Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry & Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova, Rose Landry/Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Not Cheating, Shane Thinks Ilya is Sleeping with Other People, Freak4Freak Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Autistic Shane Hollander, (always worth mentioning), Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Monogamy, Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog, Non-con/Dub-Con (not between Hollanov)

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Not a Safe Bet, But You're All In

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-29 Words: 22,719 Chapters: 3/3

Oh I'm Tricky But You Figured Me Out

Summary

Based on a tumblr post from @notahungrywish, ending with:

Just Shane casually assuming he'll always have to share and never be enough for Ilya and Ilya horrified to realize just how resigned Shane is to assuming Ilya will never be satisfied with him the way Shane is with Ilya.

Notes

Hi all! I saw the tumblr post from @notahungrywish, and then wrote a fic nearly twice the length of my undergraduate English Literature dissertation.

The gay hockey show has grasped me by the throat, etc etc.

Work and series titles from "puppy" by Sam Short, and chapter titles from "Body Talks" by The Struts feat Ke$ha.

Edited 05/04/2026: Whoa! I am blown away by the response to this fic, and I will be replying to comments when I can. For now though, I have changed this so (hopefully) the Russian will change when you click on it so you can see the meanings! Please see my rec list for the how-to from mackerel_cheese; all credit to them for saving my ass!

Chapter 1: Your Lips are a Conversation

Shane felt incandescent. Like there was a miniature sun in his chest, shedding light everywhere he looked in the cottage. His feet were tangled with Ilya’s, and they sat in a comfortable silence.

Then, they were talking about Svetlana. And then marriage. Shane pulled his feet back, curling into himself. The sun turned to a black hole in his chest.

Ilya explained to him, the problem he had, surrounded by all these beautiful women.

Shane. Shane was the problem. A problem that Ilya didn’t want to go away?

So, not Shane in his entirety then. That was good. He felt a sliver of sun-warmth glide over him from Ilya’s smile. Ilya waited patiently, smiling at him. Shane smiled back. Ilya kept waiting.

Oh. Oh, he was supposed to be reading between the lines. Shane wasn’t the problem, but something about Shane was. He thought of Shane when he was surrounded by beautiful women, and something about that was a problem, but not Shane. Maybe the reason he was thinking about Shane? It couldn’t just be association, because they’d been having sex for years, so presumably Ilya had associated sex with Shane the whole time, just like Shane had. So what was different, that was now a problem?

Ilya had said he hadn’t- not since All-Stars. Was that the problem? Shane remembered how desperate Ilya had been when they’d arrived, how insatiable he’d been since they got there. Shane had figured the increased appetite for sex had just been because they had more time, but what if it was more than that?

Shane knew that Ilya had a lot of sex. He himself had reaped the benefits of his bountiful experience, as had what felt like most of the women in North America, and probably most of the women in Russia as well. Had he been holding back because he felt like Shane expected it of him, rather than because he hadn’t wanted to?

That… made a lot more sense, actually. Shane couldn’t believe he had been so- naïve. Selfish. Arrogant, to think that sex with him was worth foregoing sex with the many, many people who regularly threw themselves at Ilya. He crushed the pang of hurt down ruthlessly. He had no right to be hurt by Ilya wanting to continue with the previously established terms of their relationsh- arrangement.

As for the visa angle, Shane couldn’t offer to marry him, not with the league watching their every move. But, Ilya didn’t want Shane’s proximity to his sex life to ever go away. That meant he could plan now, for the future. He hadn’t let himself properly plan it out before. He’d ripped himself away from fantasies about a nebulous future them for years, but never allowed himself to plan.

He told Ilya – begged Ilya – that they would figure something else out. Ilya didn’t protest.

-&-

Later, when he clutched him to his chest as he cried, their I-love-yous echoing in the air, he felt Ilya’s light blanketing him again, everywhere their bodies touched. He pressed his lips to Ilya’s forehead, breathing through the pain of knowing he couldn’t hoard it all to himself.

Ilya had been very clear that he was willing to put up with Shane pressing into the more intimate areas of his life, even though it caused problems for him sometimes. It was now clear that he was weathering that because he loved Shane, like Shane loved him. This was the best-case scenario, and he knew that. He wouldn’t ruin it by being jealous, or possessive, or a million other awful things. Ilya had enough people dragging him down, and Shane desperately wanted to be someone who could lift him up.

He knew that he wasn’t a good person. Good people weren’t at the top of a violent, competitive professional sport. The level of success he had driven himself to did not come to people who were content to let other people be happy; being a worse hockey player than him was the obstacle preventing many people from achieving their dreams. He didn’t care, on his best days.

On his worst days, he did care. It made him happy. Superior. Smug. Arrogant.

He was Shane Fucking Hollander, and he was the best hockey player in the league (with the possible exception of the man he loved). He was selfish and cold, focused and disdainful.

Ilya was risking so much. Russia, Boston, now Ottawa. His career, his reputation, his freedom. His life. Shane couldn’t ask him to give up more. He couldn’t make his greed another problem for Ilya to shoulder. His incessant only-child need to be the only one.

He would work through the ache in his chest and make sure Ilya never saw it or felt its burden.

That’s what you did, for the people you love. You carried the load. A handbag while out shopping, a suitcase when their ribs were bruised.

Shane was strong, and stubborn, and more motivated than he’d possibly ever been. He could carry it.

-&-

After, at his parents’ cottage, when the conversation happened Shane tried not to let his relief show too much on his face. They were boyfriends. They were going to do this until they retired, and then longer after that. Just him and Ilya. How could Shane care who Ilya slept with? Ilya had only ever been in love with one person. Ilya couldn’t have been more clear: all the women, they didn’t mean anything, wouldn’t mean anything, not when he had Shane. Not when he loved Shane.

That was enough. Shane would make it enough.

He refused to be a problem for Ilya. Not anymore.

Shane loved him too much to let himself ruin it with his petty feelings.

\\

Shane had gotten very good at pointedly not noticing it. Loving Ilya and being loved in return was enough, but it was a lot easier to understand that it was enough when he didn’t have to confront Ilya’s other… sexual partners.

What was the expression? Comparison was the thief of joy, and Shane tried really hard not to let any pieces of the joy he felt with Ilya be stolen away.

Sometimes though, he couldn’t avoid it. Not when his boyfriend was so excellent in bed, and not when the people he slept with were so appreciative of his talents.

Her name was Tiana. She was a swimsuit model, based in California. She had red hair, huge green eyes, and a delicate nose ring. She was also a social media influencer, and seemed to mostly push sex-positive content around staying safe and having fun, as well as supporting several mental health and queer charities. Not many people had bad things to say about her, aside from the usual jealousy and aggression that seemed to surround famous people, and famous women in particular.

The conversation around professional athletes and consent had reared its head again, thanks to some American football player this time, rather than Dallas Kent. Tiana had taken the opportunity while discussing the issue, to underline that not all athletes were being tarred with the same brush. She had mentioned Shane and Rose Landry, as Rose had always made it a point to extoll his many alleged virtues as loudly and often as she could. Tiana had also discussed her personal experience with Ilya Rozanov as another exception. She had, in fact, used the word “exceptional”. Twice.

Shane was trying really hard not to hate her guts.

Unrelated, Shane had decided to have a screen-free evening. He would be seeing Ilya in nine days, and he was sure everything would have died down by then.

-&-

It had not.

Other women had come out of the woodwork to share their Ilya stories too. How generous he was, how giving he was, how courteous he was.

“Russia’s Greatest Love Machine” was trending. So was “Ilya ‘Consent King’ Rozanov”.

He was glad his boyfriend was getting some well-deserved good press, especially after the last few games had pundits questioning if he was worth the price tag Ottawa had paid for him.

Shane felt bad for the thrashing his team had handed out to the Centaurs earlier that evening. He felt worse about the awkward angle of the tackle he’d levelled Barrett with during the game, slamming him into the boards right in front of one of the many signs propositioning his boyfriend.

As he approached Ilya’s house and let himself in, he wondered if Ilya would be angry about it. Shane didn’t want to spend their precious time arguing, and he really could have been gentler with Barrett, especially because he knows how much he is easing Ilya’s transition to the new team.

He turned to click the door closed behind him, and turned back to the hallway just in time to be shoved back into the door hard enough that the frame rattled, a familiar hand protecting the back of his head and a familiar tongue tracing over the split in his lip he’d received from Boodram as the medics checked on Barrett.

He’d scored on the powerplay. He’d done it using the Rozanov. He was close enough to his boyfriend to see his pupils swallow his irises when he’d met his gaze skating around the net, after.

Ilya’s hands shifted from his head to his thighs, gripping tight. Shane hopped, and Ilya pulled, and then he was being carried down the hallway towards Ilya’s bedroom, mouths never breaking contact. He was dropped onto the bed and bounced once, chest heaving as Ilya tossed his shirt and started trying to yank his trousers off while clambering onto the bed after him.

Shane laughed, happy to see his goofy boyfriend shining through the intensity. This, this was all his. Sure, lots of people got suave, smooth, sex god Rozanov, but nobody else got clumsy, eager Ilya.

Except maybe Svetlana.

Then Ilya pressed his lips to Shane’s stomach and he felt more than heard the whisper.

He relaxed onto the bed. Nobody else got whispered love confessions pressed to their skin. Ilya made his way to Shane’s mouth, and the kiss was full of teeth and laughter. Shane rubbed at Ilya’s shoulder blades, pulling back sharply when Ilya let out a hiss of pain.

There was a little wrestling back and forth before Shane won out and manhandled Ilya to a position where he could see his back. When he laid eyes on them, he wished he hadn’t.

Scratch marks, four neat parallel rows on his right shoulder blade. Shane swallowed. He would not be weird about this.

The last time Shane had left scratch marks on Ilya, it had been during their fifth season. Boston had lost, and the sex had been… rough. Brutal. Fantastic.

Shane had lain awake at night, terrified somebody was going to see the marks on Ilya and know it was Shane. Know somehow, from the size maybe, that it had been a man.

Terrified how part of him wanted people to see. Wanted people to know that Ilya had somebody that he made feel so much they couldn’t leave him unmarked by it. Wanted his next hookup to feel like they had something to live up to.

He’d never done it again. These marks now felt like karma. He was the one left feeling threatened, insecure.

He’d never done it again, and Ilya had never asked him to. Never mentioned it at all, actually.

He was being weird, silent for too long, just staring at them. He opened his mouth to say something, to make a joke of it, wave it off. He opened his mouth and-

“Tell me I’m your favourite.”

He was experiencing a full mutiny, there was no alternative. Something else had seized control of his nervous system, and it was in full-fledged revolt. Heat rushed to his cheeks so fast he felt sick with it.

Ilya wrestled them back around, pinning Shane’s wrists in his hands and pressing his full weight on top of him. Shane gasped a breath at the heady feeling, held right where he belonged.

“What was that, kotikkitten?”

“Nothing, nevermind-” Shane pushed half-heartedly at Ilya, feeling the flush rising from his cheeks to his ears. How could he have been so stupid?

“Ah, no. Say again for me, malyshbaby. What was that?” Ilya nuzzled into Shane’s neck, nipping hard. They’d figured out exactly how hard would leave a hickey that would last into the next day, but not the following one. Shane would be back in the locker room the day after next, and he had already been given shit for staying in Ottawa when the team though it was to see his parents. He would never hear the end of it if they knew it was for sex.

They’d been insufferable about him apparently fumbling both Rose Landry and Boston Lily as it was.

Shane shook his head hard, closing his mouth. Ilya ducked his head back out of his neck to meet his eye.

“You will tell me, or you want me to make you?” His hand drifted down beneath the waistband of Shane’s underwear. “We have plenty of time for me to talk you round, yes?” His hand tightened around the base of Shane’s dick. “Or you could be good and tell me now?”

“I said-” Shane panted as Ilya’s hand started moving, smug look in his eyes at Shane’s easy surrender. “I said, tell me I’m your favourite.” His stomach burned with shame. He felt pathetic, a little.

“Oh, is this because of all the stories? You want to know if any of them measure up to having the Shane Hollander in my bed?” Ilya’s hand moved faster. “Mmm, not sure. Maybe you try your best tonight, and then after, if you earn it, I tell you you’re my favourite, yes? So much competition, and it’s been so long for us; you will remind me what you can do for me, da?”

Yes. Shane would remind him. Shane would pull out every trick he fucking knew to hear Ilya say it.

And he did, including pulling a fucking muscle in his chest when he reached for the angle to flip Ilya onto his back without separating them. Ilya made a punched out noise when he landed, followed by a string of Russian so slurred he couldn’t make out individual words.

It was the best sex Shane thought they’d ever had, with the possible exception of the morning they’d exchanged love confessions. His desperation for Ilya’s validation culminated in an orgasm so good he lost time.

The next evening, Ilya kissed him goodbye and put him back in his car, waving as he drove away.

He pulled over into a dilapidated looking track after fifteen minutes, when he couldn’t see the road anymore. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, bowed head braced on his crossed arms on the top of the steering wheel, trying to breathe.

Ilya hadn’t said it.

Shane wasn’t his favourite.

Somebody else fucked his boyfriend better than he did.

Obviously. That was- Ilya had slept with a lot of people, including two pornstars, according to TMZ. He didn’t know why he felt so bad about it. Shane wasn’t as experienced, and he knew he could be weird. Like, sometimes he felt floaty and strange, and he was needy. And he was boring, Ilya always said so. And he knew it was like a term of endearment from him, or whatever, but it wasn’t always great to hear after they had sex.

Plus, also, if Shane had been fulfilling Ilya’s needs, he probably wouldn’t still be sleeping with other people.

Well, that maybe wasn’t fair; they didn’t see each other that often. Even if the sex was great, it definitely wasn’t frequent. Regular.

“It’s nice, having regular woman like that around.”

Shane had taken that from Ilya too, and Svetlana. With Ottawa. Which is why he wouldn’t, couldn’t, begrudge Ilya his swimsuit models and his pornstars and his puck bunnies.

It hurt though, the definitive proof that he wasn’t very good in bed. He’d kind of already known that, with Rose, but he’d thought maybe…

What, maybe because he was enjoying himself, his partner would be too? Just, automatically? Christ, but he was selfish.

All that was hurt was his fucking pride.

He wiped his face and took three deep breaths, starting the engine again. He had to be in the locker room in ten hours.

All he wanted was to drive in the opposite direction, back to Ilya, and tell him he’d do better.

But he was a coward, and his boyfriend knew it, which is why Ilya had let his silence speak for itself instead of trying to confront him about their sex life.

It was kind of him, really, to give him space to process and tuck away his ugly emotions before having to talk about it.

-&-

Shane was so exhausted at the rink the next day that he zoned out of watching the tape, letting the crowing of his teammates at his hit on Barrett slip around him.

“What a fucking hit Hollander-”

“Look at that, fucking beautiful-”

Someone grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly in congratulations.

“-Boodram’s such an asshole, huh? Don’t worry, we’ll get him for you next game Cap-”

“-ch a fucking dick, about took my goddamn fingernails with him when he got away-”

“Hope you ripped the arm off his bullshit fucking jersey, the Russian cunt-”

The sound of Coach barking for the team to settle dragged him back into his body.

Their next game against Ottawa wasn’t for three months.

\\

The game had been weird. Ilya had barely met his eyes the whole game, and he was moving slow, sluggish. Not enough for anyone else to notice, probably, but Shane did. And the Centaurs weren’t at a place yet where they could pick up the slack with any real conviction.

Shane hadn’t played well either, too concerned with tracking Ilya over the puck.

They’d won 5-0. One thing the Metros were good for was picking up Shane’s slack.

Shane had texted him, after.

Are we still on for later?

Stupid, of course they would be. That’s probably what Ilya was typing right now, Of course, or maybe No shit, Hollander. Maybe just ???

Shane’s phone pinged.

Sure

The weird feeling from the game hardened into a ball of ice in the pit of his stomach, which only got bigger when he arrived to Ilya’s house, lights dark. He used the code to let himself in, and saw Ilya sitting in the dark on the couch, vodka in hand. He didn’t look at Shane.

Shane toed his shoes off and padded over to the couch, perching next to him. Usually he would have just straddled his boyfriend.

Usually Ilya would have met him at the door. Usually the lights would be on.

Usually.

As he sat, Ilya breathed out a sigh and finished his vodka before turning to face him, movements slow and controlled.

Shane shrunk in on himself at the desolate look in Ilya’s eyes. The cold feeling spread, wrapping around his legs and lungs, stuttering his breath. This looked… bad.

And then it got worse. Shane thought he was hearing things at first, and everything sounded like it was coming from underwater. He barely heard himself, his tiny “What?” muffled beneath the thump of his heart.

“Other people, Hollander, do I have to say it again?”

“But. But I don’t want to sleep with other people.” His voice was still tiny, and he felt small. For the first time in over a decade, he felt small.

“Other men, then.”

“No.” The word ripped out of him like something sank its claws into his lungs and yanked. His breathing pitched up like it realised it had to make up for the oxygen lost through the lacerations. He didn’t- Ilya was it for him. And it was okay, really, that Ilya needed other people to make up for the time apart and Shane’s skill deficiency, and he understands that him sleeping with other people would at least help him get better at it, but-

But-

But he didn’t want to. He really, really didn’t want to. Because he loved Ilya. Because everyone else, anybody else, was just-

Nothing. Not a blip on his radar, really, compared to Ilya. The only person worth anything to Shane, on or off the ice.

No, not the only person, he reminded himself sternly. There was Ilya, and there was hockey, and there were his parents. There was the Pikes and Rose and JJ. And then there was-

Everything else. Nothing else. It was all the same, really.

He didn’t want to. Didn’t even want to try. And god, it was selfish, it was so selfish, but-

“When I can’t have you, I have my dildo, and porn, and my imagination. I don’t- I don’t want that. Even though I know-” I know practicing with real people would be better. I know that would make us having sex better for you than what I can do with research and a toy. I know you’re asking this, and to ask for what you need is so important, but this is the first thing you’ve asked for that I haven’t even wanted to give you. “- please. I don’t want that.”

Ilya’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him in close, hushing him.

“Okay, okay, solnyshkosunshine, okay. Thank you. Bolshe nikakikh slyozNo more tears.”

Shane flinched hard. He knew that word. Bolshe. That’s the word Ilya said over and over again on the call from Russia, when his father died. When he was venting about his family who were so awful and always took advantage of him. He didn’t know what the word meant, but he knew it was bad.

Here he was, another person taking from Ilya and refusing to give anything back.

“Ty polozhil moe serdtse v moyu grud', lyubimyyYou put my heart back in my chest, beloved. Ty postavil zvezdy v moyo neboYou put the stars back in my sky.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu, IlyaI love you, Ilya."

Shane knew it wasn’t enough.

He would make it enough.

\\

Shane was elbow-deep in the spice cabinet when his phone rang, Ilya’s name flashing up. His eyebrows furrowed; Ilya should be with Svetlana, going out in Boston with her and a few Boston veterans. It was still pretty amazing that they spoke to Ilya at all, what with him abandoning the team for Ottawa for no reason that made any sense. Shane was glad some of them could see past that the how great Ilya was; glad their friendship and regard wasn’t another thing loving Shane had taken from him.

Shane wiped his hands off on the towel over his shoulder before picking up his phone. He accepted the video call and was rewarded with the sight of Ilya’s face filing up his screen, the top of Svetlana’s hair just visible behind him.

“Shane!” Ilya practically cheered, moving slightly closer to the screen. “Moya lyubovMy love, how are you? Did you see game?”

Shane felt his face relax, spotted the goofy expression on his face in the corner of his screen.

“I am doing well, Ilya. Yes, I saw the game.” Boston had fucking slaughtered the Centaurs, and the fans had been too busy booing his boyfriend to even care. Ilya looked like he had delighted in it, going so far as to blow kisses when he scored the only goal for the Centaurs, a beautiful top-shelf that he’d rifled past the goaltender at the end of the second, unassisted. “Beautiful goal, baby.”

He smiled helplessly as Ilya practically preened at the praise, moving back far enough for him to catch a glimpse of Irina’s cross perfectly centered between his collarbones, with what felt like miles of bare skin around it, the edges of a patterned button up barely visible at the corner of the screen. Ilya looked amazing, the barest pink glow on his cheekbones that only happened when he drank good vodka, smile wide and eyes happy.

When was the last time Shane had seen him really smile like that? All the way to his eyes, face relaxed? He felt his smile dim slightly, before he rallied. Svetlana was looking after him, that was good. Shane was happy that his boyfriend was happy. Shane was glad Ilya had people who would look after him.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Svetlana nudged Ilya to the side and pressed their cheeks together so they could both fit in the frame.

“Hi Shane.” Her smile seemed genuine. Shane was always surprised, for a moment, that she viewed him with such kindness. He was the reason she had to share Ilya, of course, and the reason why he had moved so far from the city that the two had shared. Then came the shame at the surprise; Shane was the only one who was weird about this whole… situation. Everybody else was perfectly capable of being reasonable about Ilya.

Shane loved her and hated her. For making Ilya happy, for being the only other person he thought was worth coming back for. For knowing a version of Ilya that Shane would never get, and treating him well.

He smiled back at her. “Hi Svetlana. Looking forward to tonight?”

“Oh, absolutely! I always have the best time with Illyusha, and it’s been too long.” She turned to look at Ilya, who beamed back at her. Shane did not bristle at the implication. He did not. She turned back to face him and her smile turned wicked. “Always so good to see you Shane, but we have to go. I need to get laid!” Shane took a beat too long to join in the laughter, but he didn’t think they noticed.

“Right, well… have fun you two!” Shane forced a laugh after the words, covering the wince.

Ilya’s bottom lip pushed out into a pout as he looked into the screen. “I will miss you too much to have fun, lyubimyybeloved.” Svetlana made a fake gagging noise.

The words shot out of Shane’s mouth, too bitter, to mean. “That’s never stopped you before.” Fuck. Fuck.

He panicked, needing to redirect attention from the truth of it. He winked, exaggerated and over-the-top. Unbothered, super chill and fine. Bantering, that’s all he was doing.

Ilya’s mouth opened on the screen. Whatever he said next, whatever joke he made about having sex with Svetlana, Shane wouldn’t be able to control his face. He knew it, with a certainty that made his hands shake as he reached for the end call button.

He made it, just in time to hear Ilya’s voice sounding fond “I-”

And nothing else. The image of the two of them pressed together disappeared, and Shane took a few heaving breaths through his mouth, trying to banish it from the backs of his eyelids every time he blinked.

He sank down to the floor of his kitchen, curled up, and kept breathing. Deliberate pulls of air, working his lungs hard. He kept forcing the breaths until they felt easy again.

When he stood, he shoved the little glass jars of herbs haphazardly back onto the shelf and swung the cupboard closed. While he had been on the floor, the sun had fully set.

He stood in his darkened kitchen, and kept breathing.

\\

“I’m dating Svetlana.”

The words echoed strangely as Shane looked up from his wine glass. Rose’s lips were pressed together, and she was staring at him.

He heard those words, sometimes, in his dreams. They didn’t sound like they normally did, when his brain played them to him in Ilya’s voice. The same instinctive wash of ice gripped him, melting as soon as his sluggish brain put together the clues that the voice was Rose.

“You’re… dating Svetlana? Vetrova?” Shane blinked at Rose. “Ilya’s Svetlana?”

Rose scoffed loudly. “Wow, Shane, Ilya’s Svetlana?”

“Well, I guess your Svetlana now.” Shane let his face twist up into the expression that Rose liked to call ‘bitchy’.

“… Shane. Can you respond to the news please?”

“What? Oh-” Shane dropped the expression. “I’m happy for you. Svetlana’s great.” Rose smiled. “Bummer for Ilya, but I think you guys will be great together.”

“Why would Svetlana and I dating be a bummer for Ilya?” Rose’s head was tilted slightly to the side, and she looked confused.

Right. Right. Shane was the only one who was weird about sharing. That was good! That feeling in his chest must be relief, for sure. He was so glad that Ilya and Svetlana could still… and that Rose felt good about it! That was great. She had always been such a great partner to him, so it made sense that she would be so- great.

“Oh! Oh, no, that’s- never mind.”

But, christ. What a mess for her PR team. Shane understood that the sharing thing was pretty normal, pretty commonplace – the number of guys he’d played with over the years that had the same understanding with their wives and girlfriends, who had looked so relieved when he had acknowledged it when he saw them with other people – but he knew that people didn’t really discuss it, openly.

“Damn, your poor PR team. Raises all round, right?”

“Shane. What are you talking about?”

Shane finished his glass of wine and poured another, offering the bottle to Rose and filling hers too when she nodded.

“I mean… I don’t have a problem with it, obviously, but your first queer relationship, and it’s open? People are going to suck, Rose.” One of the only reasons it worked for him and Ilya was because they weren’t out, obviously. God knows what people would say about Ilya, and he was a man. This was going to be brutal for her. “I’ll have your back, of course, and this’ll be so important for so many people to see, but that’ll be a tough sell to the media, like, forever.”

Rose was quiet for a long moment, with a look of abject bafflement on her face.

“Shane, what are you talking about? Svetlana and I are monogamous.”

Back to confusion.

“Okay…? So, then, like I said, delighted for you, bummer for Ilya; be prepared for a lot of well-meaning chirping.”

Rose’s face scrunched up even more. “Why is the fact that we are exclusive a bummer for Ilya?”

Oh, Christ. Shane licked his lips, desperately avoiding her eyes. Surely she knew? Surely they’d spoken about it? Ilya and Svetlana joked about it all the time, it must have come up in front of Rose before.

“Rose, you know that Svetlana and Ilya sleep with each other, right?”

Shane caught the eyeroll even avoiding her gaze; she rolled with her whole body.

“Obviously I know they used to sleep together Shane, they talk about it all the time.” Of course she did, it was even obvious to Shane, of course Rose had picked up on it.

“Right, so, I’m saying it’s a bummer they can’t do that anymore. Not that it’s bad!” Shane panicked as Rose’s face pulled into a deep frown. “I just mean, I worry about Ilya, I know he gets lonely sometimes and that was an important support for him. Not that I think Svetlana doesn’t support him, like, non-sexually, just, I know touch is so important to him, and-”

“Ilya and Svetlana haven’t slept together in years.”

Oh, Christ. Fuck. Him and his big mouth.

“Uhh, no, they definitely have. Semi-regularly, actually.”

This might be the angriest Shane has ever seen Rose, and that is including when she went off on that interviewer who spent most of the interview asking her about her costume’s underwear requirements.

“Rozanov is cheating on you!?”

Shane’s mouth dropped open in horror. “What? No, of course not! He would never do that to me!”

“You just said he’s sleeping with Svetlana!”

“Yeah, among others! We’re, like, open, or whatever. It’s fine.” Shane rolled his neck a little. “He definitely isn’t cheating on me. He literally couldn’t, in fact. So, it’s fine.”

“What!” Rose had never sounded so surprised. Her face was pretty comical, actually.

“Yeah. Oh my god, it’s not that surprising, close your mouth.”

Rose’s mouth snapped shut. “Uh, that is very surprising. Wow. And you’re… okay with that?”

Shane’s brows furrowed again. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Did Rose think he had, like, a problem with polyamorous people? “As long as Ilya’s happy, I’m happy.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “As long as he’s happy?”

“…Yes? Are you okay?”

Her eyes squinted further, and her voice sounded angry again. “Are you? You’re okay with seeing other people?”

“Oh god no, I don’t do that.” The words fired out of his mouth at top speed. He felt a little sick, the way he always did when he thought about getting… intimate with someone who wasn’t Ilya. But not- Ilya getting intimate with other people wasn’t- that didn’t make him feel sick. Obviously.

“You don’t do that. Why not?” Rose’s voice snapped him out of the spiral. She sounded different, flatter.

“I super don’t want to. I don’t have a problem with it, obviously, I just… it’s not for me. Ilya’s it for me, you know?”

“Right. And you aren’t it for Ilya?”

The words, when he spoke them, felt like they shredded soft tissue all the way from the bottom of his lungs to his lips. “Uh, no.” His voice barely scratched above a whisper, and he felt his eyes burning, but no tears slipped out. “Not- not sexually, at least. I am the only person he’s ever been in love with, but…” Shane dragged a smile onto his mouth and shrugged like it didn’t matter to him. “Well, you would know better than almost anyone else that I perform a lot better on the ice than I do in the bedroom, so.” He sniffed.

“Shane.”

He laughed. “It’s true! We were a complete disaster, and you know it.”

Rose spoke slowly. “Yeah, Shane. But I’m not exactly packing the right equipment for you, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re a professional athlete.”

“Yeah…”

“And you’re, like, ridiculously hot.”

Shane laughed again.

“And also, considering how much you weren’t into me, it still wasn’t the worst sex I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, thanks. Good to know I at least beat out some of your other gay boyfriends.”

“You beat out some of the straight ones too.”

“Jesus, for real? I’m so sorry, fuck.” Shane laughed again, nervous.

“No, that’s not- Shane, yes, I have had some very bad sex, but you aren’t even in the bottom half, and you’re literally a bottom.” Rose looked determined, like she was trying to tell him something really important. Shane wasn’t sure what that was.

“Okay?”

“I am trying to tell you that you were perfectly good in bed, even considering that you don’t like pussy and you can’t top for shit. I cannot imagine that you are not a great fucking lay when you’re actually enjoying yourself!” She gestures wildly, almost spilling her wine onto the carpet.

“Thank… you?” Shane was completely lost. Rose was such a good friend, but the sex had been appalling. She’d only orgasmed three times over the two times they’d ever had sex, it had been mortifying. Famously, Ilya had done that to him in less than an hour, after a full hockey game.

“The other guys you’ve slept with, they’ve told you you’re good in bed, right? Were they any good?”

Shane felt himself blushing. God, this was mortifying. Why were they having this conversation? How did they get here?

“I haven’t, umm. You know. With anybody else.” Rose stared at him in silence. “I just- I was busy okay? Scouts have been looking since I was a kid, and then I didn’t even know I was gay until you literally told me, and then-” Shane blew out a breath and looked down, knew he would have a pathetic look on his face. “And then it was All-Stars weekend, and… and Ilya. Not Rozanov, finally Ilya, and I just- didn’t want anything else after that. So. Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “The only feedback I’ve gotten is you telling me it was clear from space I was gay and then Ilya, who is in love with me and sleeping with other people the other 200 days of the year, and suggesting I should maybe get on that as well. So, I guess, try harder to imagine.” He winced hard and took another large sip of his wine. “Actually, please don’t try to imagine, oh my god. Why would I say that.”

Rose just kept looking at him. “Doesn’t sound like you’re okay with it.”

“With what?”

“With him sleeping with other people.”

Shane panicked, putting down his glass to wave his hands. “Oh my god, no, it’s totally okay! I totally get it, it is fine, and we’ve talked about it a lot. He’s very sweet, and tells me how he thinks about me all the time and he misses me; it’s just sex to him. I’m not really built for that, but he is, and I just want him to be happy. He says I’m the only person he’s ever been in love with, and that’s- it’s just sex.”

“So you’re emotionally exclusive, but not physically?” Shane nods. Exactly; Ilya might have sex with multiple people, but the only person he wants to be in a relationship with is Shane. “What do you mean he suggested you should ‘get on that’?” She does the air quotes around her wineglass and everything.

“What?”

“You said he is sleeping with other people and said you should ‘get on that’? Get on what?”

Shane picked his wineglass back up and drained it. He stared into the dregs of it as he spoke deliberately, feeling his cheeks and eyes burning.

“Get on sleeping with other people. He, um, thinks I could use the experience, probably.” He blinked hard, tilting his head back. The ceiling light swam in his vision as he whispered. “Can I tell you something so selfish?”

He felt Rose’s hand land on his knee, squeezing and rubbing a small circle. “Anything.”

“I told him I didn’t want to. Just, said no. And he loves me so much, he agreed with me.” Rose’s hand stopped. He closed his eyes. “He agreed that I shouldn’t, even though it would make things better for him if I did.” He feels like he’s weighed down by a whole team’s worth of gear.

“So, the agreement is that he’ll sleep with whoever he wants, and you’ll just wait around for when he’s with you?” Rose’s voice shakes with something unknowable, something that Shane refuses to name.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re happy with that?”

“I love him. He moved to fucking Ottawa for me.” He sounds desperate with it, can feel an animal in his chest clawing at his ribcage.

“Oh, Shane.” She pulls him in, and he tips over onto his side, hiding his face in her side.

Chapter 2: That Face is a Song

Rose got the impression that Rozanov didn’t like her very much. The feeling was, unfortunately for Svetlana, extremely mutual.

She’d been fine with him, before. Shane and Svetlana both loved him, so she had put whatever complicated feelings she had about how his relationship with Shane had happened to the side. She thought that he could have been a little more kind, a little more graceful, as the more experienced one. She could also acknowledge that Shane was not an easy guy to get to be vulnerable, and she was learning from Svetlana that there was a whole lot of shit that Russia seemed to just do to people, especially people like them. Ultimately, his fucking around was what had netted her Shane, and she would always be grateful for that. She thought his obvious jealousy was a little immature, since Shane was gay, but she had also respected that he felt strongly enough for Shane to be a little weird about it. They’d been fine.

They’d been fine, and then Shane told her what game he’d been running on her best fucking friend.

After that conversation, she felt like she hated him a little. After going out with him and Svetlana to a club in Boston, she knew she hated him.

Because he was extremely obviously not seeking anyone out. He was clearly on his best behaviour. She knew what it looked like, when somebody was trying to impress her. She was a movie star; learning to weed out the fake and the desperate was survival.

He was trying to impress her by appearing to be loyal to Shane.

Which meant he knew what he was doing was wrong, and he had been doing it anyway.

She finished her drink, and he offered to get the next round. He went to the bar, and she watched as a beautiful blonde woman approached him, placing her hand on his arm. He watched as he looked at her, eyes flicking up and down her face. He said something, looked up at where Rose and Svetlana were waiting, and shook his head. The woman took her hand off his arm after one last squeeze and walked away, glancing back at him as she rejoined her friends.

Rose felt her fury simmer. Had she truly just witnessed that, him glancing up to see if they were looking before turning her down? How dare he?

He arrived back, passing out drinks and smiling in her face. She broke.

“Blondes not your type?” She plastered her media smile on, razor sharp, delighting in his baffled blink.

“Uhh- I don’t- Shane is my type?” His confusion was delicious.

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Rozanov’s eyes darted to Svetlana. “Don’t look at her, you’re talking to me.”

He swallowed hard. “Ah, I am- this is shovel talk, yes?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Why would I be giving you a shovel talk? Have you done something wrong?”

Rozanov’s eyes darted across her face. He looked guilty as sin.

“Shovel talk is usually… pre-emptive, yes?” He pronounced the syllables carefully. Rose hummed in acknowledgement. She could feel Svetlana’s eyes on her.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know?” She waves a hand airily, like the words are careless. “Shane told me you guys are open, so don’t hold back on my account.”

Rozanov freezes, shock on his face. He looks horrified, mortified. Rose feels vindication thrum through her ribs.

“Babe...” Svetlana whispers. Rose keeps her eyes on Rozanov.

“What, honey? You didn’t know he’s sleeping with other people? Shane told me all about it.” Rozanov blanches. Rose feels viciously glad, for a moment, that he’d clearly been hiding this from Svetlana too. She had been wrestling with what to do, if Svetlana had known. If she and Ilya had been… Rose loves her. They’ve been together, officially, for three months.

She loves Shane more. She’s glad they’ll have a chance to change that, to make it equal.

“This… this is not funny joke. Why- why would you say this?”

Rose drops the fake smile, lets real emotion flash across her face. Rozanov flinches.

“Do I look like I’m fucking laughing?”

His eyes flick over her face, her shoulders, her hands clenched into shaking fists. Rose remembers how Shane’s voice had cracked, when he’d said being loyal was selfish.

Rozanov seems to shrink before her very eyes.

“You are not joking.” The statement is a hair above a whisper. She sees it, more than hears it.

She glares with everything in her, at the man Shane loves. She wants suddenly, to spit in his face. She doesn’t. He isn’t worth the stress Shane will feel when he sees it splashed across headlines.

Rose watches, as Rozanov’s face goes slack and his eyes move past her. He stares at nothing as he pulls out his phone and dials without looking at the screen. He looks like a man facing an execution.

“Shane…” His voice sounds wrecked, and his eyes are glassy. Rose feels something warm in her chest. Not the bitter satisfaction and fury of before, watching him scramble to justify himself; something… hopeful. “LyubimyyBeloved, please, you answer question for me okay? Yes or no only, very important. We are committed, monogamous, exclusive relationship?” He raised his necklace to his mouth, resting the golden cross on his lower lip. “Shane, yes or no answer. Exclusive relationship? You and me, nobody else?” Rose hears Shane say something on the other end of the line, and sees Ilya’s heart break right in front of her eyes.

The phone slips from his hand as a tear slides down his cheek and he continues to stare at nothing. She picks up the phone and holds it to her ear.

“-whatever you want, Ilya, okay? I love you so much. I have to go now-” she hears him take a ragged, wet breath, and his voice shakes as he tries to level it out. “-have fun, be safe, and call me tomorrow if you can.” She opens her mouth to speak, to tell him to wait- “Bye, baby.” The phone beeps in her hand, but not before she catches the start of a wretched sob.

Oh, Shane.

Oh, Ilya. He looks destroyed. He looks how Shane sounded. This was so fucked. She had been so wrong. She felt small, and shaky.

They had to fix this.

Rose turned to look at Svetlana, needing to follow her lead with Ilya. He was just sitting there, staring at nothing, tears on his cheeks.

Svetlana had tears in her eyes too, a hand over her mouth, staring at Ilya. Rose watched as something clicked into place behind her beautiful eyes.

Svetlana’s hand flew out and grabbed Ilya’s arm. His eyes tracked to hers slowly, looking like his shoulders carried mountains.

“Illyusha, a few months ago when you were over, and we were talking about how we needed to go clubbing so I could get laid when we were talking to Shane. He couldn’t look at me for hours the next time we saw him; I thought he was embarrassed because you’d told him the story I told you.” Ilya blinked at her, and Rose watched what little colour remained drain from his face. “At the end of the call, I said we had to go so I could get laid. He said-”

“‘Have fun you two’.” Ilya shook his head rapidly. “But I said, I said I would miss him too much to have fun!” Ilya looked at Svetlana desperately. Rose felt sick. How could she have thought- “And then he said… he said ‘that’s never stopped you before’.” Rose watched his eyes flutter closed and an animal noise of pain rip its way out of his chest. “He fucking winked at me, and hung up before I say ‘I love you’.” He buried his face in his hands and his shoulders shook. “How could- what did- I don’t-” He looked up at Rose, desperately, openly crying now. “My Shane, says this to you?” She nodded sharply, once. “Fuck.” He leaned back in the booth, placing the backs of his hands over his eyes as they shook. “Fuck.” He kept his eyes closed and reached a hand out for his phone. Rose passed it over, and watched how he flicked through it, eyes closed, calling Shane by memory. He pressed it to his ear, but Rose was close enough to hear it go straight to voicemail. Ilya pulled the phone away and hung up without speaking, and opened his eyes in time to see Rose’s raised eyebrows. “If he panic, won’t listen. Notification upset him.” Rose had never heard his accent so thick, not even in interviews she had seen from their early careers. She watched him take in two sharp breaths before he reached out and slammed the rest of his glass of vodka down his throat. He hunched forward over his phone, and started furiously typing on it, ignoring the two women across from him.

Svetlana reached out and pulled Rose sideways into a tight hug. Rose let herself shake in the arms of her girlfriend for five seconds before she pulled away and picked up her phone to order a car back to Svetlana’s place. They needed to fix this, and it would be a lot easier to fix somewhere less public.

//

Shane didn’t know what had woken him, at first. He opened his eyes and saw the faint early-dawn light peeking past the edge of the sheet he had bunched up in his fists covering his mouth. He stretched his fingers out slowly, letting the ache ease in them as he blinked against the grit in his eyes. He let out a weak sigh, feeling the air scrape against his throat as he pushed it out. He should probably get up and wash his face, but it was a rare day off, and he didn’t have anywhere to be until the next afternoon. He thought about it, getting up and padding to the restroom, splashing his face and changing clothes. He let his eyes slip closed instead.

Judging by how drunk Ilya had sounded on the phone, he wouldn’t be getting a call from his boyfriend for a while yet. And he didn’t have the energy to get presentable for himself, so he could wallow a little longer. Just until the call.

Ilya would definitely know something was wrong if he wasn’t up by the time he shook off the hangover enough to function, and he’d come close enough to blowing everything the night before as it was. The future of their relationship might depend on how well he could play the next interaction they had, and he wasn’t capable of faking calm at the moment, never mind happiness.

And he should be happy, shouldn’t he? Ilya had called last night, and it sounded like he had found somebody that he really… liked. And that was great, Ilya having more people around him was great news, especially after all the friends he’d had to leave behind for Shane’s sake.

It was just… Shane had always thought that their relationship would be just them. Ilya was sleeping around, sure, but it didn’t mean anything to him. They didn’t mean anything to him. The other people.

Or at least, they hadn’t. But Ilya calling, and asking that question- asking if they could open up their actual relationship…

It was hitting him hard, that’s all. He was being ridiculous. He should be glad Ilya had found another person that could make him as happy as Shane did, it was just-

It was just that Shane had thought that maybe being Ilya’s boyfriend was something he could do better than anyone else, even if being Ilya’s lover wasn’t. But if Ilya had found someone else, then- then how long until that someone else learned to be better at loving Ilya than him?

And what would happen then?

The sharp taste of blood in his mouth drew him back to himself as the strip of skin on his lip he’d been worrying finally gave way. He moved the sheets away from his mouth to make sure he didn’t get any blood on them, and over the rustling, he heard it.

The creak of a floorboard outside his bedroom door, and the almost-silent snick of the latch as the door opened.

His security was excellent, and everyone who had access to this building was out of the country. His parents had flown out to Mexico for their anniversary, and Ilya and Rose were out in Boston. Nobody else could get in without him letting them in. He should reach under the bed and grab the old stick he kept there just in case. Hell, he was a hockey player, he should get up and face whoever had broken into his home. Adrenaline dumped into his veins and he felt his heart pound like it did when he needed the puck to land just right on his tape. He opened his eyes.

He just laid there.

He heard the soft sound of something being placed on the floor by the door.

He just laid there.

Soft footsteps, hesitant, sneaking towards him.

He just-

Weight, dipping the edge of the mattress. A hand, brushing over his sheet cocoon.

“Moya lyubovMy love? Awake?”

He closed his eyes again. Oh god.

Either this was a dream, and he shouldn’t look. Or it wasn’t, and Ilya was here.

Christ, he hoped it was a dream.

Because if it wasn’t a dream, that meant Shane had been so obvious over the phone that Ilya had noticed, drunk as he was. If it wasn’t a dream, then Ilya had gotten on the next flight home. If it wasn’t a dream, then Shane had ruined Ilya’s night with his over-emotional, selfish reaction.

If it wasn’t a dream, then Ilya was here, and Shane wouldn’t be able to hide anymore – hide the petty jealousy, the sadness, the disappointment he felt that he couldn’t learn this like he learned hockey. Couldn’t just be normal, just be good enough, instead of a selfish, possessive asshole.

The hand landed more firmly on his shoulder, and shook him gently.

No more hiding.

He sighed, and opened his eyes as he felt Ilya roll him gently onto his back. He gripped the sheets to take them with him as he rolled, and tried not to think about how he was hiding behind them like a child, opening and closing his grip over and over.

Ilya looked, well. Awful, honestly. As awful as he ever did. Still stupidly handsome, but his eyes were bloodshot. He was pale, and the skin under his eyes looked bruised, and his hair was a mess. He hadn’t even bothered with a hat to cover it, unless he had left it downstairs. Ilya’s hand shook as it reached out and traced over his freckles, whisper-soft. Shane felt the tacky drag on his skin where tears had dried sticky, and flinched at the sensation. His whole body ached, and he felt so grimy. He had skipped his nightly routine in favour of curling up under the blanket in one of Ilya’s old Boston hoodies – one he’d taken at the cottage, that he slipped back into Ilya’s closet occasionally before stealing it back. It still smelled faintly of him, which is why he’d chosen it for his pity party. He was kind of regretting that choice now as Ilya’s hand moved from his cheek to adjust the hood over his head. How pathetic he must seem. He opened his mouth to say something – anything – and stared helplessly at Ilya as the words refused to come.

“Okay, is okay malyshbaby, is okay. Shh-shh-shh, is okay.” Shane looked at him, lost, as all he managed to produce was a thin whine. Ilya stroked his hand firmly through Shane’s hair, tugging a little at the roots, and met his eye. Shane flinched, and redirected his gaze to the mole on Ilya’s cheek. Ilya sucked in a sharp breath that wobbled at the end. “Okay, zaykabunny, okay, will fix, da? All okay, am home. Time all good, no rushing, big breaths with me, yes? With me, okay?” He couldn’t even nod, just flicked his eyes between the mole and Ilya’s lips, trying to match his breaths to Ilya’s exaggerated ones. “Very good, moya lyubovmy love, doing so good, yes? Just a little more for me, doing so great.”

By the time Shane’s breathing was back to a regular pace, the sun had fully risen and was glaring through the windows, undampened by the curtains that he hadn’t pulled over the night before. He flicked his eyes to Ilya’s, and felt them go round in surprise as he took in the tears on Ilya’s cheeks. He reached out instinctively, and felt his stomach turn to ice as Ilya flinched away from him. He pulled his hand back in tight and curled himself around it, cursing his stupidity. There was only one reason Ilya could have for being here, for catching a flight all the way home when he was due to play the Admirals the next day. And here Shane was, making it harder for him, as if he hadn’t already done enough- tears on Ilya’s face because Shane had put him in this position- crying because he cared about Shane’s pain and knew that what he had to say would destroy him. The least Shane could do was not make this any harder than he already had.

Shane sniffled and ran his hands down his face, moving to sit up properly. Ilya scooted away from him as he did so, leaving about a foot of space between them. Shane felt like his whole life was in that one-foot space, stretched out thin and fragile, knowing that the next words from Ilya would shatter it completely.

“Sweetheart, kotikkitten, Shane. So sorry that we are here.”

Shane nodded, sniffing hard and scrubbing at his mouth. He rested his gaze on Ilya’s brow bone.

“Ya tebya lyublyuI love you, so sorry.”

Shane felt his face crumple a little at that, and scrambled to smooth it out. He would not make this harder for Ilya.

“I know that- blyatfuck, why is English so hard? I know that we are here because of me, and I know- I know-”

Shane’s head started shaking from side to side in denial, he felt it, like he could feel the tremble in his hands as he brought them to his mouth to chew on, helpless to stop either action.

“I know I have no right to ask this, Shane, I know. But please, please, let me try to fix this, okay?”

He felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion. Fix? What could Ilya need to fix?

“Whatever you need, yes? You want to look through my phone, we can do this right now. You want tracker, you want check-ins, you want proof, I give, okay? Anything, please lyubimyybeloved, please tell me I can fix this.” Ilya’s voice cracked. Shane’s eyes shot to his. He sounded desperate, raw, tortured. “I don’t know what I did, to make you think I would do this to you, but please, please, give me a chance to prove I would never, pozhaluysta, ya sdelayu vsyoplease, I'll do anything.” Fresh tears traced down Ilya’s cheeks, and he clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Pozhaluysta, solnyshko, dorogoy, ty moy mir, ya umolyayu tebya, pozhaluystaPlease, sunshine, darling, you're my whole world, I'm begging you, please.”

Shane felt like he was floating outside his body, watching as his hands pulled Ilya in tight to his chest, overriding the flinch his boyfriend made to crush him close to his chest. Ilya whined like an animal, clawed fingers digging into the hoodie around his hips as he shook with sobs.

“Please, I am not trying to- to trick you with guilt, I am sorry, I just- I- I promise, Shane, I promise-”

He watched his fingers move to pet Ilya’s hair, heard the sounds of his voice hushing him as he cried. He couldn’t feel any of it. This might be the last time he would ever get to hold Ilya, and he couldn’t even feel it. Of all the cruel tricks his mind had ever played on his body, this was by far the most vicious. He would mourn the absence of this sensation for the rest of his life.

The soothing motions of his body seemed to be working on Ilya, as his sobs quietened and the tears slowed until they were sitting upright, holding each other, rocking slowly side to side. Ilya wiped his hands across his face, and Shane’s body reached out for the box of tissues on his nightstand, offering them to him. Ilya took a couple, mopping at his face and blowing his nose. He took in three deep breaths before raising his head to meet Shane’s eye. Whatever he saw there caused his eyebrows to furrow.

“Shane?”

Shane felt a flicker of motivation, tried to swim back down to his body. He needed to answer Ilya, he needed to be present for this conversation. He owed Ilya that. He owed Ilya at least that, after all this time, and all this trouble.

“LyubimyyBeloved, are you with me?”

Shane fought harder, but it felt like he was encased in cement. Ilya’s hands came up to cradle his face, tilting it to the side.

“Oh, kotikkitten, okay, is all okay. You are not here right now, but this is okay. It is okay because I am here, I have you now.” Ilya leaned in and rested his forehead on Shane’s, taking a deep breath in. “You held me together, now I hold you. And once we are both here together, we talk. We will, uh, hash this out, and then we will be fine. Okay.” Ilya nodded firmly, took Shane’s hand in his, pressed a kiss to the knuckles and then held them over his own heart. “Do you feel it? Moe serdtse b'etsya dlya tebyaMy heart beats for you. When you come back, I will remind you of this, yes?”

Shane could almost feel the warmth of him in his fingertips, the beat of Ilya’s heart leading him back to himself. He grit his teeth, and kept swimming.

Chapter 3: If it’s My Imagination, Stop Me if I’m Wrong

Chapter Notes

Last chapter, and this one's a belter!

Ilya was aware of Shane coming back to him like waves lapping at the shore. Slow approaches and withdrawals, but ultimately gaining ground. He kept talking, kept swaying with Shane, giving him something to aim for.

He feels it when Shane touches back down in his body. His breathing pattern wobbles and he pulls away slightly, stiffening. Ilya loosens his grip, even though it makes his fingers ache. He has to earn back the right to hold Shane.

He remembers panicking the whole way here, through the conversation at Svetlana’s place, through the girls taking his phone to book the flights, all the way through the journey, stumbling to Shane’s bed. He remembers the look that had been on Shane’s tear-stained face, when he rolled to face Ilya and kept the blankets between them like a shield, knuckles white and fingers bloodless as they flexed nervously. He remembers his own hand moving on instinct to brush over Shane’s freckles, and the feeling of grief that had bowled him over when Shane flinched from his hands. His solnyshko’ssunshine's body had screamed his wish to hide from Ilya, so he had tucked the hood of his- Ilya’s- hoodie around his head, hoping it would help. He’d ran his hand through Shane’s hair to encourage him as he went to speak, and remembers closing his eyes when Shane had flinched away from him again, refusing to make eye contact. He remembers soothing, begging, throwing out all of the options he had for how to fix this, some that the girls had helped him come up with, and some he thought of himself. He remembers how disgusted he’d felt, when Shane had reached to soothe him, how horrified that he was making this harder for Shane, after everything he’d done to make him think Ilya didn’t want him, only him. He remembers pulling himself together, determined to explain, and looking into Shane’s eyes braced for another flinch- he had to try, he could survive flinching, he couldn’t survive letting go without a fight, without explaining-

He remembers looking in Shane’s eyes and seeing only himself reflected back. Shane was gone, lights out, nobody home. He had gone somewhere Ilya couldn’t follow, but maybe he could get Shane to chase him one more time.

As he spent the time calling Shane back he felt the panic draining. He couldn’t maintain it forever, and he was right where he was supposed to be now. He was doing what he was always meant to do.

The truth of his world fell back into place one sway at a time, every mumbled endearment like the push of his skates on the ice, propelling him to where he needed to be. Skating was easy, easier than walking, easier than breathing, especially on the bad days.

Loving Shane was easier than skating. Hockey had been his escape, but Shane was his home.

He was the second best hockey player in the world. Loving Shane? He was the best there was.

He needed to be better.

He could fix this. They were both here, together, alive.

Shane pulls away. Ilya’s grip loosens.

His hands slide to Shane’s. They fit just as perfectly as they did the last time he held them, over three weeks ago. He knows he has to earn back the right to hold Shane.

He doesn’t think Shane knows that.

That hurts in a different way, shreds something deep in his heart that Shane’s perception of the truth has been something he feels he should be putting up with.

How long? How long had Ilya been chipping away at Shane’s belief that he deserved a relationship that fulfilled him? How long had Shane been flaying himself open, while Ilya was too distracted to notice?

How long had it been, since his boyfriend had acted like he knew he was Shane Fucking Hollander? How long since the last time all that confidence had played out on his face where only Ilya could see?

How long had Shane been crushing himself down into what he thought Ilya wanted?

He didn’t know. How terrible was that, to not know how long his boyfriend had been pretending to be somebody else?

How long ago had Ilya destroyed him? How could he piece him back together again, make him better than he’d found him, like Shane had for him?

Ilya has never been a clean player. Dirty hits, high sticking where he can make it look like an accident, sharp blows in soft places when the referees can’t see or aren’t looking. Ilya plays to win, even if that means taking the cheap shot. That’s why he had settled so well in Boston, and part of what he’s struggling with in Ottawa; for underdogs, his new team isn’t scrappy enough. They don’t bite when cornered, they cower.

Ilya takes every advantage he can get and runs away with it. Shane’s low self-esteem is a crack in his defensive line. Ilya intends to drive through it.

This is the most important play of his entire life. He feels his whole body thrumming with it, overtime in game seven of a playoff series, puck on tape and skates in the crease.

There will be time to watch the game tape back with Shane later and make sure that gap is closed for good. For now, Ilya sees the opportunity open in front of him, and takes it.

//

Shane was confused.

He wasn’t really… sure, exactly, how they got here.

He had a vague memory of being herded, manoeuvred carefully without input, out of his clothes and into the shower, Ilya gently prodding him where he wanted him, mumbling gently, usually against his cheek, or his hair, or his hands.

“This way, dorogoydarling, just like this, yes?”

“There, perfect zvezdastar, let me get that for you…”

“Doing so good, krasivyybeautiful, we get you clean, comfy after, da?”

He had breathed out a sigh of relief at the feeling of the warm water sluicing away the grime from him, feeling more settled now that his routine was being rectified. He’d blinked, slowly, enjoying the feeling of Ilya running soapy hands across his body, felt safe and warm for the first time in weeks.

Ilya had dropped to his knees at some point and was cleaning his legs. Shane shook his head a little, surfacing from his haze for a moment. He didn’t know how they had got here, exactly, but Ilya was on his knees, that meant- he should- he needed to-

Ilya glanced up at him at that moment, skipping over his soft dick to look him in the face. Shane had felt himself flushing from shame, eyes darting. His boyfriend, the love of his life, was right there in front of him on his knees, and he couldn’t even-

Christ, no wonder Ilya was looking elsewhere, what an unmitigated fucking disaster. He knew Ilya’s ego was pretty bulletproof, but still-

“Shane.” He dragged his eyes back to Ilya’s face at the serious tone. “Breathe. This isn’t about that lyubimyybeloved, please. You are having panic attack, you must breathe. You are all good here, we just shower.” Shane struggled to drag air in through his nose. Ilya stood up, dragging his fingertips softly across his skin on the way up, and pulled him in for a hug.

Shane didn’t know if it made it better or worse, when he felt Ilya’s soft dick against him. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it, focusing on the rise and fall of Ilya’s chest and the sound of water on tile. Eventually, his breathing levelled out, and Ilya nudged him under the spray to rinse off, crowding at his back after a perfunctory wash of his own, their feet touching the whole time. He turned the water off and kept one hand on Shane’ hip as he reached outside of the shower for a pair of towels (blue for Shane, red for himself). He wrapped Shane up in his towel before wiping himself off quickly with his own, scrubbing through his curls and wrapping it around his waist. He reached for Shane’s towel and patted him down gently before wrapping the towel and his arms around him and lifting him off his feet.

Shane squawked in surprise as he was lifted, but otherwise stayed fixated on Ilya’s hair, the swipe of terrycloth through it replaying over and over again in his mind. Ilya’s curls would frizz. He didn’t even stop to put product in it. His hair would be a disaster, and Ilya hated when his curls were a mess. He kept his eyes on them even as he was deposited gently on the edge of the bed closest to the dresser, as Ilya took his hand and held them outstretched as he rifled through his drawers, while Ilya dressed him in clothes that were warm and smelled like him. His silent stare-down was broken when Ilya tugged a fresh sweatshirt over his head, this one Centaurs red and black, and he blinked down at it bemused. These weren’t his clothes. He wiggled his hips slightly. Those weren’t even his boxers.

Ilya nudged him to shuffle across the bed, managing to follow without breaking contact. As Shane settled back into himself more, it was Ilya reaching across to the door that tipped him off, ankle hooked around Shane’s as he balanced on one foot and stretched for his bag with his tongue peeking out in concentration.

Ilya hadn’t stopped touching him since Shane had pulled him in close while he cried.

\\

Ilya let out a hiss of triumph as he felt his fingers hook into the straps of his duffel bag by the door, and he inched himself back with it firmly in his grasp, sitting next to Shane and dropping a hand to his thigh as he rifled through the bag with the other. He’d had a bit of time in the airport before his flight, and had picked up some food from Dunkin’, mostly on autopilot. He was glad for it now, as it was clear that Shane had skipped his night-time routine and had surely not eaten since dinner the night before. He didn’t want to leave Shane, not even long enough to venture to the kitchen, so slightly squashed pastries would have to do. He withdrew the paper bag, smiling as he turned to face Shane.

He looked… better. Clean, cosy, and his eyes seemed clearer, more present. Their eyes connected, and Shane actually held the contact this time. Ilya felt his victorious smile shift into a goofy grin as he gazed at the love of his life. He could do this. Shower, food, then talking. Bozhe moiMy god, they were bad at talking, but Ilya was bound and determined to get this right. They had to talk, because clearly Ilya had not been communicating well at all if Shane thought after years of them being official that he was still sleeping with other people, when the truth was he could barely muster up the energy to even look at anyone who wasn’t Shane, even just to be polite when they were speaking to him. That was most of the other part of his problem with the Centaurs; he knew they were expecting the Great Terror, Russia’s Greatest Fuck Machine, Ilya Fucking Rozanov, and he just-

Didn’t want to be. Didn’t want to pretend to want it anymore, either. He just wanted to be Shane’s Ilya, and he knew it. He thought Shane knew it too.

He passed the pastry to Shane and watched his brain start to calculate, brow furrowing. He slipped his hand to the back of Shane’s neck and squeezed gently.

“You haven’t eaten since dinner, malyshbaby. Please, for me? You know I worry.”

Shane’s shoulders slumped and he took a small bite from the corner. Ilya knew it wasn’t ideal for him, and he would help Shane look up the nutritional information after they talked or he would stress about it over the next few days, but it was still something.

Ilya waited until Shane finished his pastry, quickly ripping through his own, and then crumpled the trash into a ball and sunk it into the trash can without looking. Not what he usually tossed in there from the bed, but his arm knew the throw anyway. He passed Shane the bottle of water from his nightstand next, watching carefully as he drank all of it, knowing he must be dehydrated. When he was finished, he had a little more colour in his cheeks, and the sugar seemed to have helped put him back in his body, as much as his boyfriend would hate to admit it.

This was as good as it was going to get without leaving the haven of their room, and Ilya had decided somewhere between Shane refusing to meet his gaze and the panic in his eyes in the shower that they weren’t leaving this room again until Ilya had fixed this.

He took both of Shane’s hands in his and ducked his head to catch his eye. His heart swelled when Shane held his gaze, eyelids only flickering slightly.

“Shane, I love you. I have loved you for years now, hidden even from you, and then, later, just hidden from everyone else. You are the beat of my heart and the breath in my lungs, yes? There is nobody else for me but you.” Shane’s face twisted, and his bottom lip shook. “Okay- Shane? What are you thinking? You tell me now, yes?”

His mouth opened and closed a few times as he struggled to reorder his face.

“No, not anything. I’m fine.”

“Shane.”

“Really, Ilya, I’m fine! I love you, and I want you to be happy, and it’s all good, really!”

A plastic smile smeared itself across his beloved’s face, and Ilya hated it. He hadn’t seen that smile in person since the fucking draft, when reporters told Shane to smile for second place.

He looked like he had a gun to his head, sweating. Threatened.

“What is making you scared, moya lyubovmy love?”

“I’m not scared.” The words shot out the same way they did all those years ago, in a hotel room in Toronto. They sounded just as true as they did back then, too.

“Yes. You are scared. We are in our bed together, I am holding your hand, telling you I love you, and you are terrified like we are 18 again. Why?”

“Because-!”

“Because what, Shane?”

“Because I can’t fucking do this, okay! I can’t listen to you tell me how much you love me one more time, before-”

“Before fucking what, Hollander?”

“Before you tell me that loving me isn’t enough! Before you tell me that you’re suffocating, and I’m controlling, and before you leave me!”

“Shane-”

“I can’t fucking be gracious about this when you hold me like that, and call me all these things, and you’re dragging my heart out of my chest one rib at a fucking time, Ilya! I can’t fucking do this, and that’s not fair, but I can’t!” He dug his nails deeper into his scalp, eyes wild. “I’m so fucking sorry, I can’t- I can’t-” He dragged his hands down to cover his face, shrinking in on himself. “I know-” His voice was quieter, devastated. “I know you’ve made up your mind, why else would you come all the way out here, but please-” A deep, shuddered breath. “Please, Ilya, I can do better. I can be less jealous, I can, I swear, you just caught me by surprise. I know you’ve given up so much, and I have no right to ask for more, but please. Just, please.”

Ilya reached out, pulling Shane’s hands away from his face. No eye contact this time, but Ilya could see Shane trying to make himself, even though he clearly wasn’t up for it right now – like he thought he owed it to him. Ilya kept pulling, until Shane was sprawled in his lap.

“Shane.” He brushed a kiss to his forehead, ignoring the flinch and soft groan of pain from the man in his lap, pushing aside the desolation he felt at Shane’s words. “I am not leaving you. I am not breaking up with you. I am not angry with you. I love you. I do not feel controlled, or, or suffocated, or any of the things you say I am. I am happy when I am with you. I am safe when I am with you. I am loved when I am with you.” Another kiss, brushed beneath his closed eyes, following the path of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “I come all the way out here, because my love’s best friend looks me in the eye and she tells me she knows I am sleeping with other people. I tell her this is not funny joke, but she is not laughing. I phone the love of my life, and ask him if we are exclusive, and he tells me no, like is obvious. Like I ask to be cruel. Then he does not answer his phone again, so I get on flight. I come home. I come to beg him to let me fix what I have broken. I practice the words, over and over, so I get them right, because obviously I have been getting them wrong. And then-” Ilya’s voice breaks, and he watches a tear land on Shane’s brow. “-Then, he asks me to give him another chance. My heart beats because of him, and his breaks because of me.” Shane’s eyes open. “So, I agree with one thing you say, all this morning, yes? It is not fair. I have made you feel as if you are anything other than beginning and end of what I want, ever. Always.” Ilya runs his thumb across Shane’s eyebrow, and smiles through the tears at him, wobbly, helpless. “I have a lot to explain, yes? And here, in our bed, where I hold you and you dream of me when I am not here, you will ask and I will answer. We will fix. And then I spend rest of life making it up to you, yes?” Shane’s mouth was open, his face soft in shock. “After I explain, you will tell me if you will let me make it up to you for rest of forever, yes?”

“I- yes?”

Ilya pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek. And another. More and more of them, until Shane was smiling again, a real smile this time. Ilya pushed their foreheads together and whispered, lips barely brushing Shane’s.

“I know we are bad at the talking, but we must talk about this, yes?”

He hated to watch that smile dim. It would be so much easier to just fall into it, communicating without words like they always did. But that’s how they got here, and Ilya needed to know why. What he had done to make Shane think he wasn’t interested in being faithful to him, and how to make sure he never, ever did it again.

“Okay.”

“Okay. Would you like to go first?” Shane squirmed, head shaking. “Okay, I go first, just like draft, da?”

That earned him a shove and a scowl. Not a real one, though. One of the ones Shane gave just to Ilya.

“I have not slept with anybody but you since before 2017 All-Stars. No kissing, no touching, nothing. Last time before that was Svetlana, and we stop halfway through because she was not interested in being rabotachore. I haven’t wanted to for a while before that, either. Before you stay over in Boston, probably.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you. Because you are boring, and boring is maybe my favourite thing about anyone. Because you are Shane Fucking Hollander, and you are my Shane, my lyubimyybeloved. Because we have best sex. Because you smile when you call me asshole. Because you love me too. Because I never want to be anywhere else, with any other person. Because you are everything I need and everything I want, and everything I have. Because a million other reasons that I can’t say in English because I can barely say them in Russian. A new because every single day I wake up in world with you. Because it’s been so long I don’t remember how to want anything but you, maybe.”

Shane’s face twisted up again. “If we are going to- to talk about this, Ilya, we have to be honest about it. I can’t, I can’t read between the lines on this okay?”

“Da, yes, okay. Like cottage, first summer, we tell truth.”

“I mean it, Ilya. Even to spare my feelings.”

Ilya adjusted his grip on Shane’s hands. “What is spare feelings? Like, extra?”

“No, like, saying nice things that aren’t true because you think it will make me feel better than the truth.”

Ilya blinked down at him. “Okay. I do not do this, so easy promise. Yes, no spare feelings.”

Shane scowled up at him, a little. “You literally just did it five seconds ago.”

“When?”

“When you said- oh my god, Ilya.” Shane’s eyes were flicking around the room and he looked distinctly trapped. “When you said we have the best sex.”

“But. How is that spare feelings when is true? You said spare feelings is lying to make you feel better.”

Shane pushed himself out of Ilya’s lap and wrapped his arms around his own waist, tears glistening on his lower lashes once again. Ilya didn’t let go of his hand and let his arms wrap around Shane’s waist too.

“I’m serious, Ilya.” The whisper trembled through the air between them. “Please, stop pretending. It isn’t helping, it just makes me feel worse.”

Ilya thought he had understood where the cracks were in their relationship. He had felt them, driven under his skin like splinters every minute of his journey home and every second of not knowing how to prove to the love of his life that his old ways were over. He knew that a lot of the tabloids still talked about him, and he knew that his reputation had been well-earned. He knew the fact that he could be attracted to women terrified Shane, and he thought they had been getting somewhere with it. He had realised, some 30,000 feet in the sky above the Canadian border, that Shane didn’t trust him. He had spent a full five minutes wondering breathlessly if he should call for help on that plane; if he really was having a heart-attack, as he suspected.

He hadn’t even suspected this. Too arrogant, maybe. Too bought into his own legend. Too greedy, maybe, to let himself think it.

“Shane. You don’t- you don’t like it?” Ilya could barely hear himself over the ringing in his ears. Shane squinted at him, looking confused. Maybe confused.

How could Ilya know for sure if it was confusion he was seeing, when he couldn’t even recognise pleasure on Shane’s face?

“What?”

\/\/\/

He remembered waking up in the middle of the night, after their conversation by the firepit that first summer. He had remembered his own voice, sharp: “Not so gay you can’t fuck Rose Landry.” He had remembered Shane’s slight flinch before he answered.

He remembered shaking Shane’s shoulder, nausea burning the bottom of his throat, the words spilling out of him, frantic, at the first sign of waking from the other man. “Shane. Shane. You said it was disaster. How bad?”

He remembered the grumble from the other man, how he had practically grunted at him. “What? What’s that?”

“Shane, please. Important. Rose Landry. Was bad to you?”

Shane had scowled at him in the dark. “Seriously, Ilya? You’re waking me up to gloat? Could have waited until morning.”

The tips of his fingers had tingled, his lips numb. When he had blinked then, he saw flashes of another dark-haired man, taller, more slender. “Shane-”

“Oh my god, Ilya, yes, it was terrible. Worst sex of my life, it was fucking awful, okay? Christ. Happy now?”

“Schastlivyy, Ilyusha? Ty sam etogo khotel. Tebe eto tozhe ponravilos?Happy, Ilya? This is what you wanted. Was it good for you too?”

“You didn’t want to have sex with her?”

“Fuck, Ilya, I don’t know. Not really. She wanted to, so-” Ilya had felt hands on his face. “Are you crying?”

Was he? He had wiped his hands over his face, almost surprised to feel wetness there.

“Da. Sorry.”

“Sorry? Why are you crying?”

“You did not want to have sex with her.”

“… and that makes you want to cry?” Shane sounded doubtful.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m confused.”

“I said- I said to you earlier, and you didn’t want to. I’m sorry.”

“I’m still confused.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that. And I’m sorry for what I said about it, fuck.” The numb feeling had drained away. His face had felt hot, and his palms had itched to pull Shane closer, so he had.

“Had to do what?”

“Have sex with her, when you didn’t want to. Did she hurt you?” Ilya had felt Shane flinch in his arms and felt sick, had pressed Shane closer to his chest to hide him from the world. “You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t ready Shane. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Ilya, you’ve got it all wrong. It wasn’t like that. She didn’t- didn’t force me, or anything. I’m a hockey player, for Christ’s sake!”

“So was I.” Ilya had felt Shane freeze against him, processing the words he hadn’t meant to let slip out.

“Fuck, Ilya. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. Oh my god, are you okay?” This time Ilya was the one avoiding Shane’s gaze.

“Will you tell me please, what it was like? With Rose?” Shane had squeezed him tight before answering.

“We had fun, it was fine, I just wasn’t in the mood. I wasn’t, you know, attracted to her, and I wasn’t like-” Ilya had felt the shrug against his chest, interrupting his rhythm of careful, repetitive breaths. “aroused, or whatever. It was embarrassing, mostly. She was very kind about it, didn’t pressure me or anything. But, we were together, and I felt like I owed it to her, so we tried a couple of times. Complete disasters, but not bad, or painful. Not traumatising, I swear.”

The weight on Ilya’s chest had eased slightly. “What does this word mean? Traumatising?”

“Like, it makes you feel bad for a long time. You remember it a lot, and it makes it hard to do things that remind you of it. Really upsetting.”

For the briefest of moments, Ilya had felt a forehead pressing into his back, hot breath washing over his shoulder blade. It had disappeared with the brush of Shane’s hand on his cheek.

“Still sorry for what I said. Even if it wasn’t bad, it still wasn’t good. You still didn’t like it. Is wrong that you felt you had to.”

“Thank you for saying that, and I forgive you. I’m sorry too.” Shane had pressed a kiss to Ilya’s forehead, and held his mouth there for several beats. “Can we talk about what you said? About you being a hockey player too?”

“Later, please? Not tonight, okay?” Shane had squeezed him tight, and Ilya had revelled in the feeling.

“Okay, not tonight. Let’s just sleep.”

\/\/\/

He felt hands on his cheeks, and blinked back into his body. Shane was looking into his eyes, concerned pinch in his brow. Maybe not concerned. Maybe angry. His lips were moving, but all Ilya could hear was that high-pitched, harsh ringing sound.

No wonder he was angry, he had finally admitted that he didn’t- that he wasn’t-

That he didn’t like it.

And Ilya wasn’t even listening to him.

Fuck, Ilya wasn’t even listening. He looked at Shane a little desperately, trying to hear him past the sound in his ears. He shook his head slightly, like he was trying to get water out of his ear, trying to make himself capable of hearing. Shane’s lips stopped moving for a second, and his expression – what was it? – got more intense.

Then the hands on his cheeks slid up and covered his ears, muffling the godawful ringing noise.

He felt himself gulp a breath into his half open mouth, heaving for air in the absence of the sound. Once his breathing had evened out a little more, Shane carefully took his hands away from Ilya’s ears, retuning them to his cheeks. Ilya tensed, waiting for the sound to rip through his eardrums again, but nothing came.

“Better?” Shane’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Ilya nodded wordlessly, searching Shane’s eyes for- something.

“What happened, Ilya? You completely checked out.”

“IzviniSorry, sorry, I did not-” Ilya swallowed hard, and felt his face crumple. “I don’t-”

“Okay, hold on- wait. Ilya.” Shane gripped his face firmly, held deliberate eye contact. “What are you apologising for? Exactly?”

Ilya felt his shoulders straighten at the tone and the strong grip. Yes, he wanted a detailed explanation of what Ilya had done. Ilya could do this, he did it all the time in his father’s house. Vague apologies didn’t prove you were sorry.

“I am rude, I do not listen. You tell me something which is important, and I do not pay attention.” The hand on his chin loosened. He had to- faster, he had to- “You tell me you do not like it, and I am still not paying attention, like before. I miss the truth because I am selfish, and I will not see it.” One finger slipped from his chin. Fuck- fuck- he would be faster to answer in Russian- he couldn’t get enough air, fuck- “I am uncomfortable to you, not- not good and you do not like-” Fuck, he knew his English wasn’t making sense, but he didn’t have time to think through the sentences like normal, not with the hand slipping away- fuck, he sounded like an idiot, too slow, always too fucking slow and too stupid- “I make you feel must do this, even when bad-”

Shane’s hand covered his mouth, pressing the words back behind his teeth. The other slipped to the back of his neck, holding his head pinned. Ilya blinked the blurriness out of his eyes and bit down hard on his own tongue, tasting blood and strangling the whining noise coming out of his throat.

“I think we are even worse at talking than we thought.” Ilya flinched as the blow landed. It was true, and they had agreed to no spare feelings. Shane had always known how stupid he was, from the first conversation they had, Ilya too dumb to follow the words tumbling from his pretty mouth, too distracted by freckles and too busy looking for the cruelty in his words that had never been there. Ilya had only confirmed it in the interview before the first All-Stars game, unable to even follow a conversation, with Shane having to answer for him; he had been so grateful, and so ashamed of himself.

“I’m going to ask you some yes or no questions now Ilya, okay? You just nod or shake your head.”

Ilya nodded. He could do that.

“Good, okay. Were you apologising for having sex with other people?”

Ilya couldn’t do this. What was the answer? No, not in that apology. No, because he hadn’t been having sex with other people. But what if he said no and Shane thought he had been, he just wasn’t sorry? Was that what Shane wanted the apology to be for? Or did he want Ilya to have been apologising for making him-

Ilya choked the whine back down again as he stared at Shane helplessly. He couldn’t even answer a fucking yes or no question.

“The truth Ilya, not what you think I want to hear. That apology, right then, the one I asked you to explain to me and then cut you off; was that about sleeping with other people, yes or no?”

Ilya shook his head sharply.

“Okay, thank you. Were you apologising for trying to spare my feelings about the sex?”

Ilya shook his head, slower that time. Shane’s brow furrowed again.

“Okay… thank you.” A long pause. “If I take my hand off your mouth, can you explain to me what you were apologising for?”

Ilya hesitated. He had already tried that, and it had gone so badly, he wasn’t-

“How about if I give you some time to think about what to say?”

Ilya flickered his eyes closed. Choosing his words, like a fucking toddler with blocks. Eyes still closed, he nodded.

“Okay, we’ll do that. Take your time Ilya, but I really need you to be specific.” Shane moved to take his hand away from Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya flashed his eyes open, panicked. He wasn’t- he wasn’t ready yet-

The hand pressed back and Ilya felt his shoulders drop.

“Okay, Ilya, okay, that’s okay. You let me know when you’re ready and I’ll stop covering your mouth.” Ilya let his eyes slip back closed slowly, watching Shane until he couldn’t anymore.

He spent some time figuring out exactly what he wanted to say, in Russian first, then the English words, then the sentence structure. The warmth of Shane’s hands holding him together sunk under his skin, and the words came easier.

When he was sure he had it, he opened his eyes again and nodded at Shane, who slowly removed his hand from Ilya’s mouth, the hand on the back of his neck still a warm weight.

“I am sorry that I was not listening, both after you told me, and every time it happened. I am sorry that I made you feel it was something you had to put up with, or that you owed to me. I am sorry that I was not paying attention when you trusted me to. I promise that you will not have to-” Ilya hauled in a breath, the grief in his chest compressing his lungs, because he was selfish, a monster. “I promise that you will not have to touch me again, ever.”

Shane flinched away from him.

“What?”

Ilya opened his mouth to repeat himself. He would repeat it as many times as Shane needed to hear it, even when it made him feel like his lungs were filled with acid.

Shane’s hand covered his mouth again.

“No, hold, on, we’re keeping it simple. We are keeping this conversation as simple as we can, because we aren’t on the same page, and we might not even be in the same fucking book, fuck.” Shane’s gaze on his felt like how Ilya imagined dying in a car crash might feel. He used to dream of it.

“The “it” you mentioned in your apology. You meant sex between us?” Fuck, he wasn’t specific enough, Shane had asked him to be fucking specific! Ilya nodded, pretending it didn’t feel like his tendons were going to rip out of his neck just to get away from him.

“You think I don’t like having sex with you?” Ilya blinked hard at the incredulous tone in Shane’s voice. He agreed, it was ridiculous that he hadn’t noticed. Unbelievable, really, but he truly hadn’t. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. He nodded.

Shane pressed his forehead to Ilya’s, tilting his head just enough to maintain eye contact.

“Ilya, I need you to really listen to what I’m about to say to you, okay?” Ilya nodded so fast he nearly dislodged Shane. He would, he would listen this time.

“I love having sex with you. Everything about us together makes me happy, especially the sex. I love the build-up, and how it feels during, and everything we do, and the way you look after me after. I have never not enjoyed sex with you. The only time I ever felt bad after was in Vegas, which we’ve talked about extensively. You are so good to me, and I feel so safe, and I want it all the time. I like having sex with you, I love having sex with you, I am obsessed with having sex with you. Sex with you is not a problem for me, has never been a problem for me, and probably will never be a problem for me.”

He sounded so certain. Spoke with such conviction.

The sob that ripped out of his chest was barely even muffled by Shane’s hands. Shane hauled him in close, rolling on to his back and tugging Ilya on top of him, the position so reminiscent of when they had exchanged I-love-yous that Ilya felt sick with it. Shane obviously thought of it too, and whispered in his ear, voice so firm and sure that he had no choice but to let it sink into his skull and muffle everything else.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, IlyushaI love you, Ilya.”

Ilya scrambled to shake off Shane’s hand, to whisper it back.

“Ya tebya lyublyu. Ya tebya lyublyuI love you. I love you, Shane. Shane.”

Shane planted a firm kiss on Ilya’s uncovered mouth, wet from both their tears. He pressed their foreheads back together.

“Do you believe me?”

Ilya’s head froze halfway through his automatic nod.

“What is it?”

“Nyet, nothing- I- I believe you.”

“No you don’t.”

Ilya started nodding again, desperate.

“Da, I- I do-”

“No more lying Ilya, from either of us. You don’t believe me, and that’s okay. What’s on your mind? What questions do you have, that are making you doubt it?”

Ilya took a few deep breaths in. This was Shane. He could ask Shane.

“You- you said that…” Shane squeezed the back of his neck with his hand and pushed against the sides of Ilya’s ribcage with his knees, feet planted on the bed and the pressure grounding. “You say that I am not telling the truth when I say we have good sex? So- so then, you do not think that we have good sex? You think is bad?”

“I said I didn’t think you were being honest when you said we have the best sex, Ilya. Not that the sex we have isn’t good. If the sex wasn’t at least great, we wouldn’t still be together, I know that.” Shane’s voice was soft, and he squeezed the back of Ilya’s neck rhythmically as he spoke. Ilya unclenched a hand from Shane’s side and cupped the side of Shane’s face, thumb reaching out to catch a tear from his lower lash before it fell.

“LyubimyyBeloved, is this about you thinking I am still sleeping with other people? I promise, I am not doing that, and I haven’t been doing that. Do you believe me?” Ilya ducked his head to catch Shane’s eye again. “No lying for you either, solnyshkosunshine, is okay if you don’t believe me yet.”

A tiny shake of Shane’s hand which landed like a haymaker to the ribs.

“Okay, moya lyubovmy love, thank you for telling me.” Ilya paused, remembering Shane’s earlier words. “The- the little names, are they still bad for you? I will stop, if-”

A hard shake of Shane’s head. A small smile.

“No, they are bad or no, they are not bad?”

“We’re going to fix this right? To talk it out?”

“Da, yes, we will fix together.”

“And you’ll- you’ll still call me all these things tomorrow?”

“Yes, and the day after that. All of the days, as long as you want.” Ilya rubbed the tips of their noses together, the way he knows Shane likes. Another small smile from Shane. Another rock lifted from on top of Ilya’s ribcage.

“What if I want them every day? Forever?”

“Then I will spend forever coming up with more little names to call you so you are never bored.”

Shane smiled again, and then nibbled his lip, a flash of discontentment across his face.

“Tell me, Shane?”

“They’re- the, umm-” Shane looked reluctant. “The term is, umm, pet names, in English. Not- not little names.” His teeth hooked back into his lower lip again, chewing at it. Pouting.

Ilya smiled to himself. There he was, his kotikkitten. Never subtle.

“I do not think this is what you want me to call them.” Shane’s eyes flashed to his, lip slipping out of his teeth as his jaw slackened. “Yes?”

“Yes.” The word was breath, barely audible.

“So, we are okay with little names?”

“Yes.”

“I am glad, moy mirmy world. I would miss your blush.”

“Shut up, asshole.”

Ilya grinned stupidly wide.

“Ah, I have missed my little name as well.”

Shane rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure you’ve heard it since the last time I said to you, Ilya.”

“Yes, but nobody else knows what it means. Just like nobody else knows what it means to call you boring, yes?” Shane glanced to the side, and then up at him through the fan of his lashes. Ilya softened his tone, pressing closer. “We are doing cottage rules, yes? Ask me, moya lyubovmy love.”

“What does it mean, to call me boring?”

Ilya hid his face in Shane’s hair for a moment, taking a big breath of his shampoo.

“Means you are safe. Stable, like- comfort. Not surprise, or not- not bad surprise.” He took another breath. Cottage rules. “Means you are home, or what I always thought home should be. Not like Russia, not like- how I grew up. Like a real home. Safe, and warm, and full of love.”

Shane’s breath hitched and he squeezed Ilya even tighter. They were so entwined, Ilya felt like maybe it would be impossible to separate them. Maybe they would leave pieces of themselves behind, and they would never be apart again. He wanted to climb into Shane’s ribcage and live there, nestled up by his heart.

“Not boring like, dull? Or- or unexciting or not interesting, or- like you’re getting bored of me?”

“No, not like that. You are fascinating. Ya tebya lyublyuI love you. I will love you for the rest of my life.”

He felt Shane nodding hard against his collarbone, hot wetness smearing there. Ilya smoothed his hand through Shane’s hair, humming gently. Once he stopped crying, Shane tilted his head up to look at him. Ilya dropped a kiss on his mouth, and then brushed one across the apple of his cheek over his freckles.

“Ready to keep talking, malyshbaby? I feel like there are a lot more things we have not heard each other say.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Shane pecked a kiss to the tip of Ilya’s nose.

“Can we go back to talking about us having sex?”

Shane croaked out a laugh. “Sure, Ilya.”

“Can you tell me why you think I was lying when I said we are the best at it?”

Shane squirmed a little against him, and dropped the eye contact to stare at the hollow of Ilya’s throat instead. That was okay, that wasn’t retreating, not really. Ilya got the feeling that he should probably brace for whatever was going to be said next.

“I know that you have a lot of… experience. And I know that I don’t. And I know that practice makes perfect and I haven’t had as much of that as some of your other partners, so. Yeah. It’s okay that it isn’t the best sex you’ve ever had, I know that isn’t everything in a relationship, and I know I’m not great, but-” Shane peeked up at his face, still avoiding his eyes. Ilya kept his breaths carefully even. “I would be willing to learn? To try some new stuff, or whatever. I just-” A frustrated breath. “I just want to be good for you. And I know that there is a lot I can’t compete with just, like, biologically, to fucking start, but-” Ilya couldn’t stop himself anymore, and pressed a kiss to Shane’s mouth, quieting him.

“There has been misunderstanding, zaychikbunny. Is our sex the best for you?”

“Well, I think that’s pretty obvious-” Shane blustered.

“Yes or no.”

“Yes. Obviously.” Ilya allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction.

“Our sex is also best for me. Not close, easy.”

“Ilya-”

“There are no spare feelings! Hands down, best sex. Because I love you, obviously, but also because we have insane chemistry. Everything you do drives me crazy, you are so unbelievably hot.” Ilya kind of wanted to lick Shane’s blush. “Also, on just a technique level. You know exactly how to drive me crazy, and you do it always. Was this always true? No. MalyshBaby, I think you are not understanding that with the amount of sex we have, and how long we have been having it; you are basically made in lab for me. You learn how to do anything, you learn how to do it how I like.” Shane’s whole body shivered at that. “Is unreal, truly. You are like dream. Nobody else can compare, and I know this. One of many reasons I do not bother with other people anymore.”

“Okay, but- but what about the things that I can’t give you? I can’t be the best at those.”

“Okay, like what?”

“Fuck, Ilya, I don’t know! You can’t grab my boobs, or fuck my pussy, for fucking starters!”

“Mmm, no. I grab your tits all the time, and they are my favourite. And I could definitely fuck your pussy if you asked nice, da?” Ilya felt a shark-like smile on his face as Shane stuttered and turned bright red. Blood in the water. Ilya stretched out languidly, grinding down slightly as he did, listening to Shane gasp. “What else do you think you can’t be the best at, hmm? All you have to do is ask, moya princessamy princess, and we can prove you wrong.”

“I don’t- that’s not-” Ilya laughed at him, just a little. Shane swallowed hard. “I’m not the best at- at fucking you?”

“We have just established that you are, I think I was very clear on that dorogoydarling.”

“No, I mean-” Shane squirmed a little more. “I mean, like, topping.” Ilya’s laughter turned to ice in his throat. Shane’s eyes met his, and his embarrassment faded, no doubt seeing the pole-axed expression on Ilya’s face. He cupped Ilya’s face in his hands. “Have you ever done that before?”

Ilya nodded, sharply, once.

Shane’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Did you like it?”

A hard shake, no.

“I’m sorry, Ilya.”

He just blinked back at him.

“Is that who you meant, when we were talking about me sleeping with Rose, that first summer?”

Another nod, gentler this time.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. Who-?” Ilya’s eyes darted to the side. “Your coach’s son, in Russia?”

A third nod.

“He hurt you?”

Ilya tilted his head to the side before shaking his head no. “He didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for. It was not… cruel. Just, not good. Not, umm-” Ilya paused, letting his lungs refill. “I did not feel good, after. Or during, for some of it. But I had told him yes, so.”

“You’re allowed to change your mind, Ilya.”

“Yes, I know. But he was not mind reader, and we were both young. Did not know better.”

Shane had set his jaw, looking stubborn.

“We were young too, and you always checked in with me.”

“I am glad. I learned my lesson, so.”

“Did he learn his lesson?”

“Shane-”

“What’s his name?”

“Why, are you going to go to France and track him down?”

Shane’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, he’s in France? Not Russia? How do you know that?”

“Shane, you are being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious, how the fuck do you know that? Have you seen him? Recently?”

“No, not recently.” Ilya’s heart was beating fast at how riled up Shane was about this. He didn’t know if it was the protectiveness or the jealousy that he was hearing that was twisting him up, but either way. Sasha was a long way away, and Shane wouldn’t actually go looking. What was the harm?

Especially if he felt he had a right to be jealous; that was good. That was progress.

“I haven’t seen him since Sochi.” He made sure his tone was casual. Super casual. So relaxed.

“Sochi? You saw him in fucking Sochi? He talked to you? When?”

“After we lost to Latvia. There was event at the Minister’s house, Svetlana’s father.”

“After we saw each other at the skating?”

“Da.” Ilya was struggling to hide his smile at how Shane’s nostrils were twitching with fury.

“What did you talk about?”

“Not much.”

“About fucking France, apparently.”

“Yes, just catching up. Like old times.”

“Like old times? Did you do anything besides talk, like old times? Did he fucking touch you?” Shane was all rage now, panting like he’s put a three-minute shift in before the line change.

“He kissed me. I told him I wasn’t interested.”

“And he was okay with that?”

“He got the message eventually, yes.”

“Eventu-” Shane’s chest heaved, fists clenching and unclenching. “The fuck you mean, eventually? He didn’t accept the first fucking time you said no?”

That was- that wasn’t- Shane looked furious. This had slid way past poking at Shane’s jealousy, this wasn’t-

“Shane-”

“What’s his fucking name, Ilya?”

“Sasha. Shane, it wasn’t-”

“Don’t.” Shane’s teeth were clenched so tight Ilya was amazed they didn’t shatter. “Do not defend this guy right now Ilya, I’ll fucking lose it. I love you, please do not.”

Ilya’s throat clicked as he swallowed.

“Okay. I love you too.”

“I love you. We are not finished with this topic. I love you. Let’s move on.”

“Okay.” Ilya’s voice was small. He hadn’t really thought it was a big deal, and Shane didn’t know the whole story.

But. But, what if Shane had been in that situation, somebody kissing him. Grabbing at him. Clearly uninterested, and being touched anyway.

It hadn’t been a big deal, that was just how Sasha was.

It wasn’t a big deal, right?

Ilya cleared his throat, blinking hard. That was… a problem for later. Shane wanted to move on.

“So, we are agreed, we are the best at sex.”

“Ilya, that’s-” Shane blew out a breath, closing his eyes. “I want to believe you. But I just, don’t think that’s true.”

“Okay, but is true for you, and I say to you it is also true for me.”

“Yeah, and I really think you’re sparing my feelings. You might even think that’s true.”

Ilya’s eyebrows flew up. “So now I am delusional?”

“I have literally asked you this before, Ilya, and you said no.”

Ilya reared back, hands planted on either side of Shane’s head. “Fucking- when? When do I say this to you? A million years ago, when we were not us? In some fucking hotel room? Moya lyubovMy love-”

“Less than a year ago, in this fucking bed, Ilya. Literally right here.”

“… What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It was after the second Montreal-Ottawa game, when we had another day free and I was driving back separately from the rest of the Metros. I asked you, and you told me you’d tell me after if I earned it. And then you didn’t fucking say anything about it, so I got the message, okay?”

“LyubimyyBeloved, I was joking. Because I thought it was obvious that you were my favourite. And then you fucking flipped me halfway through- I couldn’t speak English when we were done. I forgot. You fucked me stupid, and I thought it was joke question, because of course-” Ilya’s voice caught, and his next words were a heartbroken whisper. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it was important. Because I thought you knew. How could you not know? You are my whole world.”

“I know that, Ilya. I know I am.”

“Then why-”

“You literally told me I needed more experience. The next time we saw each other after that.”

“What? I have never-”

“You told me I should sleep with more people!”

Ilya recoiled. That had been one of the worst nights of his life. The loneliness, the fear he was trapping Shane with him, giving him no option except to be miserable. The relief he had felt, when Shane turned him down flat. How the relief had made him feel worse. What right did he have to be jealous, to hoard Shane’s light all to himself? To still be drowning in darkness, even when he was with his solnyshkosunshine?

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Tears shimmered on Shane’s lashes again.

“How else could you possibly have meant that?”

Ilya opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Where did he even begin? How could he explain this to Shane without pointing out all of the reasons he was no good for the love of his life? All the reasons Shane would be better off with almost anybody else? He stared down at Shane, and couldn’t summon a single word.

Shane’s eyes closed, face a grimace of disappointment. A tear escaped, another that he had caused. Another reason Ilya wasn’t a good enough partner.

“Like I said, Ilya. It’s okay, you don’t have to lie to me. I know I’m not-”

Another piece of evidence for Shane that he wasn’t enough for Ilya.

Suddenly, all of his defence fell away. How could it not, when Shane was so clearly devastated? Here they were, spending all this time trying to talk, being so clear that they had been misunderstanding each other, that Shane had been paying for it, and Ilya was going to- what? Let embarrassment keep him quiet? Shame? Fucking, social rules? Why was he still lying and hiding, when he could see how much it was hurting Shane?

Ilya’s heart was scarred, and his soul was ugly. He was all of the things people called him – he was selfish, he was rude, he was greedy, he was jealous and petty and competitive, and a rabid, wild thing. He was in love with Shane, and obsessed with him beyond reason or restraint. He would do anything. He would show Shane the truth. One selfless act, in the sea of his whole life.

He would rather Shane be disgusted with Ilya than disgusted with himself. Ashamed of Ilya. Embarrassed of Ilya. Anything, other than the small, fractured version of Shane that Ilya had created.

“I am scared.”

Shane’s eyes blinked open, still wet. Would this be the last time he looked at Ilya like that? Like he loved him?

“What?”

“I worry you are stuck with me. You have not had chances to see what you like. You like me, or maybe you like men and I am only man you’ve had. I want you forever. I do not want to find out in five years that you want someone else because you never had chance to see what you want outside of me. I hoard you like gold, and one day maybe you feel like I am… cage. Prison. Trap.” Ilya swiped away the fallen tear with his thumb, his mother’s cross warm at his throat. He remembered how her eyes had gotten more and more hollow. How empty they’d been, when he found her. Empty eyes, and a smile on her face. “I worry I make you more sad than happy, but you have not been happy with anyone else so you think this is the best there is. You say sex with me is the best, but you do not have… comparison. I wanted to offer you… option. Out.”

“I don’t want out, I want you.” Shane said it like it’s obvious. Like it’s fact. He said it the way he talks hockey, like he’s certain. Like it is indisputable truth, written on the ice.

“I don’t want others, I want you.” Ilya stated it clearly, with the same tone of voice, the same absolute, unshakeable conviction. Shane blinked at him. “I tell you to see other people because I want you to be sure, like I am. You are it for me Shane. I’m done, there is nobody else. Nobody else matters. Where I am does not matter, hockey does not matter.” Ilya tangled his hand with Shane’s and held them over his heart. “I would pull my heart from my chest if it would make you happy. That is what I did, that day. I offer you my nightmare, because the only thing worse than losing you is trapping you. You turn me down, and push my heart back into place so it beats again for you. The idea of you touching anyone else, looking at anyone else- it makes me feel like dying. It kills me. Does it kill you too?”

Shane nodded immediately, instinctual. Ilya watched him realise, catch himself, go pale. Open his mouth to spout the same bullshit about wanting Ilya to be happy.

“Good.” The word ripped out of Ilya’s throat like broken glass. Shane snapped his mouth shut, looking shocked. Ilya barrelled on. “I want you to hate idea of it. I want it to make you sick. I want you to despise people looking at me. I want you to be so angry when other people touch me that you feel like you’ll rip out of your skin. I want it to feel the same for you as it does for me. I want to be yours, Shane.” Ilya could see it dawning in Shane’s eyes. The realisation. The truth. “Nobody has ever wanted to keep me before. Not my family, not Russia, not my team; nobody. I want you forever, but only if you want to keep me too. When I am without you, now, I feel- crazy. Like, nothing in whole world is real unless you are there. I miss this thing, this huge problem you are having, because I cannot even- think of it. Other people?” Ilya laughed, he knew he sounded unhinged. “Other people are not real, Hollander. It is you, and me, and the rest is- is-”

“Noise. Like the crowd at a game when you lean down for the face-off. Irrelevant. Insignificant. Background.”

“Da.” Ilya’s head swam with it, vision narrowed in on Shane’s face. At the corner of his lip, starting to curl with contempt. Shane Fucking Hollander. English felt slippery, like it hadn’t for years. He and Shane, seeing the world the same way again. Aligned. “TochnoExactly. They are nichegonothing. You are vsyoeverything, are everything.”

“You’re everything to me. Everyone else is just noise.” Shane meets his eyes again, irises almost swallowed up by his pupils. “I didn’t want to trap you either. You already gave up so much. I didn’t want you to regret it.”

Ilya licked his lips, heart pounding.

“Only regret that now I am not match for you on ice. I miss beating you. I miss fucking you after, how whiny you get.”

Shane’s lips parted, his voice breathless. “You’re always a match for me. You’re dragging that fucking team into relevance. The way they look at you- the way they celebrate with you- it makes me want to break my fucking stick against their knees.” Shane panted, hands twisting into Ilya’s shirt. “The only thing that saves them is me knowing you aren’t there for them. You don’t play for them, you don’t score for them. You do it for me. You left Boston for me. Everything you ever do for them, with them- it’ll never be about them.” Shane gripped his chin hard, the words pouring out of him like poison from a wound. Ilya nodded his head, too soft to disrupt Shane’s grip, but desperate to encourage him. “They’re not even real.” Shane cooed the words to him, smile vicious and victorious and lovely. It was Ilya’s new favourite smile, the hottest thing he’d ever seen, sharp like skate blades and so… satisfied. Smug. Self-assured.

Like his lyubovniklover finally remembered he was Shane Fucking Hollander.

“Da, all for you. Always.”

“Careful, Rozanov. Kind of sounds like you’re obsessed with me.”

“I am.” The answer is sharp, immediate. Absolute truth. “I am like crazed fan. I know everything about you, I watch you all the time. Sometimes, when I watch tape, I don’t even blink.” It was like a broken dam, all of the toomuchtoofartooweird Ilya had kept caged inside his chest. Ilya did nothing better than he read Shane Hollander, and with every truth he released after years of being caged in his chest, the other man relaxed. He sank into the bed, the stress around his eyes smoothed out, and that smile stretched languid. He could see it happening; with every word, Shane believed him more and more, he looked more and more like his Shane. And he wasn’t shying away from it, from all the fucked up things in Ilya’s heart. He looked hungry. “I keep track of every defenseman who boards you too hard, and when I play them I make them pay for it. When I wear new clothes to see you, I put them in different parts of my closet depending on how horny they make you. I burned that velvet shirt you hated, that you kept wiping your hands off after touching. I changed my stick tape to match yours. I bought my house in Boston because I knew you’d like it. After that day, with the sandwiches and I scared you away, I had whole team over a week later for bonfire because I smashed couch to pieces. In Boston, everyone knew I had someone in Montreal because it was the only city I never partied in, even from first game-”

Shane’s sharp inhale interrupted him, and Ilya’s grin widened. He knew that inhale, was greedy for it like nothing else.

“What? What have you just learned about yourself, kotikkitten?”

“Boston… knew about me?” Ilya’s head tilted, just to check; no, that definitely wasn’t fear in the tremble of his voice.

“About Montreal Jane?” Shane blinked slow. Ilya felt like a shark again, his grin showed so many teeth. When he spoke, it was almost a purr. “Da, of course. ‘Rozy’, they say ‘this girl has you wrapped around her finger’. When you text, they say ‘Roz, you are blushing’. We go to Montreal, and after game they say to me ‘Ilya, you will pull something, changing so fast’. After first season, I become captain and the team take bets on which rookie will ask me first to go out when we are in Montreal. They stop asking, because they know answer. They tell WAGs I am whipped. Somebody says I come when you call, like dog. I bark, and it becomes tradition for whole team to bark at me before we play, because they think I win more when I am reminded of you. They are right. I announce I am moving to Ottawa.” Ilya pressed their hips together. “They ask me ‘Roz, when is wedding?’” Shane’s hips jerked, mouth hanging open. Ilya slid his thumb between his lips. “Somebody disrespected you once. Stevenson, do you remember him? From our fifth season.” Shane stared at him blankly. “Is okay, not important. The team was teasing before practice after we lose game to you. You left scratches on my back, and I was walking around shirtless as much as I could, showing off how good I made you feel. Someone whistled, says they are glad Jane made it up to me. Stevenson laughs, says ‘Roz, holy shit, what a wildcat. She must be a crazy lay. How much does she charge an hour?’ Whole room holds its breath. I look at him, and I say ‘you think you are funny guy, yes? I would drop your whole salary on anything she even looked at’. I laugh it off. A week later, I pin him to boards during drill and tell him if he ever talks about you again it will be last thing he ever says with teeth. I think he plays AHL now.” Shane’s breath stutters and Ilya lets his thumb slip further in, pressing down on Shane’s tongue. “Now, on new team, they ask me why I move here. They ask why I do not come out with the team, if Ottawa girls are not my type. Maybe next time, I tell them is because my Jane keeps me on short leash.”

Shane’s hand snapped out, gripping the hair at the back of his neck tight enough to sting. Ilya pulled away from it, just a little, testing. Shane’s grip tightened, and Ilya let himself turn to liquid, pooling around the other man and gasping with it. With his other hand, Shane pulled Ilya’s thumb from his mouth.

“Look at me, baby.” Ilya looked. Shane’s eyes were intense, brows furrowed, jaw hard. He shook the hand in Ilya’s hair slightly, and Ilya let himself sway with the motion. “Next time they ask, tell them. Tell them how you love me so much you left Boston, left your comfortable career. Next time you go out, tell the people who hit on you that you’re taken.” Shane’s eyes widened, surprised at himself, his harsh expression broken. Ilya scrambled to reassure him.

“Yes, da, I will. I will tell everyone who wants a piece of me that you have all the pieces, and you do not share.” He licked his lips. “Please, do not share?”

Shane’s face softened as his grip tightened. “Wow. You really mean it, don’t you? You want to be just mine?”

“Yes. There was- I didn’t- nobody cared about what I did before you, really. Not since my mother, and even she did not have the energy, often. Nobody to frown at me smoking, or fuss when I don’t eat right, or disapprove when I buy fast cars and drive stupid in the snow.” Ilya curled his shoulders in on himself, feeling small. “Nobody has ever cared enough to be- what is word, strogiy, like… no wiggle-room.”

“Strict?”

“Yes! Nobody has ever cared enough to be strict to me before.” Ilya sniffed. “I like it. Makes me feel…”

“Safe?”

Ilya nodded silently.

“So, strict, safe, and boring? Those are your ideal traits in a partner?”

“Also, secretly asshole. Very talented. Hot like burning. Rich. Has to love me a lot.” Shane laughed. Ilya pushed in towards him, Shane’s grip loosening just enough to allow it and no further. Ilya brushed their noses together and stared into his eyes. “You know anyone like that, Hollander?”

Shane pecked a kiss to his lips, and Ilya broke out into a wide, surprised smile.

“Pretty tall order, Rozanov. I might have someone in mind.”

“Okay. Oh, almost forgot, he has to be best hockey player in the league.”

Shane arched his eyebrow at him. “The best? I though Ilya Rozanov was the best hockey player in the league?”

Ilya sucked his teeth, holding back a giggle. They were going to be fine, oh thank God they were going to be fine. He reached to his throat to touch his mother’s cross.

“Are you joking? That guy plays for fucking Ottawa. I don’t know, it seems like his heart is not in the game anymore, maybe?” Shane smiled up at him, looking fond and rumpled and exhausted. Looking happy. “Maybe it is walking around somewhere, being kept by someone else, yes?”

“Along with all the rest of his pieces, so I hear.”

Ilya splayed out on top of Shane, letting his weight slowly relax into him.

“Da, I hear that too.”

Ilya propped their foreheads together, as they stared at each other, grinning. Eventually, he reached out to smooth a thumb over Shane’s eyebrow and watched his grin soften into a familiar smile.

“I know…” Ilya’s voice barely broke a whisper, murmuring the words across the scant few inches between them. “I know I cannot fix everything today. I know that. And I will repeat it as many times as you need me to, forever. I love you. You are only person I want, ever. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, and I want us to be weird about it.” He brushed their lips together, not even a kiss, really, just- closeness. “The girls and I, we came up with a few options for how to prove that I am not fucking around.” Shane’s brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth. Ilya moved one hand to press a couple of fingers to his lips, hushing him. “I want to use them. I want you to be sure. I want you to be able to check up on me without me knowing you are doing it, so you don’t worry you are imposing. I want this for you-” Ilya took in a breath, and Shane moved to speak. “-and I want this for me.” Shane’s mouth closed. “I want you to be strict. I want to be whipped, I want you to actually keep me on a short leash, I want all of it.” Ilya pressed their faces in tighter when he felt Shane’s chest shudder on his next breath in.

“Can you tell me why you want it? I’m starting to understand, maybe, but it’s- difficult. I’m trying, but will you explain it to me?” Shane matches his volume, whispering like they are knelt before something sacred. And maybe they are. That’s how Shane feels to Ilya, sometimes. Sacred. Divine. Something to be worshipped.

“Maybe I am greedy. I want your attention. I want the weight of it. I want to feel you, even when we are hundreds of miles apart. I have been…” Cottage rules. Ilya swallowed hard. “I have been lonely, Shane. So lonely. I do not regret it, not when it means I can have you, really have you. But it’s hard. I miss you a lot, and I haven’t been able to even tell anyone I am missing you, or missing anyone. People ask me questions, all the time, about what I am doing and why I am here, and every time I say nothing it feels like I am doing you wrong. I-” Shane makes a sound, somewhere between a whine and a keen. Ilya hushes him, rubbing their noses together.

“Keep going, baby. Tell me the rest.” Shane’s voice sounds damp, but the look in his eyes is determined. The rest of the words fall from Ilya’s lips as though pulled out of him on a fishing line. Gentle, smooth, but unrelenting.

“I betray you every time I say nothing, betray what you are to me. I know we can’t tell people, I know that, but I-” Ilya sucks in a breath and continues. “I feel like I, drift, sometimes. Drift away, like, like balloon which is not tied to anything. Most days, nobody else is real and sometimes maybe I’m not real. Not when you aren’t there. And it scares me, moya lyubovmy love. I don’t want to go anywhere you can’t go. But I can’t stop. Sometimes it’s for days. I go to rink, I train, shower, work out, eat, sleep. I wake up again, alone, and it feels like an accident. On days off, when I do not see you, I just- stare at nothing for hours. Like toy with batteries taken, until I am needed.” Ilya could feel the tears in his eyes, trembling on his lashes. Shane’s thumbs scooped them away before they reached his cheeks. “I am playing part of Rozanov, but Ilya- he is not anywhere that you aren’t, and that means he is usually not with me. I- I don’t-”

Shane’s hand under his chin tipped his face up to make eye contact. “Breathe, baby. Deep breaths.” Ilya did, chest aching with it. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen how hard this has been for you. I knew you were giving up a lot, but I thought you were settling in Ottawa okay.”

“… I told you I was.”

“I know, baby. But now I’m thinking you felt like you couldn’t tell me that wasn’t the case, yeah?”

“Da.” The word escaped on a long exhale.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, IllyushaI love you, Ilya. I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t come to me with this.”

“Didn’t want you to feel guilty.” Ilya sniffled, feeling a little pathetic. Then Shane’s hands slipped into his hair, gripping at the nape of his neck, and he let the shame melt away.

“It sounds like we’ve both been not great about sharing, huh?”

Ilya snorted a wet laugh. “Always competition with you Hollander, who can keep the most to himself.”

Shane laughed back, the sound landing warm in his chest. He shook Ilya’s head gently, and Ilya let his eyes open again from where they’d slid shut.

“No more, okay? Cottage rules, from now on.”

“Okay. Cottage rules, Shane.”

Shane jostled him a little, and they scooted further up the bed, transitioning from lying on top of one another to so entwined, the delineation between their bodies was irrelevant. How it should be.

“Talk to me about the ideas you and the girls came up with. What are they, and why do you think they’ll be helpful?” Ilya snuggled closer, pressing a kiss to Shane’s collarbone, the one Marly broke all that time ago. His lyubimyy'sbeloved's voice had taken on  the same methodical cadence he used when talking about plays, about real estate, about starting a charity and building a future together. When he talked about the things that really mattered. Ilya basked in the sound of it for a few moments longer, there, in their bed.

He pulled out his phone, and flicked over to his notes section. Shane twisted his body to reach his nightstand, and turned back to Ilya with his glasses in place. Ilya surged up to kiss him again, right next to the frames. Right where he had tapped his own cheek in his empty apartment in Moscow years ago, just to watch the man he loved roll his eyes and put the glasses back on from an ocean away.

This eye roll was better. Closer, more fond. From the man who loved him back.

The kiss Shane pressed to his forehead in response was even better.

Ilya breathed in the smell of him, pine scented soap and warm skin. They were okay. They still had a long way to go, but they would talk better, now. Speak truthfully to each other. Pay attention.

It was enough, for now.

Chapter End Notes

There we have it folks! Thinking of making this a series of them being utterly unhinged about each other, so keep an eye out for that if you enjoyed!

A/N 06/05/26: Updated tags to include dubious consent following a comment bringing it to my attention - thanks!

Also, I am seeing some confusion in the comments about where the scratches came from. There is a blink-and-Shane-misses it reference to a Montreal player scratching Ilya when he moves away from them mentioned during the tape review scene after "am I your favourite" ("nearly took my fingernails"). Shane misses it because he is spiralling, but that's where they came from!

Thank you all again for the incredible support, and rest assured I am working on further entries to this 'verse!

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