed brows.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ilya was saying, lightly patting Shane on the jaw. “Listen to me. You're okay. Just breathe.” Ilya moved one hand to plant firmly on Shane's shoulder.

Shane focused on the low register of Ilya's voice, and the feeling of his strong hands. He took a few deep breaths. For a moment, he pretended like he and Ilya were the only people in the entire arena. Maybe the entire world. It brought a grounding sense of relief slowly down onto him.

“Okay.” Ilya said quietly. “You are okay, yes? Do you need to go-”

“No.” Shane cut in, taking another breath. “No. I'm fine. I'm okay. I...fuck. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Come on.” Ilya stood, holding out a hand. Shane stared at it, then at him, before reluctantly taking it. Ilya yanked him up to his feet, then put both hands on his shoulders. “Good?”

“Good.” He nodded.

Ilya patted his shoulder, hopping back onto the bench. Shane followed, now feeling an overbearing sense of embarrassment, hoping to god that no one saw that. But people definitely did.

As if Shane were narrating his thoughts aloud, Ilya reached a hand over and firmly planted it on Shane's knee.

“Hey. Is okay. Plenty of guys freak out before a game. I have seen people puke on the ice before. Is just…adrenaline.” Ilya waved a dismissive hand.

Shane looked down at the hand on his knee. It was so warm and grounding, like it was the sole thing tethering Shane to the earth. Ilya leaned in closer, close enough that Shane could feel the warmth of his breath dance across the skin on his neck. “Relax.”

Shane's eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Goose prickles rose on every inch of his body. He nodded. “Okay.” He said in almost a whisper.

Ilya kept his hand on Shane's knee for another beat, before carefully removing it.

Shane wanted to grab it back.

He hoped Ilya couldn't hear that thought, too.

Chapter 6

Ilya had never wanted a game to end more in his life. Montreal had worked them thoroughly. He could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and the way his legs felt like solid concrete.

Typically, he'd be itching to get off of the ice in Montreal to go meet Shane in his mysterious apartment, kiss him until his mouth felt numb, and take him every which way on any available surface. Tonight he knew he would be dragging himself to his hotel room alone to sink into the plush mattress and pretend he didn't exist. Though that sounded much better than continuing to drag out this brutal game.

He tried to sharpen up for these last few plays, knowing they just needed to hang on a bit longer to come up with the win. Boston was up 3 - 2. Ilya had scored twice and Shane once. Ilya had a sneaking suspicion that Shane might try to at least tie with him tonight. Their unspoken competitiveness was still alive that way.

Shane was racing down the outside in stride with Montreal's new center, Baird, both of them fighting roughly for the advantage over the puck. Ilya hung around like a vulture, his body electrified with anticipation of the next move.

Suddenly, Baird was checking Hollander hard, pinning him against the boards with all his weight. Ilya heard Shane groan with the impact.

“You gonna call your boyfriend Rozanov to come kiss it better like he did before the game?” Baird mused, letting Shane wrench free.

“What the fuck did you say?” Fury flashed in Shane's eyes. Ilya moved closer, sensing the ticking time bomb.

“You heard what I said. Fa-” But the rest of that word barely left Baird's lungs before Ilya had him fully in his grip, slamming his back hard into the boards.

In a flash, gloves and helmets were on the ice. Ilya's hand connected with Baird's face several times, though he didn't quite feel exactly what he was doing. Just remembered seeing a spurt of blood splash back onto the glass.

But as he reared back for another punch, two Montreal players had Ilya in their grasp, a third standing by. There were so many bodies and sounds and so much adrenaline was pumping through him that he couldn't quite orient himself completely. He knew he landed another punch on someone else. Knew that it took two people to slam him so hard over the boards that it knocked the wind out of him.

The benches cleared. It was Marlow who eventually broke through to where Ilya was essentially getting triple teamed, and dragged him out of the pile and back onto his feet. Ilya was panting, feeling his rage come down to be replaced with a strange sense of relief and satisfaction as he saw Baird sitting on the ice, his bloodied face being tended to.

Ilya pushed sweat soaked hair off his forehead, listening to the cacophony of boos as he skated out to center ice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hollander, who was dragging Boston players back toward their bench, but still keeping a watchful eye on Ilya.

The corners of Ilya's mouth dragged up into a lazy smile before he spit a mouthful of blood onto center ice, blew a kiss to the camera, and started waving to the crowd. Being shoved forcibly into the penalty box for the rest of the game was worth it.

Well, maybe it all wasn't totally worth it. They beat Montreal, 4 - 2, after Hollander scored again. Because of course he did. They proved their point.

But Ilya felt like he was quite literally dragging himself to his hotel room. Both he and Coach decided it was best for him not to go out and do press after his blow up so near the end of the game, and he was eternally grateful for that.

When Ilya finally got into his room, he collapsed into the bed with a heavy groan. Bruises had already started to form over his knuckles. Another blooming on his cheek. But the worst pain was plastered over his ribs, right at the spot where he got folded over the boards like a rag doll by two henchmen hockey players. He decided he wouldn't look at that bruise right now. He felt like he almost certainly heard a rib crack, but he would definitely be pretending that part didn't happen.

He had always been a fierce captain. Protective over his players to a fault. But he could only hope that no one read any deeper into the way he had shown up for Hollander tonight.

He so badly wanted to hate Shane Hollander. He was better than him at hockey. He was a better person. And his irresistible charms, that Shane wasn't even remotely aware he had, put Ilya in a hopeless chokehold from essentially the moment they met. It was horrible.

What was even more horrible was that he did not hate Shane Hollander at all. In fact, it was quite the opposite. And that felt worse than getting his ribs smashed in ever could.

Just as he felt himself start to drift into that lull between consciousness and sleep, a soft knock on the door jolted him upright. “Ow.” He grasped at his ribs. Taking a deep breath.

It was probably Marlow, wanting to come give him a full run down of the entire fight as if he were narrating a wrestling match. Marlow loved that. Ilya was way too tired and sore to entertain it tonight. He was ready to tell Marlow to go the fuck to sleep and save his play by play for the airport as he swung the heavy door open.

But instead, he got a face full of Shane Hollander.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

Shane hung back in the elevator corridor, leaning his back to the textured wallpaper as he watched.

Ilya was at the end of the hall, a hand clutched over his ribs as he grimaced, searching his pocket for his key card. Shane made a mental note of the room number, then slipped away into his own room.

Though the room was small, he started to pace back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to gather his thoughts.

It seemed like something had emerged from Ilya during this game. Something in his eyes that showed signs of life. And Shane was on the verge of insanity trying to figure out why he missed seeing that spark so badly.

It reminded him of the Ilya he knew. The one he couldn't stop himself from going back to, time and time again.

Shane could try to pretend that couldn't rid himself of Ilya for all those years simply because he was incredibly hot and incredibly good at sex. Those things were true. But not the whole truth. And everything Ilya had done tonight served as a reminder of that.

Shane told himself that he just wanted to properly thank his captain for being supportive. And that was it. Not that he was looking for an excuse to linger, to clamber on to the feeling he got when Ilya's hand had been on him at the game.

He could hear Hayden's voice in his head, telling him not to be stupid. He wasn't going to be stupid. He was going to be professional, and prove to himself that he was over this.

With much more confidence than he felt, Shane slipped out of his room and strode to the end of the hall, stopping in front of Ilya's room. He could feel a sudden surge, being in this exact scenario before. Sneaking up to Ilya's room, being pulled inside. But this was not that. He took a beat to remind himself. Again.

Shane knocked quickly, then shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

The door swung open with fervor, but when Ilya's eyes met Shane's face, he reared back slightly, looking utterly shocked.

“Uh…sorry.” Shane laughed awkwardly. “Is…this a bad time?” He studied the look on Ilya's face, resting somewhere near confusion and exhaustion.

“What? No. Is…fine. What do you need?” Ilya's voice was slightly gruff with sleep.

“Do you…have a minute?” Shane used his eyes to gesture toward Ilya's room. It took Ilya a moment to register, or maybe to decide if this was a good idea.

After a few seconds, he stepped aside, holding the door open. Shane followed him in, hands fidgeting inside his jacket.

He heard the door latch softly before Ilya leaned a shoulder against it, crossing his arms as he looked at him.

Shane cleared his throat. “I just wanted to thank you. For tonight.” He leaned up against the desk, scuffing his shoe lightly against the floor. Being in close proximity to Ilya, in a hotel room, was turning out to be far more distracting than he had anticipated. He felt like muscle memory was bound to kick in. He swallowed that thought down.

“I am your captain.” Ilya shrugged, sniffing a bit and looking down. “Is my job.”

“Yeah. I get that. But still.” Shane let his eyes graze up Ilya's frame. “You..helped a lot. Probably more than you realize. So thank you.” He said, earnestly.

Ilya nodded a bit, his expression impossible to read. “You are good player. But is hard situation for you, I know.” He kept his gaze down.

“Well you're the reason we pulled it off. Even if you didn't get to enjoy the end of the game.”

That tugged a slight smile onto Ilya's lips. The kind that reminded Shane that this man truly did thrive off of chaos. His eyes raked over Ilya, illuminated by the soft lamp lights. He had a dark bruise on one cheek, and more scattered across his forearms. His knuckles were busted and battered. It made something in Shane's stomach stir. A feeling all too familiar when he was around Ilya. “How are you, by the way?”

Ilya groaned softly. “You saw those fuckers jump me.”

“Yeah. It took three of them to get you down. It was kind of-” And oh god. Shane had been about to say it was kind of hot. The way Ilya was so ignited, beating in the face of someone who had insulted Shane, that three players had to take him down. He snapped his mouth shut, his brain feeling like it was going to short circuit.

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Kind of…?”

“Just, crazy, I guess.” He said quickly. “They got you pretty good though, huh?”

Ilya took a few steps forward, moving to stand closer in front of Shane. He held out his hand to show his knuckles. “Mm yes but probably I got Baird better.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Shane's mouth. “I'm pretty sure you broke his nose. And maybe his jaw.”

And without thinking, he reached his fingers out to lightly graze the bloody bruises over Ilya's knuckles. He felt Ilya's hand twitch, but he didn't pull it away.

“Well maybe he will learn to keep that word out of his mouth.”

“How are your ribs?”

Ilya seemed to almost wince at the mention. “I haven't looked. I think it might be bad.” He admitted, looking down at where his shirt covered his torso.

Shane idly bit at his bottom lip, trying to steady his breathing when he realized that Ilya was tugging up the hem of his own shirt.

He rolled the shirt all the way up to his pecs, revealing an impressive bruise, purple and red and expansive. Shane sucked in a breath. “Fuck, Rozanov. Did you get this looked at?”

“Mm no. Maybe when we get back to Boston. Is probably fine.”

Shane could feel the rise and fall in his chest as he stared at Ilya's bared torso. He felt intoxicated. And the muscle memory started to nudge its way through the mental barrier he had tried so desperately to put up.

Slowly, Shane reached out a hand, stopping and letting it hover between them for a moment, as if testing the waters. But Ilya didn't pull away. Didn't pull his shirt down. He just watched Shane's hand with curious focus.

Shane took a slow breath, closing the distance. His fingers danced lightly over warm skin and hard muscle, tracing over the bruise carefully. He heard Ilya swallow, and felt the goose prickles rise over his skin.

“Does that hurt?” Shane said quietly.

Ilya only shook his head, then took a half step closer, so that Shane's whole palm was now flat against him.

Shane took a shuddering breath, before adding his other hand, running them both slowly down Ilya's stomach. Ilya exhaled, a sound that was a mixture of nerves and pleasure.

Shane was aware that he was essentially panting now, his hands moving back up to grip at Ilya's bare chest. Ilya moved their faces closer together, their noses brushing slightly.

“Fuck.” Shane muttered, then quickly stepped backward, snatching his hands back.

Ilya took a step back as well, his chest rising and falling quickly.

Shane turned to him, as if to say something. Anything. ‘Sorry’ or ‘this was a bad idea’ or ‘please fuck me’. Instead he just disappeared into the hallway, raking his hands through his hair.

“What the fuck.” He said to himself in a quiet panic. “What the fuck.”

The cold of the hotel room was hitting his skin, icy and uncomfortable, but Ilya was powerless to move.

He stood frozen in place, his shirt rolled up, skin buzzing from Shane's touch. His heart was pounding so hard could swear it would burst straight through his chest.

It was a scene that he felt had played out before. Shane on him, with him, their bodies electrified, his mind overwhelmed with the feeling. Shane. His Shane. The only thing he ever really wanted.

And then in an instant, he was gone. And a piece of Ilya's soul was torn straight from his body and thrown out the door with him.

Stop running, he wanted to beg. He wanted to scream. But instead, he laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, letting his tears silently soak his face.

Chapter End Notes

this chapter hurt but I promise the pain will be WORTH IT

Chapter 8

By the time dawn started to peer through the gap in the room's heavy curtains, Shane believed he likely could have drawn the entire room by memory. He had not slept a wink. Only moved around the bed and room in various different positions throughout the night, trying his hardest to comprehend what exactly he had just done.

Hayden had tried to call at some point, but he ignored it immediately, unable to even form a coherent thought. All he could see in his mind were his hands running so gently over that bruise that was painted over perfectly shaped muscles and warm skin. He had wanted to lean in and kiss it better. Ilya would have let him. Ilya would have let him do anything, or would have done anything to Shane, that he wanted. He could see it in those hungry blue eyes, deep and wanting.

Shane had come to many realizations since the day he ended things with Ilya. The biggest of which was that he was definitely gay. It had been strange and difficult for him to accept, but he accepted it, none the less.

He thought that maybe if he tried other guys, the nagging thoughts of a certain devastatingly beautiful hockey player would fall away. That didn't exactly happen.

The two times that Shane had tried, he was not only scared beyond belief that he would be recognized and outed, but he felt strangely empty. He couldn't bring himself to finish the act.

So maybe stumbling into a bisexual Russian sex god who looked like he stepped straight out of a Calvin Klein ad as his first ever experience with a man had proven to be problematic. It had admittedly set the bar unrealistically high, and Shane had never been able to get enough.

Something else he came to terms with was that he was not capable of being casual with Ilya Rozanov. That became extremely evident one night in Montreal, when Shane was trying his hardest to act like he was enjoying being at a night club with his beautiful girlfriend. But the world had fallen out from underneath him when he saw Ilya on the dance floor, his tongue down a woman's throat. The jealousy and pain had surged through him so violently that he felt like he was going to be sick. He had ended up sobbing that night, curled in a ball on his bathroom floor, so overwhelmed by his own stupid thoughts.

He knew then that he definitely could never, ever hook up with Ilya again. He could not handle juggling all those feelings. Because at his core, he wanted Ilya to belong to him. Only him. And it was something that he knew he could never have. He made to move on.

So he had deprived himself, in many ways, for the better part of the past year. Chasing a satisfaction that never came. Pretending that Ilya Rozanov was just another hockey player on his periphery.

And that led him straight here, panicking in this hotel room, because the millisecond he got the chance to be alone with Ilya, he wasn't able to keep his hands to himself.

He felt completely desperate and out of control, but he also felt very fucking confused.

Because whatever it was that possessed him to make that move, was not purely out of lust. It wasn't strictly motivated by physical attraction. That surge of desire bloomed from the way Ilya had protected him. How he had brought Shane out of his own panic in seconds using only his touch and his voice. How he didn't hesitate in the slightest to break another player's entire face for insulting Shane. How he took a brutal beating and then flashed a menacing, bloody smile for all of Montreal to see.

And when Shane saw Ilya's bruises, the lingering, real reminder that Ilya truly cared, it had uncoiled something in Shane. A primal need to thank Ilya with more than just his words.

But that was teetering on the edge of a cliff that Shane knew he would never be able to climb back up from once he fell.

Shane kept his hood pulled over his head and his gaze pointed at the ground, fingers tapping idly against the phone in his pocket. The rest of the players had started to gather in the airport terminal, and he was desperate to get out.

Marlow came up beside him, bag slung over his shoulder. “Damn, you get any sleep at all Hollzy?

“Not really. Too wound up from the game, I guess.” Shane rubbed one of his eyes, as if it would wipe away his sleep deprived look.

“Hell of a game. You and Roz were on fire.” He plopped down in the seat next to Shane.

Shane swallowed. “Yeah. Glad we pulled it off.” He said tightly.

“I feel like you finally got to see what we mean when we talk about Roz last night. He's a fucking dog.”

Shane was unable to formulate anything to say about that. But the beat of silence was broken by Marlow's voice again.

“Speak of the devil!”

Shane swallowed hard, realizing Marlow was looking up at Ilya, who had just appeared in silence.

“Oh. Shit, Roz. You look fucking terrible, man. You good?” Marlow said, concern in his voice as his brows furrowed.

The bruise on Ilya's cheek had spread and darkened and his eyes were rimmed pink and red. He was lightly running his tongue over the split in his lip, and had an arm clutched over his ribs. “Fine.” He said sharply, focusing his eyes out of the large windows.

“Are you sure? You should probably-”

“Can you please drop it, Marly? For once?” His voice wasn't angry, but exhausted. Ilya's eyes moved to Marlow's face. And he did look like absolute hell, Shane could see. “It's too fucking early.”

It was obvious to Shane that Ilya had been crying.

“Damn. Sorry. I guess you both were too wound up last night.” Marlow leaned back in his seat.

Shane quickly looked down and away.
Too wound up was one way to put it.

Chapter 9

“You really went for it.” Svetlana's voice carried from the couch as Ilya came striding over from the kitchen, taking careful steps that wouldn't further aggravate his ribs.

“Went for what?” Ilya sat down next to her, then looked up at the TV, where she was watching a replay of Ilya smashing Baird's face in with his fist.

He groaned. “Can we please not talk about this?”

Svetlana raised an eyebrow, shooting him a pointed look.

He loved when she came over. It was nice to have a close friend, and someone to speak Russian with. One less thing his mind needed to process. But he hated the way she could read him like a book.

“What? Must we always talk about hockey?” He crossed his arms.

“Ilya.”

“Svetlana.”

They both stared each other down. Svetlana shook her head. “We both know I'm not talking about hockey, Ilya. Not really. I watched the whole game. I saw who Baird was roughing up before you went after him. I've seen you fight plenty, but never quite like that.”

“Well.” Ilya shifted in his seat. “You saw, but you don't know what he said.”

“What he said to you? Or to him?”

Ilya swallowed. “What does it matter? It's over with. Why are we still talking about it?”

“It matters because you are falling apart, Ilya.” Her tone became more serious. “Even more so than before. You can't just bottle it up and hope it will go away. It's been a year like this and it's only gotten worse. I'm worried about you.”

Ilya groaned, putting his head into his hands.

“Something else clearly happened. Why don't you just at least tell me about that before you implode.” She pulled her legs in and turned to face him.

Ilya's head started to pound even considering recalling it. But she was probably right. She was pretty much always right.

He took a deep breath, laying his head back on the couch cushion. “I kept trying to tell myself that I hate him. But I fucking don't. And it's awful.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“During warmups, Hollander started to…I don't know. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack. I know he was upset about being back in Montreal. So I tried to calm him down. I was close to him, I had my hands on him. I guess people noticed. But I didn't really care. I didn't like seeing him like that.”

Svetlana toyed with the hem of her shirt, listening intently.

“So fucking Baird made a comment to him about it, something homophobic. And I just snapped. I just felt like…I could never let anyone do anything bad to him. Like I would kill for him. Actually kill for him, if I needed to.” Ilya started to feel the annoying sting of tears welling in his eyes. “Not there, of course. Not over that. But it just hit me that I do care that much.”

“Does that scare you?” Svetlana asked, her voice even.

“It fucking terrifies me.” He said honestly, rubbing at his eyes to try and stop the tears from coming. “And after the game, back in the hotel, he came to my room out of nowhere. He asked to come in and he said he wanted to thank me for what I did. I was trying to keep my distance but it just…” He looked at her, breathing deeply through his nose.

“Just what?”

“Escalated. I don't even know how. I think he was asking about my ribs, he knew I got hurt. And then next thing I know his hands are all over me and we're getting closer together, like we were about to…” He let his voice trail off there, shaking his head.

He hated the way Svetlana was looking at him, like she pitied him.

“But then he just ran off. He didn't even say anything. He just left me there with my shirt up, looking fucking pathetic. Because I am. Because I would have done fucking anything for him stay.” Now a tear fell, rolling quickly down his cheek.

Svetlana put a hand on his knee. “Ilya.”

He put his hands into his hair. “Why the fuck do I care so much? I could have left that hotel room and fucked anyone I wanted to.”

“But you didn't want to.” She rubbed his knee. “You haven't wanted that in a long time.”

“And why not?” His voice was strained, coming out harshly.

“You tell me.” She leaned back, studying him. It wasn't a challenge, but more of an invitation for Ilya to finally be honest with her. And himself.

He didn't speak for a while. Just kept his eyes closed, his head resting on his hand as his brain ran through a marathon of thoughts. Truths that he knew, but had pushed so deep under the surface that he convinced himself that they weren't there.

“Because he's the only thing I want.” He said, quietly. “I've never met anyone like him, Svetlana. He fascinates me, how genuine he is. He's so serious about everything, but not in a bad way. It's charming. I don't understand how he can be so sexy but also so…adorable. It hurts my brain.”

She smiled a bit at that, sensing the passion in Ilya's words.

“From the first moment I saw him, I could never get him out of my mind. And I never wanted to. When I'm with him it all just feels right. It makes sense. And for a long time, it scared me. I didn't understand it. I didn't know I could even feel like this about someone.” He was trying to quickly wipe the tears as they fell, but it was impossible to keep up.

“And then once I figured it out, and I tried to show him, it just fucked it all up.” Ilya choked on his last words, swallowing back a sob.

Svetlana pulled him into a hug, shushing softly into his hair.

“I wanted it so badly.” He cried, not caring now how ridiculous and weak he sounded. “I still do. But I don't even fucking deserve him.”

She pulled back, using both hands to wipe his tears. “Ilya. Look at me.”

He reluctantly met her gaze, feeling his chin quivering.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you. You love with your whole heart. And your heart is beautiful.” She stroked his hair, searching his eyes. “I think you need to talk to him.”

He scoffed, scooting away from her. “No. That is the worst idea you've ever had.”

Svetlana grabbed his arm firmly. “Listen to me, Ilya. You can't go on like this. You never got the chance to tell him how you really feel. You should tell him. I think you both deserve that.”

She rubbed her thumb soothingly on his arm. They stayed like that for a long while, silent, but together.

“I am lucky to have you.” Ilya said quietly.

Svetlana smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And you will always have me.”

“I will think about it. What you said.” Ilya brought his fingers to the cross around his chain, then closed his hand around it, praying silently for the right answer.

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

The shapes on the screen in the film room seemed to move around in blurs of color, Shane unable to make clear focus of anything that he needed to.

Coach had started off the day by telling them that Rozanov would be out for practice because of his rib injury, and suspended for their next game for his excessive unsportsmanlike conduct. It sent a surge of guilt straight through to Shane's gut.

He knew he wasn't responsible for how Ilya chose to conduct himself, or for how the other players reacted. But he also knew that all of this happened because Ilya had chosen to protect Shane, fiercely, even though Shane had been previously convinced that Ilya hated him.

Despite not practicing, their captain was still present, seated in the corner of the room with a stare fixated at the screen.

Just as Shane thought they had come to the end of the film, a short clip flashed up on the screen. It was Ilya skating out to center ice, that wolfish, bloody grin on his face. His eyes were burning bright as he lifted a bloodied hand to the Montreal crowd and waved. Shane's stomach tightened. The rest of the room rang out in loud laughs and fists banging on tables.

“Had to add that one in just for cap.” Coach smiled in Ilya's direction. Ilya had his hood pulled up, the string of his hoodie hanging from his mouth. He gave the slightest hint of a smug smile as Marlow shook him by the shoulders.

“But don't go thinking I want you all getting yourselves injured and suspended out there, alright? I spoke with Rozanov privately, we can't have this happen again. Keep it hockey. No more street brawls.”

The players all sang out their agreement before filing out of the room.

Selfishly, Shane was glad Ilya wasn't able to practice. It kept a more reasonable amount of distance between them, as Ilya spent most of practice perched on the edge of the wall near the bench, watching silently.

He would occasionally whistle a player over to him, pointing around the ice or adjusting their hand placements or demonstrating a posture. Shane had always been revered for having the highest hockey IQ, but Ilya was so intensely perceptive to everything.

Shane hung around late after practice, wanting to make sure he had the details down perfectly on how his line would attack their next game without Rozanov. He knew he needed to take the lead in his captain's absence. And he still felt that pang of personal responsibility over the whole situation.

The whole arena was almost silent by the time he was showered and slipping back into his sweats. His entire body was screaming at him, legs burning and hips aching, his hands tender and sore. But Shane's mind was still somehow occupied elsewhere, disconnected from himself as he padded slowly out toward the parking lot.

Dusk had fallen, and a light snow was drifting through the crisp air, especially visible in the warm glow of the street lights overheard. As he went to round the corner, the smell of cigarette smoke stopped him in his tracks.

Shane tensed, the smell flooding his body with immediate recognition. He stood still, a silent panic filling him as he knew exactly what he would find as soon as he stepped around that wall.

“I know you are standing there, Hollander.”

Ilya's voice, cool and even, jolted him a bit. He felt a heat creep up his neck. This man truly was too perceptive for his own good. Or maybe this truly was just how the universe worked for them. The same way they could sense each other on the ice, or find each other's eyes in a sea of people. Shane took a breath, and rounded the corner.

Ilya was standing with his back to the wall, his hood now pulled down. Snowflakes were nesting their way into his curls, shining a warm gold under the lights. He pulled the cigarette away from his lips, flicking his ashes as smoke poured from his parted mouth. His long legs were positioned in a way that blocked Shane's path.

“We need to talk.” Ilya said, his deep voice projecting more smoke out into the air between them. He kept his gaze pointed forward.

“Talk?” Shane blurted out, feeling his saliva go sticky in his mouth.

“Da. Talk. This is English word for it, yes?” He perched his cigarette back between his lips.

Shane huffed a bit. “Yes. That's not what-” He exhaled, trying to compose himself. “About what?”

Ilya turned his head toward him now, giving Shane a pointed stare.

Shane sighed, shaking his head a bit as he rocked back on his heels and looked away from Ilya's intense gaze. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“Mm. No. Not here.” Ilya took a long drag, crossing one arm over his body.

Shane exhaled slightly. “Wh-”

“You have apartment here?” Ilya cut him him off.

“...yes…” Shane could feel his chest tightening.

“Send me your address.” He said as plainly as if he were discussing the weather.

Shane let out a small, incredulous huff of laughter. “You-”

“You have plans tonight? Important date?” Ilya cut him off again, clearly growing impatient.

Shane felt his cheeks growing hot. “No.”

“Okay then. Send me your address. I will meet you there.” Ilya dropped his cigarette on the ground, stomped it out, then carefully picked up the butt to toss in the nearby trashcan.

Shane knew he must have a dumbfounded look on his face. It had always annoyed him the way Ilya was so persistent, but Shane was always quick to be obedient. The way Ilya seemed to always know what he wanted, and was bold enough to go after it, was a quality that had truly been alluring to Shane.

He could feel his own mind short circuiting. Ilya was looking at him with an expectant stare.

“Jesus Christ." Shane muttered under his breath as he grabbed his phone from his pocket. He scrolled through his messages app, finger hovering over Lily. He had spent the past year trying and failing to avoid this very thread, finding his way back to it on nights when sleep wouldn't come to him.

He took a shaky breath, then quickly typed out his address and pressed send. A surge of panic immediately started to rise in his gut, his eyes slowly meeting Ilya's. There was no taking this back now.

The cool rush of mint on Ilya's tongue as he popped a piece of nicotine gum into his mouth helped to ground him as he approached the door. He knew he couldn't chain smoke in Shane's apartment, so this would have to suffice to take the edge off.

He was slightly surprised that Shane had given Ilya his address without much push back, though that had always been their dynamic. He supposed Shane could just simply refuse to let him inside now. But he had already buzzed him into the building wordlessly, so it seemed like they were past the point of no return.

He knocked quickly, a few short raps, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket he had adorned over his hoodie to stave off the blowing snow outside.

Ilya could hear footsteps come toward the door. Then hesitation. Ilya tilted his head back with a soft groan before the door finally opened, Shane stepping aside to let him in.

Ilya slipped his shoes off at the door, eyes scanning the apartment. He turned to track Shane as he slowly padded toward the back of the couch, leaning his back against it. Ilya took his place across from him, leaning his back against the kitchen island. They both stood with their arms crossed, in a sort of face off.

After an uncomfortable beat of silence, Shane finally spoke. “Look.” Shane swallowed. “I’m sorry about the hotel, okay?” He kept his gaze pointed down, shifting on his feet. “It was a stupid idea.”

Ilya huffed. “What part? The part where you grope me or the part where you run away?”

Shane's face flushed red. “The whole thing, okay? Fuck.”

Ilya shook his head. “This isn't even about that, Hollander.”

“So what is it, then?” Shane's face flashed annoyance.

Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Shane was watching him intently. In the apartment's soft lighting, he looked almost ethereal. Skin glowing and freckles painted in a way that made him look warm and flushed. The shadows played up all the perfect angles and planes of his face, and his eyes were a shining amber.

It was impossible how beautiful this man was. It sent a jolt of frustration straight through his core.

“Well?” Shane urged.

Ilya bristled. “Do you not recall when you ran out of my house for no reason, saying we were done, and never contacting me again?”

Shane looked away.

“Well?” Ilya said, mocking Shane.

“Yes, I fucking remember.” Shane grumbled. He ran his hands over his face “I don't know what you want me to say, Rozanov.”

“I want you to tell me why!” The words exploded out of Ilya before he could temper them. He threw his hands up, exasperated. “Fucking tell me what happened, because I've spent a year trying to figure it out!”

Shane winced, which immediately made Ilya feel guilty. He turned his body away from Shane, running a hand through his hair, trying to cool himself down. But his heart was hammering hard in his chest, and he could feel his fingers trembling.

Ilya knew this was going to be far from easy, but they had barely spoken three sentences and he was already overwhelmed. He rested an elbow on the cool granite of the kitchen island, then placed his forehead into his palm, trying to even his breathing.

“We shouldn't have ever been doing it in the first place. That's why.” Shane said.

Ilya couldn't help but let out a short laugh. “No?”

“No!” Shane threw his hands up. “Fucking no, do you not agree?”

Ilya turned back to face him. “Then why did you give me your room number that first time?”

Shane bit at the inside of his cheek, wordlessly.

“Why didn't you stop it after that? Or the second time? Or the third time? Or-”

“Because! Fuck!” Shane put his hands in his hair, the words pouring out of him in a frenzy. “Because I don't think I ever even realized I even liked men until I met you. And then my first ever sexual experience with a guy, my first ever sexual experience where I even remotely enjoyed what was happening, was with…fucking…you!” He gestured wildly at Ilya.

“I mean Jesus Christ. I think you're arrogant enough to figure out what I mean by that.” Shane said pointedly. Ilya tensed his jaw. “So yeah. Forgive me if I couldn't help myself after that. And by the way, I don't recall you ever trying to stop anything, either.”

“You are right. I also am not the one who ran away.” Ilya crossed his arms again.

“Oh no?” Shane raised his eyebrows. “Because I seem to remember you taking my virginity and then ghosting me for six fucking months.”

Ilya could sense the pain in Shane's voice. It cut into him, sharp and biting.
“And I never said that was right thing to do.” Ilya looked down, sniffing a bit. “It wasn't.”

“So it's just forgiven when you do it?” Shane gave a short, bitter laugh.

“I did not say that. But I also did not tell you it was over after that. I came back. We both did.” Ilya could feel the pressure mounting in his chest.

“Well maybe I was trying to be the responsible one.” Shane was angry now, his words landing more harshly.

“Responsible?” Ilya looked up at that, eyes searching Shane.

“Yes, responsible. Because what the fuck were we even doing? 8 years is a long time to be hooking up with someone and pretending it's just casual. And the last time we were together, it started to feel like it wasn't just about sex anymore. So yes, I was responsible, and I ended it there.” Shane said, a firmness in his tone.

“And why is that so responsible? So it's more than just sex. Why does that make it bad?” Ilya felt an ache blooming in his chest.

“Because, Ilya!” Shane threw his hands out, a gesture in how unbelievable he found this conversation to be. Ilya swallowed hard. “Because we only see each other a handful of times a year, for a couple hours at a time. Because I know you're running around out there fucking God knows how many other people. Because neither of us are even out publicly. Because we're both major league hockey captains on rival fucking teams. And because I don't even have a fucking clue how you ever actually felt about me, because all we ever do is fuck and then you just disappear into the night to go be the league's playboy. Do you need me to keep going?”

Shane's face was flushed, but his eyes had grown glassy with bitter tears. “So yeah. Please forgive me if I was trying to protect myself from whatever the fuck any of that was supposed to be.”

Ilya found himself trying to shrink back, but he was already flush against the counter top. He felt a dizzying mixture of shame, dread, anger, sadness, emptiness, and God knows what else. A horrible concoction of emotions on a collision course in his brain.

He was supposed to be telling Shane how he really felt about him. How he had wanted this to work, more than he had ever wanted anything. But everything was wrong now. There was a horrible mix of anger and moroseness hanging in the air between them.

Ilya tried to steel himself, but he felt his own grip slipping away as Shane stared tensely at the wall.

Chapter End Notes

They're angsty and bitter y'all but I swear the communication break through is rapidly approaching, thank u for reading so far <3

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

There was a sharp rustling as Ilya shed his leather jacket, dropping it onto the counter top. Shane could see the heat flushing in Ilya's face, and the way he rubbed at the side of his nose in barely controlled frustration.

Shane was gritting his teeth, feeling uncomfortably exposed by admitting all these things that were weighing on him.

“Maybe…is not what I want to be anymore.” Ilya said, his voice heavy and quiet.

“What isn't?” Shane looked up at him, brows furrowed.

“Playboy. Manwhore. Whatever anyone wants to call it.”

Shane gave a short, sardonic laugh, a picture of Ilya with his tongue in a woman's mouth on the dance floor flashing in his mind. “Right. Well, you have an interesting way of showing it, Rozanov.”

Ilya shot him a look, and to Shane's surprise, it was more hurt than angry. “I think maybe my brain is…I don't know. Broken.” Ilya shook his head. “Maybe it has been for a long time.”

“What do you mean?” Shane asked, his arms crossing as he tried to decipher the look of dread on Ilya's face.

“I mean…” Ilya sighed in frustration, cursing in Russian under his breath. “Sex has always been…a way for me to escape. Go somewhere else in my mind. Somewhere that feels good and I do not have to think too much.” Ilya scratched nervously at the side of his nose. “I started doing this when I was too young to understand. And then I just never stop.”

Ilya kept his gaze pointed down. Shane could feel the shame radiating off Ilya in waves.

“Sex and hockey are two things I am very good at. It feels good to be the best at something. Like you are a God and nothing bad about you exists while you are doing it.” Ilya's whole body was tense.

“And so I go out and I fuck people because you are right. I am arrogant. I like the way it makes me feel. Or I did.” He looked up at Shane, meeting his eyes carefully.

“God knows how many people, as you said. Just once with most of them, and I never think about them again. Sometimes I would go back to same person, for convenience. But with all of them, it was to get what I wanted for myself and that was that. Simple. Until you.”

Shane felt his breath catch ever so slightly in his throat. Ilya's gaze did not waver.

“When I met you I was…” Ilya searched for the word. “Fascinated.”

Shane cocked his head a bit. It was an interesting word to choose.

“I could not stop thinking about you. And I knew I needed more Shane Hollander.”

For some reason, this made Shane blush straight down to his toes, as if he hadn't already known that Ilya was into him.

“And when I kissed you the first time…I do not know the words to describe how this felt. Not even in Russian. I just knew I needed it to happen again. There was no other option.” Ilya was gripping at the edge of the counter behind him, as if to steady himself.

“Then that first time, in your apartment in Montreal. Shane…” Ilya closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. “There was never anyone like you. There was never anyone that even made me feel close to that. It was like I could not get close enough to you. I wished I never had to get up and leave that bed. And when I did, I needed more. Not just sex. But more of you. I needed to see your face and feel your skin and hear your laugh. And this was the most terrifying thing I had ever felt in my life.”

Shane watched as Ilya quickly wiped a single tear. He could feel his own throat tightening, his chest growing painful with each breath.

“I did not understand what I was feeling. I did not think this feeling was possible for me to have. So I pretend, like you said. Pretend it was casual and was just simple thing to meet up with you for sex. But was not simple at all. You became the only thing I wanted and I had no idea what to do about this.” Ilya's accent started to hug more heavily around his words as his voice began to tremble.

Shane felt his own lip quiver slightly, and he quickly bit down on it.

“I was afraid by how much I wanted you and I was afraid that you would not want me in the same ways. You are right with the things you say about me. I am an asshole. I am arrogant. I have done many things I am not proud of. Maybe this is not the type of person you want. I know this is not the type of person you deserve.” Ilya's voice broke on the last few words. His tears were flowing now, too many to keep up with wiping away.

And Shane realized he had never seen Ilya truly cry before. It was a painful sight. He was still so beautiful and so stoic, but the gut wrenching pain was so clear in his face. Shane turned his face toward the floor.

“You are good person, Shane. You are kind and smart and driven and you deserve to have someone you will be proud to be with. And I know this is not me.” Ilya swallowed back a sob, using his sleeve to wipe his face and nose.

“It hurt me when you left because I wanted you so much. But it hurt worse knowing that you were right to leave because I am not worth it.” Ilya turned away. “Fuck.” He covered his face, trying to quiet his crying.

Shane quickly turned and walked toward the large windows on the opposite side of the room, feeling his breathing becoming uneven. His own face was now slick with tears as the full weight of Ilya's words came crashing down into him. He tried desperately to catch his breath as each one came out shaky and wrong.

A panicked feeling took grip of Shane's gut, and he was trying to swallow it down, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the window. The swell of emotion was overwhelming, and Ilya's words had pierced straight through him to hit pieces of himself he didn't even realize were there.

Suddenly, a sound from the other side of the room forced him to pick up his head with a small gasp. He turned to see Ilya crouched on the floor where he once stood, sobbing uncontrollably into his hands.

The sound of it made Shane's jaw drop open slightly. It was a deep, guttural cry that was accompanied with hyperventilating as Ilya struggled to hold himself together. Shane's own panic fell straight through his stomach and down to the floor as he quickly strode over to Ilya, kneeling down on the floor in front of him.

“Hey, hey.” Shane urged, his eyes going wide. He put one hand on Ilya's back and the other on his shoulder. He could feel Ilya's whole body shaking under his touch. “Ilya, listen to me. It's okay. Just take a breath.” Shane rubbed firmly on Ilya's back.

Ilya was saying something in Russian between his sobs, Shane realized. “Ilya, I can't- just please. You need to take a deep breath.” Shane could feel his own fingers trembling now. Seeing Ilya this way was breaking his heart. His mind bounced back to the game, and how Ilya had been at Shane's side in an instant to calm him down when he needed it. He felt a tear roll down his own cheek.

“Ilya.” He urged again. He moved his hand down Ilya's back, then pushed it up under his sweatshirt to touch bare skin. He rubbed up and down the length of Ilya's back. He could feel Ilya start to calm a bit, taking a few shuddering breaths.

“Good. Shh. It's okay.” Shane said quietly.

“Is not okay.” Ilya finally managed, his voice strained and broken as he moved his hands away from his face.

Shane pulled his sleeves down over his own hands, and used them to wipe at Ilya's tears soaked face. “Come here.” Shane stood, holding his hand out. Ilya looked up at him slowly.

“Please.” Shane added, quickly wiping a tear on his own face that had rolled down to his jaw.

Ilya reluctantly took Shane's hand. Shane hauled him up and led him to the couch, then sat down with his back against the arm rest, legs sprawled out across the seat cushions. “Come here.” he said gently.

Ilya looked down at him, uncertain, his breath still hitching.

“It's okay. Just come here.” Shane said again, opening his arms.

Ilya slowly sunk down onto the couch between Shane's legs, then reclined his body over him. Shane could feel the exhaustion in Ilya's body as he melted into him, his face pressed into the crook of Shane's neck.

Shane took a deep breath, one arm wrapped around Ilya, the other running his fingers gently through Ilya's curls.

“I'm sorry.” Ilya eventually whispered through a shaky breath.

“Shh.” Shane hushed him softly. “Sit up for a minute.”

Ilya slowly pushed himself up. Shane captured Ilya's jaw gently in his hand. “Look at me.”

Ilya's eyes moved to meet Shane's. They were sad and tired, but still the most beautiful shades of blue and green Shane had ever seen.

“Don't ever say you aren't worth it. Okay? Don't ever say that.” Shane gently stroked Ilya's jaw with his thumb. “I don't think that about you and I never did. That isn't why I ended things. I promise.”

A tear fell from Ilya's eye, rolling down to meet Shane's fingers. The way he looked at Shane made tears well in his own eyes again. He was looking into Shane's eyes like he was the most precious thing in the world; a gaze filled with equal parts love and sadness and fear. Shane couldn't help but to lean forward and press a soft kiss to Ilya's cheekbone, just below his eye.

“I know I call you an asshole and say you're arrogant. Because sometimes you do act that way. But that doesn't mean it's who you are. That isn't who you are, Ilya. I know you don't like to let people see it, but you're actually one of the most caring people I've ever met. You have a good heart. I think maybe you tried to hide it from me at first, but it didn't work.” Shane offered him a small smile.

Ilya pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes.

“I'm sorry if I ever made you think I left because you weren't good enough. I was just scared, like you were. I didn't know if we both wanted the same thing. And if we did, I was scared of how far shit could go when this is all supposed to be a secret.” He sighed. “I should have just…fucking talked to you. We should have talked to each other.” Shane put a hand on the back of Ilya's neck.

“We are stupid.” Ilya said plainly. Shane couldn't help but laugh.

“Yeah. You're probably right.”

Shane could feel the exhaustion in Ilya's voice and the way he slumped forward. He reclined back again, pulling Ilya back down with him. Ilya pressed his face back into Shane's neck, breathing deeply.

Shane ran his fingers slowly through the back of Ilya's hair. “Let's stop being stupid. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ilya whispered, the warmth of his breath ghosting over the skin on Shane's neck. It made his eyes flutter shut.

The weight of Ilya's strong body holding him down, the feeling of his soft curls tangled around Shane's fingers, the smell of his cologne faintly filling the air around them. It all made Shane feel more relaxed than he had in a very long time.

Shane turned his head slightly to rest it against Ilya's, the movement of his hands in Ilya's hair slowing as he relaxed himself deeper into the feeling. The feeling was not one he could easily describe. He only knew that it felt right.

Their breathing fell into a rhythm, slow and deep as their body heat mixed together between them. Shane allowed himself to drift off, his arms holding Ilya in place on top of him.

Chapter End Notes

Group hug everyone~ thank u for reading so far!!

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

The fog of sleep cleared slowly from Ilya's head, drifting to the surface of consciousness in a half-lidded haze. His face felt so warm that it was damp with a light sheen of sweat. He could feel weight draped around his back, cradling him where he lay.

Shane. He was laying with Shane - no. On top of Shane. He honestly wasn't sure how he wasn't crushing him to death, but Shane was definitely still alive. Ilya could feel the rise and fall of his chest where it pressed against his own, and hear the sound of his slow, methodic breathing. Ilya lifted his head slightly, fighting off a groan of pain as his injured ribs sent a shockwave in protest to his movements.

But any thoughts of pain quickly subsided when he was looking down at Shane's face. The large picture windows in the apartment were bathing the scene in a cool moonlight. Shane's perfect skin and perfect face were glowing in it, his lips slightly opened in the perfect pout. It was absolutely unfair for someone to look this beautiful as they slept.

Ilya took it all in for a moment. Shane's arms snaked around him, the warmth of his body so close and so real.

He reached his fingers out to gently stroke Shane's cheek, just lightly, so as not to wake him. But God, he was so perfect, Ilya needed to make sure he was actually real.

He also needed desperately to get up off of this couch before he ended up missing even more games, because his ribs were absolutely killing him in his position. He sighed, mourning this perfect moment as he carefully wriggled himself free and stood.

Memories of the night started to creep in from the edges of his still sleep-stunted mind, causing him to put both hands over his face and take a deep breath.

He should probably be embarrassed for the way he had a complete breakdown right in front of Shane. But he was so exhausted in this moment, he couldn't muster the energy to care about that. He moved to the back of the couch, leaning his elbows over it and tipping his head down, almost too tired to hold himself up.

The only moment he saw fit to use his energy on was the way Shane had held his face so gently. The things he had said to Ilya that made some of his greatest fears about Shane's feelings melt away like snow on skin. And how Shane had taken Ilya into his arms and didn't let go. He picked his head up again to look at Shane.

Sweet Shane. He wanted so badly to kiss him right now. But he wasn't sure if Shane was ready for that yet. He didn't want to cross any lines or jump to any conclusions. So he just reveled in the fact that he had gotten to sleep in Shane's arms and feel Shane's lips kiss his face so gently. Ilya touched his fingertips to the spot where Shane's lips had been, and felt a hint of a smile creep over his face.

After a few more moments of watching Shane quietly, Ilya leaned over the back of the couch and ran a hand gently through the top of Shane's hair. “Hey.” He said quietly, repeating the motion a few times.

Shane groaned a bit, pressing his hands into his eyes.

“You should get up and into your bed unless you want us both to miss this game. Sleeping on this thing is going to ruin your back.” Ilya tousled Shane's hair a bit, then stood back up, wincing at the sharp pain in his ribs. He cradled an arm around them.

“Shit. You're right.” Shane mumbled, yawning as he sat upright. “What time is it?”

“Almost 1.” Ilya rubbed his own eyes, trying desperately to fight off the way he just wanted to collapse back onto the couch. “I should probably get going.”

“It's late.” Shane said, standing up with an elongated stretch.

“I know. This is why I say I should get going.”

“It's the middle of the night.” Shane stood in front of him, eyes heavy with sleep.

“...Yes, I know this, Hollander. I-”

But Shane grabbed onto Ilya's wrist, tugging at it. “Shut up. I'm tired. Just come on.”

Ilya furrowed his brows in confusion, his feet staying planted to the floor. Shane only tugged him harder.

“Let's go, Rozanov.” Shane yawned, practically pulling Ilya's arm from the socket as he tried to drag him along.

Ilya finally relented, allowing himself to be led by Shane into his bedroom. “It's the middle of the night, you live out in the suburbs, it's snowing, and you drive that ridiculous car.” Shane was saying, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

Ilya groaned. “Are you my mother now?”

“Are you really complaining that I'm inviting you to sleep in my bed instead of kicking you out?” Shane crossed his arms.

Ilya snapped his mouth shut.

“That's what I thought. Stop being an asshole and go to sleep.”

Ilya could tell Shane must truly be exhausted, because he climbed into bed still dressed in his sweats instead of ceremoniously undressing and folding each individual piece of clothing. Ilya followed his lead, crawling in beside him. He wasn't sure he had ever slept fully clothed before, but he wasn't about to do anything that could possibly ruin Shane's hospitality.

Ilya felt Shane inch slightly closer to him, before burying his face into the pillow. “Goodnight.” He mumbled.

“Goodnight, Shane.” Ilya turned on his side to face him, just barely able to make out his features in the dark bedroom. He inched himself even closer, wanting to be able to hear the soft sighs of Shane's breathing as he drifted off.

He reached a hand out to rest it on the cuff of Shane's sleeve, fingers lightly brushed against the skin of Shane's wrist. It was his way of tethering them together, so that Shane couldn't stray too far from him ever again. The comfort of having the man he was hopelessly in love with laying inches away from him lulled him back into a dreamless sleep.

The pulsing of the alarm on his phone pulled Shane unwillingly out of sleep with a soft groan. His body was warm, maybe overly warm, as he realized he was still fully dressed. But also fully pressed up against the solid wall of muscle that was Ilya Rozanov, who was laying flat on his back next to him.

Ilya stirred at the sound of the alarm, and his movement made Shane realize that along with being curled against Ilya as close as he could possibly be, his hand was also up Ilya's sweatshirt and resting on his bare stomach.

Shane felt himself blushing. His subconscious was definitely betraying his desire to be as nonchalant as possible. Hoping against all odds that Ilya was maybe still too asleep to notice, Shane tried to slip his hand out undetected. But his palm dragged down the curve of hardened abs and over the patch of coarse hair that resided between Ilya's belly button and the waist of his pants, the sensation causing Ilya to buck his hips up off the bed slightly.

“Christ. Hands to yourself, Hollander.” Ilya said, his voice thick with sleep. But Shane could see the hint of a smug grin on the Russian's face.

“Fuck off.” Shane was blushing again, but couldn't help the smile that spread on his own face as he shoved a pillow over Ilya's head, reaching to silence the alarm. “I was asleep.”

“Is okay. Very strange for us to be together with clothes on, I can see why your body became confused by fabric being in your way.”

“You're so insufferable.” Shane kicked him on the side of the leg. Though Ilya was right. This whole situation was bizarre. They were hovering in this strange space of clearly both wanting something more than what was actually happening, but being unsure about crossing that threshold.

“Big words, Hollander. Is too early.” Ilya scrubbed his hands over his face. “I will assume this words means same as sexy.”

Shane scoffed. “You wish.” But he was still smiling. This bit of banter felt so genuine to the Ilya he knew. The one he fell in love with a thousand times over, it seemed. It felt like last night may have started to heal something inside both of them.

“Is this really how early you wake up every morning?” Ilya yawned, crossing his arms over his face. The motion made his shirt ride up, and God, Shane was apparently very much out of control when it came to even an inch of this man's bare torso. He hopped up out of the bed to avoid his own impure thoughts.

“Yes. I like to stick to a routine.” Shane said, stretching as he walked toward the bathroom.

“Of course you do.” Ilya sat up, clutching at his ribs with a sigh.

“How are they healing?” Shane grabbed his toothbrush, leaning back against the bathroom sink.

“Still hurts to move in certain ways. But will be fine. Looks terrible, though.” He stood up, stretching. “I would show you but I know you would not be able to contain your desires.”

“Oh my god. Fuck you.” Shane said through the toothbrush in his mouth. Ilya simply shrugged, moving to lean in the doorway of the bathroom, his large frame filling it easily.

“You have extra toothbrush?” Ilya asked, but before Shane could answer, Ilya threw up a hand to cut him off. “Why would I even ask this. You probably have 20.”

And as if he had lived here for years, Ilya pushed at Shane's hip to move him away from the drawers he was blocking. Shane gave a small incredulous laugh at the invasion, but Ilya immediately opened a drawer and held up an entire pack of unopened toothbrushes with a triumphant smile. Seriously, this man's perceptive brain needed to be studied. Or maybe Shane's predictability did. Either way, Shane rolled his eyes and waved him off.

Shane stayed leaned back against the counter even after he had finished, trying to act like he wasn't interested in watching Ilya do something as domestic as brushing his teeth. But he clearly was. There were so many things he realized he had never seen Ilya do. Stupid little things like this that made him, for whatever reason, feel gooey inside. Like he was getting to experience brand new parts of Ilya, no matter how inconsequential.

“Excuse me.” Ilya made a show of choosing the sink that Shane was blocking, pressing himself flush against Shane so they were chest to chest, before leaning over his shoulder to spit into the sink.

“You're ridiculous.” Shane made a half-hearted attempt to push Ilya away, grasping him by the biceps as Ilya leaned harder into him, rinsing his toothbrush off.

“Yes.” Ilya said plainly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He set the toothbrush down carefully on the counter. “I leave this here for next sleep over, hm?”

Shane felt his heart flip. Ilya was staring at him again with those eyes, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It made Shane want to melt into him and never leave again.

Ilya's eyes tracked down to Shane's mouth before he swiped a knuckle slowly across the span of Shane's jaw. Shane felt his breath catch slightly. Ilya winked at him before stepping back and out of the bathroom and striding back toward the edge of the bed.

Shane felt drunk. This man knew exactly what to do to unravel him, and he never had to try very hard at all. Looking at him now, Shane could see exactly why.

The amber light of the morning was glimpsing through the curtains, giving Ilya's side profile all the glowing warmth of an oil painting. That face was truly something to be revered. Shane never stood a chance to resist him, he knew.

“I will not be at game tonight.” He was saying, snapping Shane out of his trance. “Not even in arena. Not allowed with the suspension.”

“Shit. That's right.” Shane sighed, pulling his sweatshirt off and moving to fold it over the back of a chair.

Ilya came up behind him, a feeling that sent prickles through Shane's whole body. He turned to face Ilya, feeling himself go molten on the inside at the softness in his gaze.

“So I better get going. Let you get to your boring morning routine so you will play good enough for both of us tonight.” Ilya reached out to brush his hand along Shane's forearm, leaving a buzzing heat in its wake.

Shane gave him a slight nod. He didn't want Ilya to leave, though he knew he would be far too distracted if he stayed. Everything in his being wanted to attach himself to Ilya and never let any space exist between them ever again. “I'll walk you out.”

Without giving it a second thought, Shane grabbed Ilya by the hand to lead him out of the room. Ilya laced their fingers together, making Shane's heart tumble in his chest. Shane grabbed Ilya's leather jacket where it laid in a crumpled heap on the counter, feeling Ilya stiffen slightly as Shane handed it to him.

He could see on Ilya's face that he was remembering the events of last night.

“Shane-”

But Shane didn't need Ilya to say anything. Not sorry, or thank you, or anything else in between. Because they'd both spilled all of their deepest thoughts right out into this room together, no matter how ugly they were. And seeing Ilya come unraveled under the weight of it all, a full release of every emotion he'd been carrying for the past year, Shane wanted only to hold him tight until they both understood that together was exactly where they were supposed to be.

So Shane cupped Ilya's face in one hand and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth to intercept Ilya's words before he could say them.

“I know.” Shane said quietly, brushing his fingers through Ilya's messy curls.

Ilya wrapped both arms tightly around him, lacing fingers in the back of Shane's hair as he squeezed him close. It was the kind of embrace that was so strong it bordered on painful, but Shane loved the way it felt like Ilya was anchoring them together, like there was nothing that could pry them apart.

“I missed you” Ilya whispered into Shane's neck. “So much.”

Shane felt tears sting at his eyes, but grasped onto the back of Ilya's shirt to will them away. When they eventually pulled apart again, Shane smoothed out the front of Ilya's hoodie. “You gonna watch the game on TV?”

“Of course. So you better show off for me, Hollander.” Ilya smiled that smug smile, and Shane wanted to tackle him into the couch, pin him down, and hold him captive.

Instead, he walked him to the door, their hands intertwined again. Ilya gave his hand one last squeeze. “Good luck tonight.”

And as he walked away, Shane could already feel his body longing for the comforting warmth of Ilya's. He couldn't fathom how they had gone this long. It seemed so impossible.

With the soft click of the door, Shane willed himself to get into the headspace for tonight's game. But not before he brought the collar of his shirt to his nose to enjoy the lingering scent of expensive cologne and faint cigarette smoke. It was the most comforting scent he knew.

Chapter End Notes

YOUR HONOR THEY ARE IN LOVE
~thank you for your comments/kudos/ and for reading so far!

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

Exhaustion had taken Ilya over the moment the game ended. He had thoroughly enjoyed watching it, considering Boston won 5-2. He hated not being there, but getting to rest was apparently exactly what he had needed.

Ilya did not think he had ever cried that hard in his life. The feeling had come over him so suddenly and so unbidden, and once it started, he had been powerless to stop. He wondered how long it would have gone on, had Shane not been there to calm him down.

But now his whole body felt heavy, like something was weighing down all his limbs and begging him to take a break.

So he allowed himself to drift off on the couch, the only light in the house coming from the flickering TV.

Until a shrill sound catapulted him from sleep. The doorbell. He suddenly remembered the food delivery he had ordered, and sprung up from the couch, still disoriented from sleep. He padded toward the front door, but stopped just short and slowly turned back to where he had just been sitting.

Empty takeout boxes littered his coffee table. He frowned at them. He had already eaten, hours ago. He rubbed his eyes, then jumped when the doorbell rang a second time. He cursed under his breath, yanking the door open.

Shane's cold flushed face smiled back at him shyly. “I hope I'm not interrupting something.” He said, looking Ilya over in his disheveled state. Ilya stared back at him for a moment, still trying to process what the fuck was happening, when he noticed Shane's face change.

He had glanced over Ilya again, seeing his rumpled shirt and the way his joggers were slipping down on his hips. He could only imagine that his hair was a tousled mess.

“Oh god…you weren't…you don't have someone…”

“What?” Ilya blinked, taking a moment to understand what Shane was asking. “No. Jesus, Hollander, I was sleeping.”

He watched the tension immediately release from Shane's shoulders as he grabbed him by the arm. “Get in here, is freezing.” He said, pulling him through the doorway and shutting the door behind them.

Shane kicked his shoes off, neatly placing them by the door. “I didn't mean to wake you up. I just thought…you've been sitting at home alone all day. Maybe you could use some company.”

Shane was looking at him through those doe eyes and Ilya felt like he would combust on the spot if he didn't touch this man right now.

Ilya grabbed Shane by the waist and pulled him close. “Thank you. I was lonely.” He nuzzled his nose against Shane's cheek before walking toward the couch. “And maybe a little horny after watching your hat trick. This is why I had to take post-game nap. Rid myself of my impure thoughts, yes?” Ilya smirked, thoroughly enjoying the deep blush that came over Shane's face.

“Come.” He patted the seat next to him on the couch. “I'm sure you are exhausted.”

Shane sat down closely to him, their sides pressed together. “Jesus, did you get enough food?” He laughed, nodding toward the menagerie of mostly empty takeout boxes on the coffee table.

“Was hungry.” Ilya shrugged. “My body is healing. So needs french fries.” He grabbed a cold fry from one of the boxes and shoved it in his mouth.

Shane rolled his eyes, but then turned to place a tender hand over Ilya's ribs. “How are you feeling, anyway? You think you'll get cleared to practice Monday?”

“If I do not I will burn the arena down. But I am feeling better. I'm still not going to take my shirt off to show you, though, so calm down.” Ilya grinned.

“You're actually the most annoying person in the world.”

“And yet you drive all the way out here just to see me.” Ilya's grin widened a bit. “Shane Hollander, do you have a crush on me?” He cooed, poking Shane's side.

Shane rolled his eyes yet again, but a small smile spread across his lips.

Ilya felt his heart stutter. Sometimes, looking at Shane made him feel like a computer rebooting. He couldn't process that this beautiful man was actually sitting here before him, staring at him like he wanted something he was too shy to ask for.

Ilya had to indulge. It was impossible not to at this point. He placed a hand on Shane's jaw and dragged a thumb slowly across Shane's bottom lip. The action made Shane go starry eyed.

“How can you be so smart at hockey but so stupid to think I may have someone else in my bed tonight?” Ilya cocked his head, his thumb still worrying at Shane's bottom lip.

Shane's breathing shuddered a bit. “Why would that make me stupid.”

The way it left Shane's lips made it seem rhetorical. Like the possibility was so obvious. And Ilya hadn't considered the fact that Shane did not live inside of his mind to know that he was so insanely hungry for Shane that there was no other option.

“Because. I am…what is it. Is new phrase I learned.” Ilya tipped his head back in thought. When it came to him, he leaned back in to meet Shane's eyes, smirking at him. “Down bad.”

That got a laugh from Shane. “What? Who taught you that?”

Ilya only shrugged.

“Down bad for what?” Shane asked honestly, and God, he was so oblivious sometimes.

“For you, Shane Hollander.” He said, leaning in close to let his lips ghost over Shane's, just barely out of reach. “Always you.”

He felt Shane exhale, the warmth of his breath making Ilya's lips part in response.

Ilya felt like he probably seemed desperate right now. But fuck it. He was desperate. He needed Shane like he needed air in his lungs. He would swear off cigarettes forever to have Shane instead. He would give up absolutely anything to have Shane, in truth. It was maybe a bit pathetic, but-

Oh.

Shane's mouth was on his in a flash of heat that made Ilya's whole body lurch forward. Shane's tongue was begging entry into his mouth, and Ilya gladly relinquished, grasping at Shane's jaw to open his mouth further, their tongues lapping together in a fervent dance. Ilya felt not an ounce of shame in the way he was moaning obscenely into Shane's mouth, already entirely drunk with lust.

Shane climbed into Ilya's lap, their hands grasping at each other's hair in desperate tugs.

“Fuck, Ilya. I need you so fucking bad.” Shane was panting, grasping hard at Ilya's face. Ilya felt his whole body surge upward, hauling Shane up with him. Shane hooked his legs around Ilya's waist, tugging hard at the back of his hair as Ilya carried them both to the bedroom, leaving all cares about desperation decisively on the living room floor with the couch cushions they knocked out of place on the way.

Ilya brushed his fingers through Shane's still shower damp hair as he laid in absolute awe at the sight.

His Shane, blissed out and barely awake, face nuzzled into Ilya's pillow. The room was dark, but Ilya could still see the faint smile on Shane's perfect lips, and the beautiful curve of his ass with the sheets tangled down by his feet.

Ilya placed soft kisses over every part of Shane's face that wasn't obscured by the pillow. “You are so beautiful, do you know that?”

Shane only hummed in response, the sleepy smile still lingering on his lips.

The ache Ilya felt in his chest made him know for certain, then and there, that his heart truly existed outside of his body. And it was right here, with a devastatingly handsome face scattered with beautiful freckles.

“Do you wanna know something?” Shane said, his voice a bit muffled by the pillow.

Ilya ran his fingers through Shane's hair over again. “Hm?” he mused, though he was admittedly a bit transfixed at the moment.

“Don't get mad at this first part.” Shane reached out and tangled his fingers with Ilya's. Ilya could only imagine what he was about to say.

“After I broke up with Rose and I realized I was gay, I thought maybe I should branch out. Go hookup with someone and get what I needed.”

Ilya was definitely getting mad at this first part. He felt like ice had formed inside his stomach. Shane must have sensed the way Ilya's whole body tensed up, and his eyes flickered open.

“I said don't get mad. I'm not done yet. Just listen.” Shane pressed a hand to Ilya's cheek. Ilya sighed heavily.

“Anyway. I tried. More than once-”

“Okay, that's enough story time.” Ilya untangled their fingers, trying desperately to unsee any images in his mind of his Shane bent over for some other guy. He felt like he might have to scream into the pillow, or maybe fling himself from the roof.

“Ilya!” Shane urged. “Just let me finish.” He grabbed at Ilya's hand again. “I tried. But God, Ilya, I don't know what the fuck I was even thinking. I don't know how I thought I was going to be able to find anything even remotely fucking close.” He was squeezing Ilya's hand now. Ilya decided maybe he should keep listening.

“No one could ever fuck me like you do. Or touch me like you do. Or making me fucking crazy like you do. No one.” He moved closer, kissing the corner of Ilya's mouth.

Ilya laced his fingers in the back of Shane's hair. “Because you're mine.” He said, possessively, greedily.

“I'm yours.” Shane agreed, hooking his finger around Ilya's gold chain.

Ilya pressed their mouths together, feeling his body relax into Shane's as they kissed open mouthed and languidly, both still a bit sex drunk and very tired. But apparently still very much in need of each other. He would probably sleep with his tongue in Shane's mouth if it were possible. But he settled on wrapping Shane into his arms, holding him tight against his chest, and getting possibly the best sleep of his entire life.

Chapter End Notes

when you walk into the down bad competition but ilya rozanov is already there

(this was a shorter chapter but stay tuned because I get this feeling our king cliff marlow is about to start clocking some things 👀)

ty for reading~

Chapter 14

The echoing sound of voices, skates, and sticks carried over the ice and around the arena, filling Shane's ears with a pleasant familiarity. He couldn't imagine he would ever stop loving hockey, especially in this moment as he watched Ilya flying around the rink like a mad man. Shane was leaning on the boards, watching fondly as Ilya skated literal and figurative laps around their teammates.

‘Menace’ and ‘terror’ were words often used to describe Ilya Rozanov on the ice. He was insanely fast, and moved around like an apex predator. An apex predator in the shape of a mouthy, cocky Russian who was just as sharp witted as he was physically skilled. He was just as mouthy and cocky during practice, though he wasn't likely to throw the nastiest check you've ever seen to send one of his own teammates clean off their skates. That, Ilya would hopefully reserve for their game tomorrow.

But right now, Ilya was pink cheeked, mouth open and grinning, helmet in hand as he pushed dampened curls off his forehead. Shane couldn't peel his eyes off of him. It was like something had been relit in Ilya. It filled Shane's chest with a rush of warmth.

He realized, probably a beat too late, that he had been gawking at Ilya for a little too long. Marlow came skating over, taking place at Shane's side.

“So.” Marlow started, leaning in. “Can we just acknowledge that Roz totally got laid this weekend?”

“What?” Shane sputtered, too quickly. He felt the heat rush to his face.

“Yeah, man.” Marlow laughed. “I mean look at the man. He's on cloud fucking 9 right now.”

Yes. Well. Of course he got laid this weekend. He got laid 4 times over, actually. I would know. Shane's extremely unhelpful inner dialogue added, and he really hoped none of that showed on his face. He was too mortified to even turn to face Marlow, in case the guilty look in his eyes happened to be screaming ‘Marlow, I am hopelessly in love with your best friend and his dick.’

“Yeah, I guess you're right. Good for him.” Shane tried to sound as casual as possible.

“I'm kinda pissed he didn't fucking tell me about it. I need details because he looks like he got his world rocked.” Marlow laughed, and Shane wanted to crawl under the ice and die. “Roz! Hey! Get over here!” Marlow called.

Shane started to panic internally. Would it be too obvious if he vaulted himself over the boards and sprinted to the locker room?

“What do you two want?” Ilya said breathlessly as he leaned back against the boards, throwing an arm around each of them.

“Dude. You weren't gonna tell me you laid?” Marlow elbowed Ilya, who had a smug grin growing across his face.

“I fucking knew it!” Marlow started shaking Ilya by the shoulders. Ilya kept himself steady with an arm still draped around Shane. “You better tell me what kind of magic tricks this girl was doing because you look like you've seen God.”

Ilya threw his head back and laughed, tightening his grip on Shane. Once he composed himself enough to speak, he said “And how do you know I'm not the one doing the tricks, Marly?”

Shane felt like he was about to combust. Unhelpfully, Ilya lightly traced his fingertips down the back of Shane's neck.

Marlow laughed, slapping a hand against the boards. “Ok, Russia's greatest love machine. She had to have been doing something for you. I haven't seen you like this in…who even fucking knows.”

Ilya turned to Shane with a shit eating grin that let him know he was about to say something unhinged.

“I'll tell you this.” Ilya started, leaning a bit towards Marlow. “I like the ones who beg.”

Shane felt himself lurch forward off the boards, wrenching free from Ilya's arm. Ilya and Marlow both turned toward him.

“I- sorry…” Shane cleared his throat. A menace and a terror. That was for damn sure.

“Aw man, Hollzy, I forget you're like a fucking boy scout Canadian. This is too much for his pure ears.” Marlow teased.

“Mm. Yes. He is a good boy.” Ilya said, in a wildly inappropriate tone that made Shane feel like he may actually melt through the ice with embarrassment. The twitch between his legs was betraying him. Ilya Rozanov was trying to kill him, he was convinced.

Shane stood frozen for a moment, locked in a stare with Ilya who was looking at him like he wanted to go for a 5th round. Shane exhaled, then caught the quizzical look on Marlow's face from over Ilya's shoulder. He steeled himself, and put on his best captain face.

“Well, congrats on getting laid. If you play tomorrow like you are right now, please thank whoever it was for us.” Shane said, and he honestly wasn't sure how he was able to pull that one off.

He skated away with a smile, cheeks still burning.

The rest of practice thankfully continued without any further embarrassing incidents. In the last few minutes, Coach decided to let Ilya wing for Shane, which to Shane's surprise, Ilya happily obliged this time.

They were impossible to catch and impossible to defend. Shane only saw Ilya in short flashes, but their passes always landed clean and fast. They both moved around their teammates like they had some sort of secret choreographed dance that only they could understand. Shane took in the looks of disbelief as they ended practice in a play where Ilya set Shane up for a score where they both went virtually untouched.

As the team filed off the ice, Ilya caught Shane by the back of the jersey, wrapping an arm around his waist as he recanted the play with fervor. Shane couldn't stop the smile on his face, leaning into Ilya's side as he listened to the Russian's excited ranting.

Shane saw Marlow turn around, as if he were going to urge them to hurry up, but he ended up just smiling and shaking his head before trotting off to the locker room.

When Shane and Ilya finally made their way back in, Marlow was hovering near Shane's stall. “You two fucking beauties out there. There's no way we aren't winning the cup this year.”

“Oh, we are winning that fucking cup.” Ilya chimed in.

Shane smiled, happy to listen to both Marlow and Ilya jaw about hockey as he peeled his gear off.

As he usually did, Shane turned his back to Ilya as they undressed. But now he was facing Marlow, who stopped mid sentence when Shane pulled the last piece of clothing off his lower half and was only in his underwear.

“What?” Shane laughed a bit, but his eyes now caught where Marlow's had landed.

Oh god.

“Hollzy! You dog! You really let us sit there and call you a fucking innocent boy scout!” Marlow whooped.

Shane had failed to remember the matching deep purple and red marks plastered over the top of his hip bone and inner thigh. He was certain teeth marks were visibly etched into the bruises somewhere. Shane knew it was a terrible idea when it was happening, but he had also begged for it.

Shane put his hands over his face.

“Did you two conspire to go out and get the freakiest girls you could find? Without me?!” Marlow slapped his hands down on the bench.

“Oh my god.” Shane groaned into his hands, turning away from Marlow. Which ended up being an even worse idea, because Ilya was now standing directly in front of him, wearing that awful, sexy grin.

“Hollander, what happened? Did you get attacked by vampires?” Ilya mused.

“Fuck off, both of you, Jesus christ.” Shane was now trapped between the both of them. “Can you please move? You guys are fucking weird.”

But Ilya only crowded him more. “I gave details. Your turn to spill, Hollander.”

“I'm not telling either of you anything.” He was sure all the blood in his body was now in his cheeks.

“Is okay. I'll use my imagination.” Ilya winked, then turned away, pulling his shirt off over his head to reveal fresh red scratch marks raked across his shoulder blades.

Shane's eyes quickly cut to Marlow, who looked at Shane with raised eyebrows. Shane looked down to the floor, grabbing his towel in a quick motion. Marlow caught his arm before he could run off to shower.

“You know I'm just fucking with you, Hollzy. You don't have to tell me shit about your sex life. Let your freak flag fly.”

That made Shane laugh.

“Oh, but I do?” Ilya turned, revealing the hickey on his collarbone that Shane had completely forgotten he had left until now.

Fuck. They really had been reckless. But Shane had been so wild with want. With need. They both had. The saving grace had to be that Ilya was an internationally known ladies man. Shane mostly hated that. It made his gut twist with bitter jealousy. But right now, it was more like a blessing in disguise.

“Did you guys share the same girl or something? Shit. Can I get her number?” Marlow and Ilya were now both nearly wheezing with laughter.

Shane took the opportunity to run off to the showers before any other scratches, bite marks, or bruises decided to reveal themselves. He felt like Ilya may have bit him on the ass at some point.

Shane was really starting to hope that Cliff Marlow was as clueless as Hayden Pike.

The adrenaline rush from the game was still blazing through Shane's veins as the team huddled around the hotel bar, the room loud and vibrant with the excitement from their win.

It was a warm night in Tampa Bay, a welcomed reprieve from the December chill they had left behind in Boston. Ilya pressed a hand into Shane's hip from behind him, leaning over him in a completely unnecessary gesture to grab his drink from the bar top.

“Am I in your way, captain?” Shane mused quietly, trying to push Ilya's hand off of him. But Ilya only dug his fingers in, standing his ground.

“You? Never.” Ilya let his fingers brush up underneath the hem of Shane's shirt, lightly stroking bare skin on his hip bone.

Shane wanted to wrench free, to shoot Ilya a warning glance that screamed ‘we are in a public bar surrounded by all of our teammates, you idiot’, but he only managed to let out a shuddering breath at the touch before his attention was snared.

A group of gorgeous women huddled at the other end of the bar, their eyes all transfixed on Ilya as they giggled and whispered to each other.

“No that's literally him!” He heard one of them say. “Yes, he's the Russian one. Oh my god.”

Ilya was looking particularly good at the moment. His curls were pushed back from his face, his arms on full display in one of his signature tank tops, muscles still tight and worked up from the game.

Suddenly, Shane didn't mind at all that Ilya was gripping at his hip. In fact, he took a half step backward, pressing himself into Ilya's touch. He felt Ilya's fingers slide further under his shirt, rubbing small circles onto his skin. The room was crowded enough, and Shane was standing close enough to the bar top that Ilya's hand placement would likely be difficult to spot anyway.

“Those girls are all checking you out, Roz.” Marlow clapped a hand on Ilya's shoulder as he walked by.

“Okay.” Ilya said, his hand now massaging Shane's hip firmly under the cover of the bar top. Shane felt a smile creeping onto his lips.

“What? Not indulging tonight?” Marlow mused.

“Nope. All yours, Marly.”

Marlow barked out a laugh. “I don't think so. Not with Hollzy standing right here.”

Shane became faintly aware now that one of the women was approaching. She leaned on the bar top next to Shane, smiling brightly at him.

“You're Shane Hollander.” She said, reaching out to place a hand on his arm.

Ilya gripped at Shane's hip so tightly that he jumped a bit, causing her to pull her hand back in surprise.

“Uh- sorry.” Shane laughed, elbowing Ilya as he tried to push him off. “Yes, I am.”

Ilya pressed himself fully into Shane's back, his groin firmly pressed perfectly into Shane's ass as he leaned over him to set his empty glass down. “Sorry. Excuse me, Shane Hollander.” He said with a smirk. Shane felt his breath stutter a bit.

Ilya stepped to Shane's side, draping an arm around Shane's shoulders. Shane's eyes flitted down to Ilya's bare bicep where it rested against him. He noticed the girl's eyes went there, too.

Shane was realizing all at once that he and Ilya were both dripping with possessive jealousy that was bordering on dangerous.

They couldn't be on each other like they wanted to. Couldn't stake claim on the other and ward off unwanted eyes. He did not want anyone to know what they did behind closed doors, and yet, he also wanted to grab Ilya by the biceps and kiss him full on the mouth right here in this crowded bar.

“Sorry. I um. I was actually just leaving.” Shane said to the girl. “Need to get back up to my room. But it was nice to meet you.”

Shane leaned a bit into Ilya's side, hoping he got his meaning, before dropping cash onto the bar and making a quick exit.

The push and pull of everything he wanted, but knew he couldn't have, was overwhelming.

Visions of being able to do something as simple as hold Ilya's hand in public started to creep into the parts of his brain that he was constantly trying to keep switched off.

A haste knock on the door of his hotel room jolted him from that fantasy. Until he remembered who was knocking.

He pulled the door open, unable to stop the smile that spread on his face when Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane's neck and pulled him into a mind melting kiss.

Shane moaned softly into Ilya's mouth, clutching at the curls on the base of his neck.

Ilya pulled away, nipping at Shane's bottom lip. “I missed you.”

Shane laughed. “You were just with me 10 minutes ago.”

“Yes.” Ilya threw himself down on the bed, laying on his back as he stared up at Shane. “And for 10 minutes, I miss you.”

“You're ridiculous.” Shane smiled, crawling into the bed on top of him. “And you're going to get us caught if you keep touching me like that in public.”

“How can I not? You are sexiest, most beautiful man in the room. I want them all to know you're mine.” Ilya placed his hands on Shane's lower back.

“I am yours.” Shane sighed a bit. “But…”

“I know.” Ilya said, moving a hand to brush Shane's hair back. “I'm sorry.”

Shane could hear the disappointment laced in Ilya's voice. It stung worse than falling face first into the ice.

“I want this, Ilya. I do.” Shane put both hands on Ilya's face, searching his eyes. “I want to be with you. Like, actually with you. Not just like this, hiding in hotel rooms. I want to…I don't know. Figure out a way.”

He saw the slightest tremble in Ilya's mouth. “You do?”

“Of course I do.” Shane smiled softly, stroking Ilya's cheek. “So much.”

He never wanted Ilya to doubt again what Shane really wanted. And what Shane really wanted was him. Even if it was stupidly impossible. There was no denying it any longer.

“Shane…” Ilya's hands found Shane's face now, pressing their foreheads together. “Shane, I…”

Shane could hear Ilya's breath hitching.

“I love you.” Ilya breathed out, a broken sob caught in his throat.

Shane felt his mouth go slack. His whole body flooded with a feverish heat. How could this be real?

He realized now that Ilya was looking at him with fear, as Shane had been silent for too long. Shane pressed their foreheads together. “I love you too. Ilya, I love you so much.”

And suddenly their bodies were tangled, lips meeting between cries, tears and saliva swapping between their faces carelessly as they both clung to each other like they would fall from the face of the earth if they let go.

Shane felt special to know that he got this part of Ilya, and no one else. This part that came undone under his touch. He was dangerously sweet, and unrelenting in the way he cared for Shane. Maybe to the world he was a menace, but for Shane, he was like a north star. Bright and perfect and guiding him to exactly where he needed to be.

Shane woke with a start a few hours later, picking his head up from where it had been safely nestled in the crook of Ilya's neck. They were both still naked, legs tangled up in a mess of body heat and sweat. Ilya was sound asleep still, his mouth parted open as he breathed in a heavy rhythm. He was probably properly exhausted after playing a hard fought game, letting out a raw display of emotion and vulnerability, and then fucking Shane into oblivion right here on this mattress.

It had been quite the night for them, he realized.

Shane gently stroked Ilya's jaw line, then kissed along it softly. “Ilya.” He whispered gently.

Ilya took a deep breath, his arm tightening around Shane as his eyes fluttered open. “Da? What's wrong?” He mumbled, putting a hand on Shane's face.

Shane put a hand over top of Ilya's. “Nothing. I just…I have to go soon. To catch my flight…”

“I know. To Ottawa for Christmas.” Ilya's voice was even deeper than usual, hoarse with sleep.

“I feel bad.” Shane whispered. “Leaving you alone for Christmas.” The realization had plunged itself deep into Shane's gut. This is the man he loves. The only person he's ever loved. And he was going to leave him alone for Christmas while he sat warm and happy at home with his parents.

“Is okay, Shane.” Ilya started to pet the back of his head. “Russians do not celebrate Christmas like this.”

“I know. I just…I don't want you to be lonely.” Shane had thought about Ilya's mental state leading up to all this. That cold distance in his icy stare. The way Ilya had broken open completely, an absolute mess on his kitchen floor. Part of him was afraid to go away, like Ilya might break apart again somehow.

“You are sweet for me.” Ilya smiled sleepily. “I will not be alone. Marly invited me to his house.” He kissed Shane's nose. “Do not worry about me. You have been away from home for a while now. Go be with your parents.”

Shane nuzzled himself back into Ilya's neck. “Okay. I'll just…miss you.”

Ilya wrapped both arms around him tightly. “I will miss you more.”

Shane pressed open mouth kisses into the side of Ilya's neck and onto his throat, reveling in the low moaning sounds that reverberated from Ilya's chest. After a few moments, he propped himself up, kissing Ilya's forehead. “I have to go get ready.”

Ilya groaned heavily. “Torture.” He whined, pushing Shane off of him playfully.

Once they had both dressed, Shane allowed Ilya to back him against the hotel room door, his hands finding their way into his messy curls. “I'll call you. Don't get into too much trouble with Marly, okay?”

Ilya grinned. “No promises. He is set on getting me drunk with…what is drink?” He snapped his fingers.

“Egg nog?” Shane twisted his face in disgust.

“Ah. Yes. Egg nog. I will have egg nog and cookies until I throw up.” Ilya beamed.

Shane rolled his eyes. “Have fun with that.”

“Without you? No such thing.” Ilya pressed their lips together, lingering there for a few moments. “I love you.” He whispered, opening his eyes to meet Shane's.

Shane pressed his palm to Ilya's cheek. “I love you. Now get back to your room before someone sees you sneaking out of here. We're already in deep shit with all the hickeys.” He smiled, pushing at Ilya lightly.

“Ah. Yes. What did Marly say? Let your freak flag fly?” Ilya gave him one last kiss before disappearing into the hallway.

Shane felt his heart squeeze as he took in the lingering scent of Ilya's cologne. It would need to be enough to get him through the next few days. He truly did not understand now how he had gone so long denying himself of this man.

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

The smell of wood smoke and cinnamon curled around Ilya as he kicked his legs up onto the ottoman, sinking into the ridiculously comfortable couch as Cliff Marlow added another log in the fireplace.

There was an NFL game on the TV, a sport that Ilya hadn't understood at all when he first came to Boston. But Marlow loved explaining it to him at any chance he got. Ilya shoved another cookie into his mouth. “What just happened? What does this mean?” Ilya gestured at the screen, his mouth still full.

“The person with the ball got tackled in their own end zone. Called a ‘safety’. That means the other team gets 2 points.” Marlow plopped down next to him, his large frame making the couch groan beneath him.

“Ah. So many rules.” Ilya shook his head. “But these cookies are good as fuck. This is from bakery near the arena?” He needed to take note of this. Shane didn't eat sweets, but he could at least get him a birthday cake or something.

“Hell yeah, man. The best.” Marlow laid back against the cushions.

Ilya pulled his phone out, smiling at the sleepy selfie Shane had sent him earlier that morning from his childhood bedroom. He knew that it would be smart to delete it, but he couldn't bring himself to. The man was so flawless with his puppy dog brown eyes, peering out from dark lashes, flanked by constellations of warm freckles over his perfect cheekbones. Shane was so pretty it physically hurt to look at him sometimes, especially now with him being so far away. He smirked a bit as he typed out a text.

Lily: I have eaten 12 cookies. They are good. Not as good as you

Jane: 12??? Christ.

Lily: Well come back so I can eat you instead.

Jane: ?

Lily: 😏🍑

Jane: I should know better than to text you when I'm with my parents.

Lily: You asked 😘

Jane: Last time, you literally tried to eat it. I still have a bite mark bruised into my ass cheek, you weirdo.

Lily: I was hungry.

Jane: 🙄

“You over there texting whoever went wildcat all over your back?” Marlow nudged Ilya with his knee.

Ilya put his phone face down on the cushion. “Maybe.”

“You never gave me the details about that, by the way. Whatever happened to me being your wingman?” Marlow grabbed a cookie, eating it in one bite.

“You saw the details.” Ilya smirked.

“I guess I did.” He laughed. “But I meant the details on who.”

Ilya simply shrugged. He wasn't much in the mood to create some make-believe woman for Marlow to fantasize about. He wasn't in the mood to pretend that anyone other than Shane had been the one to blow his mind and leave his mark behind. It was dangerous to think about it too much right now, but he couldn't help it.

His mind wandered helplessly back to having Shane folded on his bedroom floor, screaming out Russian curses as Shane clawed into his shoulders and locked his legs behind Ilya to pull him as close as possible.

Ilya bit at the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress his smile.

“You know.” Marlow cleared his throat. “Whoever it is, Roz. It's fine with me. I hope you know that.”

Ilya turned to him, brows furrowed. “What?”

“I'm just saying.” Marlow put his hands up. “I'm not trying to get into your business or anything.”

Well. This was interesting.

“Okay.” Ilya said, shifting in his seat a bit. He was really hoping Marlow would take the hint and change the subject.

“Well. Anyway. You seem happier lately. And if you're happy, I'm happy.”

Ilya knew this sentiment had a deeper meaning. He also knew that he had been singularly miserable for an entire year, wallowing in heartbreak. But Marlow had been there through it all, never prodding or pitying. Just there to make Ilya laugh when he needed it most, or to drag Ilya out of the house for a night when he had been reclusive for too long. Marlow was a good friend and a good man.

“Russians do not like to play games like this, Marly. Tell me what you are thinking.” Ilya sighed, turning a bit to face him.

Marlow fidgeted with his hands a bit. “Look. Maybe I'm totally off base here. If I am, just stop me before I look like a total asshole.” He took a breath. “I feel like maybe you and Hollzy aren't being as slick as you think you are. Not to me, at least.”

Ilya furrowed his brows. “Slick? Me and Hollander? I do not understand.”

Marlow reconsidered his wording. “Dude. Ever since he came to Boston, you've been looking at him like you want to strangle him. Or you just straight up ignore him. Then one day you beat the ever loving shit out of a guy who checks him during a game. A few days after that, you both show up to practice covered in hickeys and throwing your arms around each other.”

Marlow looked at him with raised eyebrows. Ilya chose to stay silent, stone faced, wanting to see exactly where Marlow would go with these revelations.

“Then we get to Tampa, and you have a whole flock of hot girls waiting to throw themselves at you, but you were a little preoccupied. With your hand. Under Hollander's shirt.” Marlow urged.

Shit. Ilya crossed his arms, inhaling deeply as he closed his eyes. All he could think about was how much Shane was going to lose it if he knew someone saw them. Ilya hoped it was only Marlow.

“Look. I don't think any of the other guys noticed anything, okay? I really don't. But if there's something going on between you two…” Marlow trailed off. Ilya could tell he was waiting for a response.

“It seems you have already figured that part out on your own, Marly.” Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose.

Marlow leaned in a little closer. “So there is, then? Really?”

To Ilya's shock, Marlow sounded…excited? “I…Marlow. You cannot say anything to anyone, okay? Please.”

Marlow made a motion with his hand as if zipping his lips. “I would never, dude. Promise.”

Ilya scrubbed his hands over his face. He definitely needed to get wasted on that egg nog now.

“But I have to ask. All the girls…?”

“I am bisexual.” Ilya looked up at Marlow, wanting to catch his reaction.

Marlow nodded, considering. “Got it. Okay. That makes way more sense. I was about to be pissed as fuck if I was letting a gay guy always beat me to the hottest girls.”

Ilya laughed, pushing Marlow's shoulder. “You are an idiot, Marly.”

“But seriously, Roz. You can't do anything halfway, can you? You get all the hottest girls, and then you also bag Shane fucking Hollander? Hockey heartthrob? Dude is a stud.” Marlow beamed.

Ilya could feel himself blushing deeply. Because yes, it was true. Ilya was the luckiest man in the world. He had Shane fucking Hollander. “Would you expect any less from me?” Ilya grinned.

“Not at all.” Marlow smiled, getting up to move to the kitchen. He pulled out a carton of egg nog, pouring them each a glass. “Though I'm a little offended you never tried to make a move on me.”

Ilya twisted his face up. “Not my type.”

“Ah. Pretty boys.” Marlow conceded, handing Ilya a glass.

Ilya couldn't help but smile. He had snagged the prettiest of them all, thank you very much.

“So. How long have you guys been a thing? Are you a thing?”

“Yes. I think so. Probably.” Ilya couldn't wipe the smile from his face. He went on to explain the nuances of their relationship. The way Shane had a grip on him since the first time they met all those years ago as stupid teenagers. How it all progressed in such an intense and confusing way that Ilya hadn't been able to understand he was in love. But now, he more than understood. It was actually maybe the only thing in the world that was completely clear to him. There was no Ilya without Shane.

By the end of it, Ilya and Marlow were both giddy with laughter, sipping at the dregs of their egg nog.

“Ilya Rozanov. A taken man. I never thought I'd see the day.” Marlow laughed, Ilya following him to the kitchen to refill their glasses.

“I suppose I did not either.” Ilya leaned back on the counter. “Thank you, Marly. For not…making a big deal.”

Marlow shrugged a bit. “I mean. Don't get me wrong. It's a big deal. You're in love.”

Ilya turned his head a bit to hide his embarrassing blushing.

“But I know what you mean. And honestly, if anyone ever gives you a hard time about it, fuck ‘em. You deserve to be happy. And he clearly makes you happy.” Marlow grinned, handing Ilya his newly filled glass.

“He does.” Ilya nodded. “Very happy.”

“Now you know just because it's Hollzy doesn't mean you're immune to giving me the details, right? Because I did NOT realize he would be such a freak. The scratches?” Marlow let out a low whistle.

Ilya shrugged. “You know I have plenty of experience. But he is best I've ever had. No contest.”

“Damn!” Marlow slapped his hands on the counter. “I swear, it's always the quiet ones.” Marlow thought for a beat. “So are you…you know…the top?” He said the last part like he wasn't sure if it was the correct terminology.

This made Ilya almost spit out his egg nog as he laughed. He choked down the sip, covering his mouth. “Christ, Marly. Are you really trying to get full mental picture?”

“Kinda!” Marlow shouted, shamelessly. Ilya couldn't be surprised. This was his closest friend, after all. They were both pretty unabashed.

“I have already told you enough. Hollander would kill me if I gave such details.” Ilya downed the rest of his drink, waving Marlow off with his hand. “And no. This shit will not get me drunk enough to tell you anything more.”

Ilya was starting to feel a nervous pang in his gut, hoping that Shane would not kill him for this. But Marlow had figured them out. He didn't want to lie. And he knew he could trust Marlow, without a doubt. It felt like they had someone who was on their side, which came with its own form of relief.

Ilya excused himself to the bathroom, pulling out his phone. He would wait to be in person to tell Shane about this, but he still needed to check in. Being without Shane left him feeling like he was itching out of his skin.

The egg nog did admittedly having him feeling a little buzzed, so he posed for a mirror selfie, partially lifting up the bottom corner of his shirt to reveal the deep cut of his pelvic muscle where it lead into the waist band of his joggers.

He typed out a message, smirking to himself as he sent it off to Shane.

Shane was getting himself comfortable on the couch, sprawled out and full from his mom's cooking, when he felt his phone buzz. He felt like it had created some sort of pavlovian response at this point, because he immediately felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He opened the message, immediately inhaling a sharp breath through his nose as he took in the image.

Lily: Why Santa did not put Shane Hollander under my tree. I miss your mouth

Fuck. Shane quickly grabbed for a blanket to throw over his lap as he felt the tightness grow in his pants. This man was going to be the death of him.

Jane: You're the worst.

Lily: Yet you love me.

Shane could feel himself smiling at his phone like an idiot.

Jane: Fuck you. I do.
Jane: And my mouth misses you too.

He quickly shoved his phone under the pillow. He would have to wait for some privacy before he was going to read whatever Ilya produced next. He shook his head at the thought, still smiling.

“You seem awfully happy over there.” His mom was saying, settling down on the other side of the couch. “Someone making your day?”

Shane felt himself blushing deeply.

He had come out to his parents over the summer. The lead up to the conversation was complete agony. Rose had very kindly offered to join him for support, which made it a bit less horrible. But he had still been so anxious that he threw up twice that morning, and he shook like a leaf as they walked the path to the front door.

But once the words were out, his parents had engulfed him in their love and support. He had cried in his mom's arms when she told him that she was so proud of the man he had become.

But there was still some part of him that felt like he had been hiding. The part where he was in love with Ilya Rozanov. The part where Ilya, in truth, was the reason Shane even recognized his own sexuality. The part where Ilya had never left his mind.

And now, sitting here, he ached knowing that he was still hiding from them. He was in love. Deeply. The forever kind of love. Could he really deny that part of himself from his own parents, who had always been his biggest supporters?

He swallowed thickly, shifting a bit in his seat. “I. Uh. Yeah…maybe.” His voice felt so small and shy.

“Really?” Yuna brightened.

Shane went to shrug, but instead took a deep breath, trying to muster up more courage than he felt he even had.

“Really.” He looked down at his hands. “It's um. It's pretty serious, I think.” He looked up to meet his mom's expression, his dad now joining her at her side.

“Oh, sweetie.” She reached across the couch to grab at his hand. “I'm so happy. You didn't tell us you were even seeing anyone.”

Shane cleared his throat, picking at the skin around his cuticles. “It's a little…complicated.” He admitted.

Yuna furrowed her brows. “Complicated?”

“You know. Neither of us are exactly…out. Not to the world.”

“Oh.” She tutted sympathetically, rubbing his arm with her thumb. “But you'll still introduce him to us, won't you?”

Shane let out a bit of a nervous laugh. “I would like to. You um. You would recognize him.”

“What do you mean? Have we met him before?” David chimed in, leaning forward with his elbows on his legs.

“He's another player. In the league.” Shane allowed. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He felt his stomach churning. But he didn't want to lie anymore, not to the people that meant the most to him. He saw what that had done to himself and to Ilya.

His parents exchanged a look.

“On my team, actually.” Fuck. He really was going to do this. He heard his phone buzz under the pillow, and took it as some sort of divine message. Now or never. “Ilya Rozanov.”

David sat back quickly, and Yuna audibly gasped, clutching a hand to her chest.

“Shane. You're not…you can't be serious?” She let out a small, incredulous laugh.

“I'm serious, mom.” Shane ran a hand through his hair. He could feel his heart hammering at his ribs. He wished Ilya was here right now to calm him. He was really regretting not straight up asking him to come. But he hadn't felt ready for that yet. He didn't want to ambush his parents without understanding how they felt about it first.

“Shane. What?” Yuna's face was a perfect picture of complete disbelief. “He's an asshole!”

“He's not.” Shane bristled.

Yuna scoffed out another laugh.

“No. He's actually fucking not.” Shane said, more angrily than he had intended. But all he could see in his mind was Ilya's tear filled eyes, full of hurt and fear that he wasn't a good person. Shane couldn't bring himself to let anyone in his life believe that to be true.

Yuna sat back a bit in surprise by Shane's angered reaction.

“I mean sure. He acts like one. Because it's part of how he plays. He likes to get in people's heads. But that's just hockey, mom. You don't even know him.” Shane crossed his arms. “Did you know that he talked me down from a panic attack before our game in Montreal? Or that he beat the shit out of Baird because he called me a slur on the ice?”

Yuna's face softened into something less angry.

“He doesn't show it to just anyone. But he's actually very caring. He cares about me. He loves me. And I love him.” Shane swallowed, clenching his jaw.

Shane spent the next hour or so uncoiling the complicated history of his relationship with Ilya Rozanov. He tried his hardest to tiptoe around the truth that in the beginning, their relationship had been based solely on sex. A rather embarrassing topic to broach with his parents. He wasn't really sure how to say that he had been so hypnotized by this gorgeous Russian man with an insane body that he practically invited him straight from the shower into his hotel room, and things just sort of spiraled from there.

But he was able to articulate that Ilya was the only person who could get him out of his head. He was the only person whose touch made Shane melt, rather than flinch away. That Ilya loved the things about Shane that he hated about himself.

By the end of the conversation, Shane was exhausted. But both of his parents had expressed they would support Shane as long as he was happy. That they would like to meet Ilya when they visited next. And Shane hoped that Ilya would like that, too.

For now, he just wanted to hear Ilya's voice and breathe for a moment.

Shane shut himself in his childhood bedroom, climbing into the bed. He pulled his phone out and pressed the FaceTime button on Lily's contact.

Ilya answered almost immediately, and Shane was surprised to see him lounging shirtless in a hot tub. “Hi.” Ilya smiled.

“Hi. Where are you?” Shane leaned back against the headboard.

“Still at Marly's. He is passed out on the couch. You are beautiful.” Ilya didn't stop smiling, staring into the phone fondly. “So handsome.”

Shane twisted his mouth to try to stop his own smile, but it was inevitable. “Enjoying that egg nog?”

“Was good. Not as good as cookies.” He straightened out his necklace, and Shane wished more than anything he was there laying on Ilya's chest.

“I miss you.” Shane said softly.

“Mm. I miss you. You will be back day after tomorrow, yes?”

“Da.” Shane answered, grinning uncontrollably at the way Ilya's face changed from shock, to pride, to turned on within seconds.

“Hollander, you will kill me.” Ilya groaned. “Come back to me.”

“As soon as I can.” Shane promised.

“Good. I need my boyfriend.”

Shane froze for a second. He supposed he never really considered what they actually were. “Your boyfriend?”

“Da. Of course. You are mine, remember?” Ilya bit at his bottom lip with an irresistible smile.

“I remember.” Shane smiled back, feeling the warmth in his cheeks.

The way Ilya's whole face softened made his heart jump. Sitting here in his childhood bedroom, he wondered if young Shane could ever have fathomed that he would be here. One of the most famous hockey players in the league, on the phone with his boyfriend, one of the other most famous hockey players in the league.

Young Shane, who was always so wound up and so afraid to be perceived as anything other than a hockey player. If only he knew then that there was a boy on the other side of the world, waiting to sweep him off his feet.

Chapter End Notes

(~Marlow is a Hollanov shipper pass it on)

thank u all so much for reading so far!

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

The moment Shane pushed the door open to his apartment, he was met with the sight of his boyfriend perched on the arm of the sofa, a smug smile growing into an uncontrollable grin.

Shane felt his heart tumble, dropping his bag to the floor and shoving his coat off his shoulders, letting it pool on the floor as Ilya strode across the room to meet him. Shane leapt into him, feeling Ilya's strong hands haul him up from under his thighs as he hooked his legs around Ilya's waist and wrapped his arms around his neck.

Shane loved the way that Ilya could hold him like this, as impossible as it seemed with him being a muscular athlete and much the same height as the other man. But Ilya was strong and stubborn and possessive, and he very clearly loved to take control. Almost as much as Shane loved being manhandled.

Ilya pressed Shane's back into the wall, their mouths covering each other in a kiss that would be best described as devouring. Shane grasped his hair into Ilya's hair, melting back as Ilya moved to cover Shane's neck in hot, open-mouthed kisses.

“Jesus.” Shane panted, half laughing and half moaning at the urgency. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Ilya smiled, gently biting at Shane's jaw before setting him back on the floor.

The look in Ilya's eyes made heat bloom low in Shane's stomach. He knew the conversation about his parents would need to wait. Shane allowed Ilya to lead him to the bedroom, clinging close behind him with a smile the whole way.

The way Ilya was able to completely unravel him never ceased to blow Shane away. Sometimes he wondered if he should feel embarrassed the way Ilya reduced him to a whimpering, begging mess every time. But in truth, he loved it. Shane was a control freak. Rigid and structured to a fault. But this man had been able to undo him with ease from the first time they ever touched.

It had been much the same today, after a few days of being untouched, both of their releases came in short succession with an intensity that Shane couldn't imagine was possible with anyone other than Ilya.

He couldn't help but feel gooey now, watching his boyfriend rummage through the fridge, looking like a vision with water droplets running from his shower wet curls down the length of his spine to meet the soft waist band of his joggers.

He turned to hand Shane a ginger ale, grinning like a kid when his other hand produced a coke. “For me?”

“Maybe.”

“Ah. Tell your other boyfriend to get a different favorite drink, hm?” Ilya pinched Shane's arm.

Shane brushed their noses together before kissing him softly. When they were both settled on the couch, Shane pressed himself into Ilya's side, savoring the warmth and solidity of his body. The TV hummed softly in the background with the sound of a hockey game.

They sat quietly for a while, Ilya's arm around Shane's waist, his fingers under the hem of Shane's shirt to gently stroke the bare skin of his hip.

Shane couldn't help but let his mind wander back to the night that they had both unburdened themselves of all their feelings here in this room. It was hard to think now about how miserable Ilya had been before that. Like a ghost haunting the locker room, that dark and empty look in his eyes.

“How have you been feeling?” Shane asked quietly. He realized he maybe should have asked this much sooner. Because Ilya had very clearly not been okay for the entire time that Shane was in Boston, and according to Marlow, long before that. Though he seemed happy now, it was sobering to think about how he had been acting not so long ago.

“Much better with you here.” Ilya smiled.

Shane pressed a small kiss to his cheek. “I know. But I mean…in general. I guess.” He swallowed, trying to find the words to convey what he was really asking. “I just…I want to make sure you're okay.”

He felt Ilya stiffen a bit against him, his hand curling up where it met Shane's skin. “Mm.” He hummed, his eyes going distant.

Shane clenched his jaw, turning a bit to look at Ilya, eyes searching. When Ilya's eyes met his, he saw them soften almost immediately as Ilya brought a hand up to gently brush his knuckles against Shane's cheek.

“I know I was…in a bad way.” Ilya's lips twitched slightly in discomfort. “This past year was not so easy.”

Shane rested a hand on Ilya's knee, squeezing it lightly.

“I was stuck, I think. Scared.” His hand unfurled and curved back around Shane's hip. “I lost you. And myself. I think I realized there is no me without you.”

Shane felt a lump in his throat, pressing his face into Ilya's chest, breathing him in deeply. Ilya's other hand came to cradle the back of Shane's head. “But you are here now, yes?” Ilya asked softly.

“Yes. And I'm never leaving.” He said, his voice muffled into Ilya's skin.

“Mm. I would not let you, anyway.” He petted Shane's hair, slow and grounding strokes that made Shane relax into him. “You are stuck with me.”

“Wow. I'm stuck with a hot Russian pro hockey player boyfriend. Someone save me.” Shane said sarcastically.

Ilya gave an exaggerated gasp. “Hollander. You have never called me hot.”

“Fuck off. Your ego is already big enough.”

“But I tell you all the time how beautiful you are.” Ilya was pouting, Shane could hear in his voice. It was true, though.

Shane looked up. “Fine.”

He met Ilya's eyes, and God, the man unfortunately had every right to his damn ego.

“You are the hottest guy I've ever seen. It's so bad that you basically ruined anyone else for me. You were literally my gay awakening, Ilya.” He blushed a bit at himself, but these were all facts. “Is that what you needed to hear?”

Ilya tossed his head back with a satisfied groan. Shane pinched his side. “You're annoying.”

“Ah, yes. But I love you so much.”

Shane let out a contented sigh. “I love you.” He rested his head back against Ilya's chest. He really, really did love this man.

Ilya went back to stroking Shane's hair.

“So. How are your parents?”

The mention made Shane twitch a bit. He still hadn't exactly mapped out how he was going to explain to Ilya that he had outed their relationship to his parents.

“They're um. They're good.” He felt himself tensing up.

Ilya tapped him on the head. “What's wrong?”

Nothing got past Ilya Rozanov. He let out a breath. “I…I didn't want to lie to them.”

“Lie to them?” Ilya's hand stilled into a protective cradle on the back of Shane's head.

“About us?” Shane didn't mean for it to come out so unsure, as if he were asking a question.

“Ah. You told them?” Ilya's tone was even and calm.

“Yes.”

“You said my name?”

“Yes.” Shane swallowed.

“And they did not order a hit on me? Or is that what you are trying to tell me?” Ilya squeezed Shane's hip a bit.

Shane let out a small laugh, partially relieved. “You aren't upset, are you?”

“Of course I'm not upset.” Ilya leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “They are your parents. You should be honest with them. I am only worried what they think. Probably I am not what they would like for their son.”

Shane sat up straight, putting his hands on either side of Ilya's face. “They don't know you. But I made sure I told them that you're perfect for me. Okay?”

Ilya swallowed, those sad and complicated eyes tracking between Shane's.

“You are. And they want to meet you. They want to get the chance to know the Ilya that I know.” He brushed his thumbs over Ilya's cheeks.

“They do?”

His voice sounded so small and innocent, it broke Shane's heart clean in two. He peppered small kisses all over Ilya's face. “Yes. They do.”

And Shane would make sure of it. Though, he was well aware that once they could simply observe Ilya outside of a hockey game, they would be able to piece it together easily for themselves. 

Ilya allowed a small smile, pressing their foreheads together. “Okay.”

Shane crawled into his lap, pressing his face into the crook of Ilya's neck. “I was scared you would be mad.”

Ilya's hands went up the back of Shane's shirt, running his hands up and down slowly. “I could not be mad at you.”

Shane hummed, content.

“But this means you cannot be mad at me.”

Shane's brows furrowed. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Well. Maybe I sort of told someone about us, too.” Ilya's hands didn't stop roaming Shane's back, but Shane felt panic rising up in his throat.

“What?”

“Please don't panic. But Marly kind of figured us out. And when he asked me, I did not lie to him.”

Shane felt his whole body turn into a clenched fist. Marlow was not an idiot, then. But God, they had been idiots. "Fuck. What did he say?"

Ilya shrugged a bit. "He noticed that I stopped acting like...what is term. Petulant child. Like I could not stand to be around you. And maybe he also noticed where my hand was at the bar in Tampa Bay." 

Shane groaned. He really should have shoved Ilya off of him. But again, the feeling of Ilya's possessiveness did things to his head. He wanted Ilya to claim him. But he was scared of what the consequences to that would be.

“He will not tell anyone, Shane, okay? He is one of my only friends. I trust him. And he is happy for us.”

Shane could only give a curt nod, trying to not spiral at the idea that one of their teammates knew.

“Please don't hate me. I do not have a family to tell about you. Marly is like my family.”

Shane felt his heart break for a second time. Because no, Ilya did not have parents to confide in and share this part of his life with. Shane could not imagine his life without his parents support. He could not imagine how scary and lonely it would be. He didn't understand how Ilya always seemed so strong. 

Shane lifted his head to press their foreheads together again. “I don't hate you. You're right. You shouldn't lie to the people you care about. I didn't want to, either.”

Ilya closed his eyes. “Thank you. For understanding.”

Shane kissed his nose. “But I am kinda mortified that Marlow knows for sure that me and you…and all the marks…oh my god.” He put his hands over his face.

“Shane Hollander the freak.” Ilya mused.

“Fuck you.” Shane groaned, hiding away back into Ilya's neck.

“But only for me, yes?” Ilya's voice dropped a bit, his hands moving to grip firmly at Shane's hips. Both things made him shiver. That damn possessiveness always flooded him with heat.

“Only for you.” Shane brought his fingers up to grasp at the curls at the nape of Ilya's neck.

Ilya hummed in response, his body relaxing beneath Shane's. Shane let the distant sound of the TV mixed with Ilya's breathing lull him into that hazy twilight on the edge of sleep, his cheek warm where it pressed against Ilya's bare chest. Before he could pass out completely, Ilya's voice came quietly, the low sound making a soft rumble.

“I am having New Year's Eve party at my house, for the team. And you will be there to kiss me at midnight.” Ilya said, not as a question. “Unless you want me to have to kiss Marly again.”

“Again?” Shane choked out, still feeling half asleep.

Ilya shrugged. “I am hot commodity. Whole team will fight over who gets to kiss the captain. Is good luck.”

And somehow, Shane knew that Ilya wasn't joking. “Boston is weird.”

“So you will come?”

Shane's unhelpful brain produced images of their teammates' tongues in Ilya's mouth. He shuddered. Best not take any chances. “I'll be there.”

The biting cold wind of a Boston winter nipped at Ilya's skin as he dumped another box of beers into the open cooler on his deck. He had hosted dozens of parties here. But the prospect of Shane being in attendance was making his skin prickle with excitement.

He had never been to a party with Shane before. Shane had already begged him multiple times to behave tonight, but Ilya wasn't sure how possible that was going to be with music and alcohol and his general obsession with his boyfriend.

Besides, no one at these team parties ever behaved. He wouldn't tell Shane that, though.

Ilya pulled the large sliding glass door shut behind him as he entered the house, and was met with warm hands running up and down the length of his arms.

“I know you're Russian, but that doesn't mean you don't need a jacket.” Shane pressed his body heat into him, and Ilya felt his body instinctively press back.

“Was outside for 2 minutes. And I have you to warm me up.” Ilya put his hands on either side of Shane's face.

Shane drew back. “Fuck, you're cold.” He laughed. Shane laughing was one of the most beautiful things Ilya had ever seen.

“I know. I said you have to warm me up.” Ilya pushed his hands up inside of Shane's shirt, laughing evilly when Shane yelped from the sensation, trying to wrench free from his grip.

“Ilya!” Shane yelled through laughs, pressing down on his forearms to try to pry his hands away.

“Shane.” Ilya pressed him against the wall, pinning him there. “Mm. You see? Warmer already.”

And to his delight, Shane went pliant to his touch, relaxing back into the wall and letting Ilya's hands trace maps around the hard lines of muscular abs and chest.

“Your skin is so smooth.” Ilya purred into Shane's ear, and he felt Shane's head loll to the side, opening his neck up to him. A smirk spread across Ilya's lips. “You want something?” He teased, lips ghosting over the skin just below Shane's ear.

Shane only bared his neck further, nodding, his breathing growing heavier.

“And what is that?” Ilya breathed against his neck. That coaxed a quiet whine from Shane, who was far too easy to tease. The sound made heat creep up under Ilya's collar. “Hmm?” He nudged his nose against the underside of Shane's jaw.

“ Fucking kiss me. Kiss my neck. Fuck, Ilya.” Shane exhaled, impatient.

Ilya pressed his tongue flat to the side of Shane's neck, before pressing a series of slow, filthy kisses around to his throat. “Like this?”

Shane grasped at Ilya's hair, shuddering. “Yes. Fuck.”

Ilya hummed against his neck, pressing a few more kisses there as he pushed their hips together. “Didn't you tell me I needed to behave today?”

“No one's here yet.” Shane retorted, his voice a bit slurred. “Don't stop.” He added, quietly.

Ilya was happy to oblige. He loved how Shane always melted under him. How he always immediately gave Ilya better access to his neck. He just loved Shane.

As he continued to mouth at Shane's neck, the sound of the front door opening startled them both stiff.

Marlow came barreling in, holding several large bakery boxes in his arms. He stopped when he saw them, Ilya looking over his shoulder, Shane still pinned closely between him and the wall.

“Hey, lovebirds. Desserts are here.” He said casually, walking into the kitchen.

Ilya turned back to Shane, who looked equal parts shocked and horrified.

“Is fine, Shane. Really.” Ilya said softly, taking a step back, grabbing both of Shane's hands. “Relax.”

Shane took a deep breath, nodding. They walked together into the kitchen, where Marlow beamed at them. “Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your alone time before the party.”

“Is fine. Thank you for bringing these.” Ilya immediately opened a box and grabbed a cookie.

Shane rolled his eyes. “You're like a child.”

Ilya shrugged. “Don't get jealous. I already told you, you taste better.” Ilya winked at Shane, who immediately turned pink.

Marlow barked out a laugh. “Is that why your spit is all over his damn neck?”

Ilya grinned widely as Shane's blush now deepened in color, his sleeves immediately moving to wipe at his neck.

“I don't know why you're blushing, Hollzy. I should be the one embarrassed. I never realized how sad and vanilla my sex life was. Shit.” Marlow jabbed playfully. “Seems like you two got it figured out.”

And in some ways, they really did. The sex, of course, was rarely anything short of mind blowing. Sometimes it felt more like some kind of religious experience, so intense that Ilya's vision would white out at the edges and the rest of the world would fall away.

But they also could spend hours just talking. They understood things about each other's lives that no one else could. There weren't many other people in the world who were hockey prodigies thrust into the spotlight at a young age with their whole country on their backs. It felt like they spoke a language that no one else understood. They also had that undeniably magnetic chemistry, both on and off the ice. Drawn to each other by an invisible force, fitting together effortlessly.

If fate was real, the universe certainly had tied a string between Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.

Looking at him now, Ilya just wanted to gather Shane in his arms and brag about him to the whole world. The rest of the team would be showing up soon, and most of them would be bringing along their WAGs. They would spend the night with arms slung low around waists, wrapped around necks, stealing kisses and caresses. It made Ilya wonder why he and Shane couldn't have that, too. So what if the world wasn't ready to see it? So what if they didn't like it? As far as Ilya was concerned, everyone else's comfort wasn't his problem.

But he knew it wasn't quite that simple. They were both living in a pressure cooker, with thousands and thousands of eyes scrutinizing every part of their lives that could be made public.

For now, he was just grateful to have Shane at all. The world could wait to know, as long as Shane could be his.

Ilya smiled now, watching amused as Marlow tried his hardest to convince Shane to try every single flavor of cookie. He would certainly need to find a way to get his boyfriend to unwind at some point tonight.

Chapter End Notes

Who's ready for a Rozanov Rager raise ur hand

(thank you all for the love you are all invited to the party)

Chapter 17

Chapter Notes

As the sun took its leave, their teammates began to file into Ilya's house, bodies packing the living room and kitchen and spilling out onto the deck.

Shane was eased back against the large kitchen island, listening to Marlow and St.Simon argue over a power play from their last game while shoving their faces with buffalo wings. Just as he was about to interject, the sound of voices speaking Russian caught his attention.

One was Ilya, of course. But the other was clearly female. Shane ducked his head around the wall, and his eyes landed on Ilya smiling at an absolutely stunning woman wearing a sleek black mini dress.

As Russian rolled perfectly off her tongue, Shane knew it could only be one person. Svetlana. The name had burned itself deep into the most jealous part of Shane's brain from the first moment Ilya ever spoke it. The woman that Ilya ever so casually mentioned as his good friend and regular hook up.

She was beautiful. Elegant and statuesque. Her soft looking hands were placed on Ilya's arms as they spoke. And this was fine. It was totally fine. Shane was going to be completely normal about this.

Only he absolutely could not be normal about this, because he was screaming internally. Shane knew that Ilya was bisexual, of course. But looking at this woman now, he struggled to understand Ilya's brain. Where Shane was all solid thighs and strong biceps, she was sleek with long, delicate limbs. Shane was a hockey player, bulky with calloused hands. And she was like a cat, graceful and smooth.

They could not be more opposite, Shane felt. And this raised alarm bells to all his insecurities. What if one day, Ilya decided he would rather have a sleek, delicate woman instead of Shane? He felt a small fire start to burn in his chest, forcing himself to look away.

As he turned back toward the kitchen, Shane felt a hand grip at the side of his thigh. He jumped a bit, turning to see Ilya smiling softly at him, hand lingering on his leg for a beat. Maybe he did enjoy Shane's solid thighs after all.

“Shane, this is my good friend, Svetlana.”

Shane swallowed. Svetlana held out her hand. Shane shook it, and damn, her hand was even softer than he imagined.

“Shane Hollander. It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm a big fan. Don't tell Ilya.” She smiled.

Her accent was much more subtle than Ilya's. He could tell her English was fluent. Though he did take note of the way she pronounced Ilya's name.

“Wow. Thank you. I um. It's nice to meet you.”

“And you are even more handsome in person.” One of her hands came to press against Shane's cheek, and he felt himself blushing.

Ilya shot Svetlana a killer glare. She simply rolled her eyes and waved her hand at him to shoo him away. “So dramatic, that one.”

They spent the next 10 minutes or so talking about hockey. She was insanely easy to talk to. Effortlessly funny and charming. And she truly did know everything about hockey. He wanted to be her friend, but he also wanted to send her far, far away. She was much too perfect for him to not feel insanely threatened and insecure.

Eventually, Svetlana leaned in close. “He is crazy about you.” She said, her eyes cutting to where Ilya was standing across the room, his eyes glued to Shane. Shane stiffened a bit. Did she know about them? Had Ilya told her?

“I have known Ilya for basically our whole lives. He has never been in love before you. Please don't hurt him, because then I will have to kill you. And I enjoy your hockey far too much to want to do that.” She pressed a kiss to Shane's cheek and strode off, leaving him feeling temporarily stunned.

He was pulled out of his stupor when music suddenly started thumping over Ilya's speaker system. He remembered Ilya saying something earlier in the day about how he had curated the ‘perfect trap rap playlist’. Whatever that meant.

Across the room, Ilya seemed elated, him and Connors in each other's faces as they sang…rapped? Yelled? Along to the music. Shane rolled his eyes with a smile, going back to the kitchen where Marlow was lining up shot glasses.

“Hollzy! You in?” He wrapped a strong arm around Shane's shoulders.

“Oh. No. I uh. I don't really drink. Not during the season.”

“He is boring.” Ilya nudged Marlow's arm off of Shane to replace it with his own. “But I can be very persuasive. You will be doing a shot with your captain tonight, Hollander.”

Shane shook his head with a smile, watching as a large group of his teammates all got in a line to grab a shot from the counter, throwing them back in tandem. Some of the guys chased it with a beer. Shane could tell a few of them were already properly drunk.

Over the next hour, Shane made his rounds, being sure to mingle with each of his teammates. Many of them had beautiful wives and girlfriends. It made him miss Ilya. He scanned the rooms until his eyes eventually landed on Ilya outside on the deck.

Shane slipped out of the sliding door, arms hugging around himself.

Ilya and a handful of the guys were gathered around, talking and laughing loudly. When Ilya turned to face Shane, he had a blunt hanging out of his parted lips. “Ah. Hollander.” Ilya said easily, long fingers pinching around the blunt as he took a deep inhale. He wrapped an arm around Shane's waist, letting the smoke pour from his lips.

Shane hated the way he found this to be incredibly hot. Ilya had the perfect bad boy image. But Shane knew he was secretly soft. Especially for Shane. That made it all even hotter.

“I would pass to you, Hollander, but I know you would probably call Coach on yourself.”

Shane elbowed him. “Fuck off, Rozanov.”

Ilya gave him that wolfish grin. “Come. Let's go do that shot.”

“Roz-”

“Come.” Ilya tightened his grip around Shane's waist, dragging him back along inside.

Many more people were huddled around the kitchen now, the music pumping loud and the counter littered with shot glasses.

St.Simon had his girlfriend sat up on the kitchen island, standing between her legs as he murmured in her ear. Marlow and Svetlana were breathless with laughter, both clutching nearly empty glasses, yelling to hear each other over the music.

At the kitchen table, a group of guys were in a heated match of flip cup. Ilya had waved a dismissive hand at that. ‘Stupid frat boy game’ he'd tutted.

It was all a bit overwhelming, if Shane was being honest. But it made for great people watching.

Ilya started to fill up a line of shot glasses with his expensive vodka. Marlow, who was flushed and clearly drunk, came over to join him.

Shane watched as Ilya leaned down over the counter to put his mouth directly over a shot glass, picking it up in his mouth and tossing it back with no hands. Marlow whooped, throwing one back himself before reaching down and giving Ilya a firm smack on the ass.

“This man seriously has the fattest ass. It should be illegal.”

Shane didn't even bother to fight back his laugh. It was true, Ilya had a very impressive ass. Maybe he did need to take a shot or two to make it believable that he was buzzed enough to slap it himself without anyone looking twice. Ilya would love that.

Ilya pushed Marlow back. “Ah. This, you must pay for, Marly. You know better.”

“Dude. I'm like, half a shot away from making it rain.” Marlow produced his wallet, which made Ilya throw his head back with a laugh.

“What is saying you taught me, Marly…don't threaten me with a good time.” Ilya beamed. Shane was not sure he liked where this was going. Before he could think better of it, Shane grabbed a full shot glass from the counter and threw it back. He tried not to choke on how horribly it burned.

“Fuck.” He gritted out, laughing a bit.

Ilya threw both arms around him from behind. “Hollander, that was so hot!”

Shane felt the flush from the alcohol mix with the flush from Ilya's words. But no one seemed to bat an eye. Everyone was tipsy at the very least. He shrugged Ilya off with a laugh, turning to see his blown wide pupils, eyes a bit bloodshot and glassy.

“Feeling good?” Shane laughed a bit. He himself had started to feel the warm rush washing over him, his skin feeling a bit tingly.

Ilya smacked a wet kiss to his cheek. “Hollander. You like to dance?”

Shane shook his head emphatically, holding his hands up to keep Ilya at a distance.

“Do not.” Shane warned.

“Hm. As you wish.” Ilya said. And his tone let Shane know that he was definitely up to something.

“Rozanov.” Shane gritted through his teeth.

But it was clearly too late. Ilya was dragging St.Simon down to the floor with him, where they both got to their hands and knees and started doing a very exaggerated version of their on ice stretches, knees swiping in circles as they essentially battled over who was better at humping the floor.

A crowd began gathering around, screaming and whooping over the sound of the music. Shane shook his head, but couldn't help feeling the heat that crept up his neck as he watched the flexibility in Ilya's hips.

Suddenly, Ilya was wrestling St.Simon, flipping him over onto his back and pinning him down. He straddled him, knees on either side, and continued his stretches on top of their teammate. This earned a raucous reaction from the rest of the team. Shane felt his cheeks burning.

Marlow started tossing dollar bills over top of them, the money floating down over both men as they laughed breathlessly.

Shane was far too sober to be watching his boyfriend essentially humping another man. He knew it was absurd to feel jealous about it. It was the kind of bizarre drunken antics that happened between a bunch of unhinged young athletes. But still. Shane wanted to be the only one to get the kind of view St. Simon was privy to right now.

He turned to grab another shot, tossing it back quickly.

“He is a show off.” Svetlana leaned into Shane's side. “And a menace.”

“Tell me about it.” Shane muttered. And suddenly, Ilya was jumping to his feet, lifting up the hem of his shirt and putting it between his teeth to bare his torso.

He started to roll his stomach and hips, and honestly, Shane wasn't sure why he never considered that Ilya would be able to dance. But that thought got swallowed whole by the sight of several WAGs now looking quite mesmerized by whatever in the Magic Mike was happening right now.

Svetlana whistled, elbowing Shane with a laugh. “I think you might be his next victim.”

Shane snapped his head back up, realizing that Ilya was stalking towards him. But the vodka was settling into him now, and he felt himself rolling his eyes and smiling as Ilya grabbed a fistful of Shane's shirt, dragging him backwards.

“What are you-”

Ilya shoved Shane down into a chair, giving him a mischievous smile as he bit at his own bottom lip.

Ilya pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it to the floor. Shane covered his face with a hand. Marlow started screaming like he was watching his favorite team hit the game winning score.

Ilya pulled Shane's hand away from his face, then cupped Shane's jaw in his hand and forced Shane's head up. Fuck.

Shane felt his mouth drop open slightly as Ilya straddled his lap, leaning back across Shane's thighs, running a hand sensually down the length of his own bared torso.

Maybe it was two shots of vodka hitting him all at once. Maybe it was the fact that no one had seemed fazed by their teammates humping each other on the floor. But Shane decided to play into Ilya's game, reaching down to swipe a few bills off the floor.

He took one between his index and middle fingers, holding it up between them, before shoving it into the waistband of Ilya's jeans, right under the button. Ilya gave him a crooked grin.

Shane let a smirk pass over his own lips, taking a second bill and putting it between his own lips. This had to be the vodka, because money is absolutely filthy, but Shane had the vision in his mind and he wanted to execute it. He wouldn't admit it, but he loved having Ilya's undivided attention in this room full of people.

Ilya licked his lips, leaning forward into him. Whoops and whistles rang out as Ilya leaned all the way in, using his mouth to take the bill from Shane's. Shane closed his eyes as their noses brushed. Before he pulled back, Ilya rolled his hips once, grinding against Shane in a way that made him gasp softly.

Ilya winked, hopping off Shane's lap with a flourish. He grabbed his shirt off the floor, pulling it back over his head.

Shane took a beat to take him in. His curls were a tousled mess, his cheeks were flushed pink, and his mouth was upturned into a grin. Mine, Shane thought. The feeling flooded his chest with a new layer of warmth.

Ilya knew he was a menace. Misbehaving was one of his favorite things to do. But misbehaving with Shane was like a drug. It hit better than the shots of vodka or drags on the blunt ever could.

It wasn't that he wanted to get Shane drunk enough to do things he would regret. He would never want that. He only wanted Shane to be able to experience life without the anxiety of what everyone else around him was thinking. Ilya hoped that's what was happening here tonight. Though he himself was a bit too drunk to analyze it much further.

Everyone seemed to now be taking Ilya's lead, dancing in the big open space between the kitchen and living room. Ilya smiled when he noticed Svetlana with her arms around Marlow's neck, both of them bouncing along to the music. He grabbed a mini pastry from the impressive selection of sweets laid out on the counter top, taking a bite.

When he turned back around, he felt his whole body tingle at the sight of Shane, smiling shyly at him.

“Hi handsome.” Ilya said, leaning back against the counter to drink in the full sight of his boyfriend.

“Hi.” Shane smiled. Ilya held the rest of his pastry out to Shane.

“I know. Bird food diet. But this shit is like Crack when you are drunk.”

Shane considered for a moment, before eating the pastry right from Ilya's hand.

Ilya felt himself shudder a bit as Shane's lips closed slightly around the tip of his finger. He was about 3 seconds away from telling everyone they could see themselves out and carrying Shane to his bed to devour him.

Ilya moved to stand at Shane's side, draping an arm over his shoulders as he watched the chaos on the makeshift dance floor. He felt Shane's arm move to go around his waist, but before it could make it there, Shane slapped his ass firmly.

Ilya was so shocked that he yelped. “Hollander!” He gasped through an incredulous laugh. To his dismay, he felt himself blushing.

Shane smiled mischievously, slinging an arm around his waist, hooking a thumb in Ilya's belt loop. “Yes?”

“Marly is bad influence on you. So is expensive vodka.”

“And so are you.” Shane nudged him.

“I am glad Marly has not bothered to comment on how fat your ass is. If his hand even came close, I would have to break all his fingers.” Ilya nudged him back.

He wondered if Shane was as insanely and pathologically jealous as he was. Ilya had never experienced jealousy in this way before Shane. He had never cared at all what any of his other sexual partners did with other people. But when it came to Shane, he felt that he would slap the smile right off someone's face if they even dared to look at him for too long.

He started to feel a little bad for the whole show with St.Simon. But to be fair, that was his cover to be able to dance on Shane without anyone thinking about it too much. Plus, Ilya would fling himself into oncoming traffic before he actually did anything with St.Simon.

Shane leaned into his side. “Gonna be midnight soon.”

“You want to watch countdown on TV with me?”

“Sure.”

Ilya smiled, squatting down a bit. “Come. I will give you ride.”

Shane rolled his eyes at him, but climbed onto Ilya's back, letting out a giddy laugh when Ilya started to carry them both across the house. Ilya melted into the feeling of Shane's legs around his waist and arms hooked around his neck.

He walked straight through the crowd of their teammates and to the couch, sitting on the edge to make room for Shane behind him. He expected Shane to crawl off, but he stayed latched onto Ilya's back, watching the TV with his chin resting on Ilya's shoulder.

“How was talking with Svetlana?” He asked, watching as her and Marlow shared a shot.

“She's nice.” Shane said quietly. “She threatened me, though.”

Ilya laughed. “That doesn't surprise me. She is protective.”

“Maybe she's mad I stole her boy toy.”
He said, next to Ilya's ear.

“I was never hers to steal. You are only one I have ever been boy toy for, Hollander.”

He felt Shane's thighs squeeze around him. It was almost euphoria, having his boyfriend wrapped around him like this. His Shane. He didn't ever want to allow him to let go.

Ilya cupped his hands around his mouth to yell. “Everyone! Is almost midnight! Get the fuck in here!”

As everyone filed in to huddle in front of the TV, Ilya was definitely expecting Shane to move himself. But he stayed faithfully clutched around Ilya's back.

When the countdown started, Ilya took notice to Marlow using his obnoxiously large frame to stand right in front of where Shane and Ilya were sitting, effectively blocking them from view. He looked over his shoulder at them, offering them a wink.

Ilya could just kiss that man. But that was exclusively reserved for Shane tonight.

Shane moved from Ilya's back to sit next to him now, their eyes locked as everyone chanted the countdown around them.

Just as the countdown reached its end, he saw Shane take one last safety glance, before crashing their mouths together.

Ilya felt his whole body tingle as he deepened the kiss, clutching into Shane's hair needily. He felt Shane smiling into his mouth. It was the most beautiful feeling in the world.

When they finally broke apart, Ilya was a bit breathless and dizzy from it. He beamed at Shane, feeling starry eyed.

“Wow. He definitely didn't look like that after I kissed him last year.” Marlow said, leaning down in front of them. “Then again, I didn't use my tongue.”

“Fuck off Marly.” Ilya laughed, kicking him.

“Hey. I'm glad you have someone now. Hopefully from now on.” Marlow smiled earnestly.

Ilya felt something complicated bloom in his chest. From now on. That was exactly how he wanted it to be.

“Oh! Hollander.” Ilya said, excitedly grabbing at Shane's hand. “Outside. My crazy neighbors light fireworks. Come.”

He led Shane by the hand out into the yard, more of their teammates in tow as they heard the sound of the impossibly close fireworks lighting up the sky above them.

Though the display of colors was impressive, Ilya wasn't watching the sky. He kept an arm around Shane's waist, head turned to watch the contented look on his face. He was so perfect, it took everything in Ilya not to grab him and kiss him again.

But just as he had the thought, Shane turned, wrapping both arms around Ilya's neck. Ilya felt his breath hitch.

Shane looked at him for a beat before pressing their lips together. Ilya pulled him closer by his waist, the kiss slow and tender.

When Shane pulled back, they were both smiling. “I love you.” He murmured against Shane's lips.

Ilya couldn't be bothered to look away, to check and see who may have seen them. Shane was the only person in the world.

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter will be the last!! Thank u all for the love and for coming on this journey with our boys

Chapter 18

Chapter Notes

A thin band of gold light pouring through the gap in the curtains spilled over Shane's face, pulling him from sleep. He groaned softly, turning his head to find that it was tucked in the space between Ilya's shoulder and chest. He pressed a lazy kiss to the patch of Ilya's skin that was closest to his lips before sitting up with great effort.

The fabric draped over him felt oddly stiff and heavy, not at all like Ilya's sheets or the soft t-shirt he had been wearing the night before. Shane frowned a bit, looking down at himself. He was wearing a jersey. Ilya's Team Russia Olympic jersey. And nothing else, save for his boxer briefs that were precariously hooked around one of his ankles.

Shane rubbed his eyes, trying to lift the fog of sleep to let the world come back into focus. Heat flushed on his skin as his mind went back to the early hours of that morning, while the moon was still shining brightly through Ilya's bedroom window.

He had been face down on the bed, Ilya behind him, both of them a mess of breathlessness as they tried not to make too much sound. Some of the party guests had still been lingering about, but they had been too hungry with need for one another to wait any longer. Ilya had been absolutely feral over Shane wearing his name and number over his back as Ilya took him. Shane had been so overcome by his boyfriend's possessive lust and wild abandon as he chased his release, that Shane's own release came to him untouched.

He was sure both of them had probably made some very loud and very obscene sounds along the way. But he could only hope the party goers were too drunk to notice.

Shane pulled his underwear back up, scooting himself off the edge of the bed. Another thought struck him now.

In his tipsy state after the ball had dropped, standing in the front yard, Shane had kissed Ilya. In full view of their teammates. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to process this.

He wasn't drunk in that moment. Just buzzed enough to feel good and mostly carefree. The want to kiss Ilya, not caring who saw, had surprised him. But what surprised him even more was that in this moment, he didn't regret it. Ilya had looked at Shane like he hung the moon. He looked at him with genuine bliss. Shane wanted to see Ilya wear that look a thousand times over. He would kiss Ilya in front of the entire world, if that's what would make him happy.

Though Shane could admit to himself that he was sort of terrified. He had no idea who knew. He had no idea what it would mean. But when he turned to look at the beautiful man in the bed, hair a mess and sleeping peacefully, he decided it had to be worth it.

It would definitely be worth it to keep this jersey on and see his reaction when he woke up, too. Though he knew Ilya was most likely going to be hungover.

Shane lingered around in the bathroom to brush his teeth before deciding to go to the kitchen to grab Ilya a bottle of water before he woke him up.

Shane pushed the bedroom door open, yawning a bit as he walked out into the living room, then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Cliff Marlow lounging on the couch, one arm dangling off the side.

“Damn. He get you with that Russian propaganda?” Marlow said, voice gruff with sleep and an obvious hangover.

Shane looked down at the jersey and wished he had the ability to spontaneously combust.

“Christ.” Shane threw his hands over his face, turning quickly to go back into the bedroom. He pulled the jersey off over his head and laid it out over the end of the bed, running his hands through his hair.

Shane Hollander the freak apparently could not go undetected by Marlow. At this point, the only thing more embarrassing would be Marlow actually seeing Shane spread eagle with Ilya on top of him. He took a deep breath, pulling on his shirt and a pair of Ilya's joggers. He figured there was no use in hiding now.

He slipped back out of the room and into the kitchen, grabbing two water bottles from the fridge.

He walked back to the couch, tossing a bottle to Marlow. “I feel like I need to put you in the witness protection program after the stuff you've seen.”

That got a genuine laugh from Marlow. “You think I haven't heard half the guys in the locker room brag about fucking a puck bunny wearing their jersey?”

Shane felt his cheeks burning.

“Shit. I guess in this scenario you would actually be the puck bunny…but…” Marlow waved a hand. “What I'm trying to say is, who fucking cares? You're young and hot. And you're with Ilya fucking Rozanov. Of course you're having sex. I cheered Roz on for years with all the girls he was fucking, why would I stop now?”

Shane felt himself grimace a bit at that. Jealousy is a disease.

“Fuck. I keep saying stupid shit. I didn't mean to bring up your boyfriend fucking other people.”

Shane laughed a bit. “It's fine, Marly. I know his reputation.”

“You know why it's fine? Because you, my friend, locked that shit down. I literally did not think it was possible. But that man looks at you like a lost fucking puppy. I think you're it for him, Hollander.”

Shane's heart squeezed. “I hope you're right. Especially after I kinda kissed him in front of the whole team last night. It would be embarrassing to break up now.”

“Dude. I was pretty wasted, but that I do remember. And I was so fucking proud of you guys. Like, that's my best friend and his fucking man. Hell yeah.” Marlow held his hand out for a fist bump.

Absurdly, Shane felt like he was going to tear up. He could tell Marlow was genuinely happy for them. Shane returned the fist bump. “Thank you, Marly. That really means a lot. And I know you're a really good friend to Ilya. You got him through a rough time. So thank you for that, too.”

“Of course. Love him to death. That kid secretly has the biggest heart.”

“He does.” Shane smiled fondly as he thought about it. He was glad to know there were other people who saw Ilya for what he really was.

“And you're stuck being best friends with me now, too, Hollzy. Just so you know.” Marlow threw an arm around his shoulders.

Shane laid his head on Marlow's shoulder. “I can think of worse people to be friends with.” He nudged at him playfully.

“Why are you cuddling with my boyfriend.” A deep, gruff voice asked flatly. Shane looked up to see Ilya, clad in only his boxer briefs, hair still a mess.

“Cause he's a hottie.” Marlow reached a hand up to ruffle Shane's hair.

Shane was amused by the tension in Ilya's jaw.

“Get your hand out of his pretty hair or I will burn this house down with all of us inside of it.”

Marlow laughed, pointedly scooting away from Shane. “See that look on his face? That one right there is when he switches from the Russian Menace to the Russian Terror.”

Ilya glared at him before striding into the kitchen, returning with a water bottle. He took a large swig, groaning a bit as he held his head.

“You alright over there, big guy?” Shane mused.

Ilya only groaned again in reply, collapsing on the couch next to him. “I blame you, Hollander. You do not stop me from drinking too much, and then you look too good so I had to fuck you so hard I pass out.”

“Ilya, Jesus Christ.” Shane sputtered.

“And you had to fuck him in your own jersey, you egotistical freak.” Marlow grinned wickedly. These two really loved encouraging each other's behavior.

Ilya held up a hand. “Please, Marly. You were drooling when that girl came to game in your jersey. I saw you adjust your pants 10 times during that game.”

“And I saw you staring at Hollzy's ass like it was a 4 course meal during practice.”

“It is.” Ilya shrugged.

Shane groaned. “Enough.”

“Wait, wait.” Marlow sat up. “Hollzy, it's only fair that you tell me about how embarrassingly needy Roz is. Make him blush for once. I know you have stories.”

Ilya scoffed. “I am not-”

“Oh shut up, Roz. You are so down bad for him, I know you have to be acting pathetic about it.” Marlow waved a hand at him.

Shane was grinning now, looking up a bit as he considered. “Well. The first couple times we hooked up, it was just…you know. Mouth stuff.” Shane cringed a bit at himself, but Marlow leaned in closer, intrigued. “But Ilya wanted to fuck me so bad, he texted me about it for 2 years.”

Marlow nearly jumped out of his seat. “Shut the fuck up. He was trying to get on you for 2 fucking years?”

Ilya put a hand over Shane's mouth and dragged Shane into him, wrestling him as Shane tried to wriggle free. “You are traitor. Be quiet.” Ilya laughed through gritted teeth.

“I fucking told you, dude. Roz was competing for gold in the down bad Olympics.” Marlow laughed. “And Hollzy is the ‘playing hard to get’ world champ. You guys are too much.”

Shane laughed, biting Ilya's hand where it was still clamped over his mouth. But Ilya wrapped both arms around him and held Shane tight against his chest. “Yes. Well. I am not too proud to beg. Not when it comes to him.” Ilya said, and the fondness in his voice made Shane melt.

Shane pressed himself into Ilya's side, and took in the moment for all it was worth. He was here, with Ilya, loving him out loud. They had a friend who not only supported them, but seemed to genuinely love their love. And he had been brave enough to kiss his boyfriend in public without caring who saw.

Ilya planted several kisses to the top of Shane's head. Marlow gave them a fond smile. “Roz, you big softy.”

Ilya only held Shane tighter. “I am very soft for him, but also very hard for him. Is…how you call it…” Ilya drummed his fingers on Shane's arm as he searched for the words. “Duality of man.”

“Christ.” Shane laughed. “You're ridiculous.” He angled his face up to Ilya, giving him a quick kiss.

Marlow stood with a stretch. “Well. I'll let you kids get to whatever freaky ass shit you do. Just don't get too crazy. We have a game tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes. I am captain, I am aware.” Ilya hopped up, giving Marlow a tight hug.

Marlow leaned down to ruffle Shane's hair. “See you tomorrow.”

Ilya batted his arm away. “Cut it out! I mean it, Marlow.” They stuck their tongues out at each other like children, and Shane rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a smile.

After walking Marlow to the door, Ilya returned to stand in front of Shane, arms open wide. “Come to me.”

Shane felt his heart hammering in his chest, and a wave of shyness wash over him. Even in Ilya's sleep deprived state, the man was still a fucking 10. And even though Shane had been letting Ilya take him every which way on any imaginable surface for the better part of a decade, it still sometimes hit him like a brick wall that this man wanted him.

When Shane was young, he tried to imagine what his adult life would be like. It mainly centered around being a professional hockey player, of course. But he also sometimes let his mind wander to a relationship. He would try to picture some sort of non-descript girl, who would be pretty and fun and normal. He could never see her all the way, not really. He just knew what it was that he was supposed to want.

But now, instead of the girl next door, he found himself standing in front of a smug Russian man who exudes sex appeal and bravado. He realized that not long after that fateful December day in Saskatchewan, his idea of what he wanted had morphed from a nice, generic girl into a very specific hockey player with golden curls and a handsome face.

And so now, here he was, standing in front of Ilya fucking Rozanov, who was looking at him like he would explode if he didn't feel Shane's skin in the next 3 seconds. Shane smiled his shy smile that he knew Ilya loved, and pressed himself against him, melting when he felt his boyfriend wrap strong arms around him.

Ilya's hands went up the back of Shane's shirt, rubbing up and down his bare skin. “You had fun last night?”

“Yes. Maybe a little too much.” Shane nudged his nose against Ilya's jaw.

“Do you…regret?” Ilya's accent tightened against the words, like English had temporarily escaped him. Shane noticed that happened sometimes when he got upset. He could feel Ilya's heart had started to beat a bit harder.

Shane took a step back, putting his hands on Ilya's face. “No. I don't.”

Ilya nodded, but he still looked unsure. “You do not mind that they saw?”

Shane shook his head. “I knew what I was doing. I'm yours, remember? I want them to know. As long as you're okay with that.”

Ilya nodded quickly. “Yes.” He moved his hands to thread into Shane's hair, pressing their foreheads together. “I want whole world to know Shane Hollander is mine.”

Shane smiled, slowly pressing his mouth into Ilya's, feeling himself shiver at the way Ilya's tongue slid over his. There was nothing in the world like kissing Ilya. Nothing like sleeping with Ilya. Nothing like loving and being loved by Ilya. Shane felt resolute in the fact that this is exactly what he wanted.

He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

At the beginning of the season, Ilya had walked into this locker room feeling like a ghost. Like there was no constitution to his being. Like he was just scraping around on the edges of existence, hoping not to be perceived too much for fear that someone would see all the ways that he was broken.

Today, he was walking in with Shane at his side, his mouth still tingling from Shane kissing him breathless in the parking lot. His heart still tumbled from Shane looking at him with those beautiful doe eyes and telling him that he loves him. It felt like Shane's steady hands had taken all the broken parts of him and started to slowly but surely mold them all back together into Ilya Rozanov.

He didn't feel like a ghost at all now. He felt every single pair of eyes on them as they entered the room together, a smiling tugging at his lips. He saw the way some of the players turned to whisper to each other, or how others simply widened their eyes. Like seeing Shane kiss him hadn't quite been enough, but seeing them arrive together was some kind of quiet confirmation.

Ilya looked at Shane, who offered him a half smile and a small, encouraging nod.

“Well. We should be getting ready for game, but I feel like maybe there is something you all would like me to address first.” Ilya started, his eyes tracking around the room to all the confused and eager faces.

“The rumors are true. I have very hot boyfriend. Okay. Any questions?”

Shane gave a small, incredulous laugh, nudging him with his elbow “Ilya, seriously?”

“What? Is this not what they want to know?” He threw his hands up, taking a deep breath. “Fine.”

He walked to the center of the room. “I know this may be…shocking. But I am tired of hiding who I am and who I love. You are my team, and I love you all, so you deserve to know this now before rest of the world finds out. I am bisexual, and Shane and I are in a relationship. We are in love.” He swallowed. “And if there are any problems with this, you say it now and to my face, or you do not say it at all.”

The room was uncomfortably quiet for a beat, but Ilya locked eyes with Marlow, who was beaming at him with pride.

“So..” St.Simon was the first to break the silence. “You humped me in front of your boyfriend? Dude. That's fucked up. Sorry, Shane. You should have punched him.”

The room erupted into laughter.

“Shut up, your girlfriend was watching too. I think she was jealous your hips do not move like mine.” Ilya gave St.Simon a friendly shove.

“Will the wedding be as lit as the New Year's party? If so I'm gonna need to plan ahead. I think I'm still hung over.” Connors smiled at Ilya, who couldn't help the grin growing on his face.

Marlow stood, throwing an arm around Ilya. “We love you, Cap. And we got your back, always. And yours too, Hollzy. Don't we boys?”

When the room rang out in agreement, Ilya felt a swell of emotion climb up his throat. He turned to look at Shane, who was smiling at him sweetly. Ilya held an arm out to beckon him. He needed to kiss that beautiful smile.

Once Shane was in arm's reach, Ilya pulled him in and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. The room erupted in whoops and whistles, which made Shane turn the most adorable shade of pink.

He couldn't be more proud to call Shane his. And he was ready to let the whole world know. They both were. He and Shane had both agreed that after today's game, they would release joint statements to confirm their relationship before it could get out of their hands.

This was real. It was happening. It wasn't impossible anymore. Shane was not this fleeting thing in danger of slipping right through his fingers. He was right here, firmly at Ilya's side, and stamped directly into his heart.

As Ilya stepped up to the microphone for their post game media, he could still feel every inch of his body buzzing with adrenaline from the game. It had been exciting to be back on the ice after his injury and suspension. It was even more exciting to play alongside his boyfriend. He had found himself beaming with pride more than once.

Their team was good. It was solid. And they all knew they had a real chance at winning the cup. Visions of pulling Shane in and kissing him at center ice in front of the whole world with the cup dangling above their heads flooded Ilya's mind, and left him smiling to himself as he waited for the first question to be asked.

They went through their usual progressions. Questions about the game. Questions about his play. Questions about his suspension. Questions about the team's chances of winning in the future. Ilya had answered them all with as much decorum as he could muster, itching to get off the mic and head home with Shane.

When the last question filtered in, Ilya felt himself snap into sharp focus.

“Ilya. 10 years ago this week, you were competing at World Juniors, and getting scouted out to go on to be the number one pick for the upcoming draft…”

Ilya felt his skin prickling. That day changed his whole life, in ways that he was not at all suspecting. He knew many eyes would be on him, deciding the trajectory of his future. What he didn't know then was that the most important pair of eyes were the ones with soft freckles beneath them, studying him kindly through a hand shake.

“...What would you say to your younger self, if you could go back to that moment?”

Ilya looked down, considering, before lifting his head and scanning the room. He knew what the journalist was asking. But what the rest of the world didn't know was the true significance of that day. He let his eyes settle on Shane's, who was standing in the back of the room, watching intently. He gave Shane a fond smile.

“I would tell him…” Ilya took a moment to steady himself, and to picture 17 year old Ilya on that day. “To stop being so stupid and naive. That his heart knows exactly what it wants. He should listen to it.”

Chapter End Notes

THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who has come along with me on this story!! Your love and comments are so appreciated, I read every comment and smile at my screen like an idiot.

Feel free to check back with me in the future for some fresh content~ love u all