Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Irina Rozanova, Rose Landry, Hayden Pike

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Angst, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Angst with a Happy Ending, like yes it will be very sad but I am not in the business of writing anything other than happy endings, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Rivals to Lovers, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Smut, Soft Dom Ilya Rozanov, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Anal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog, ahh I love adding that tag, Sexual Free Use, Breeding Kink, like in a blink and you'll miss it way but still there lol, Freak4Freak Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-06 Completed: 2026-07-13 Words: 61,040 Chapters: 7/7

for Shane, it was always going to be about love

Summary

Shane Hollander has made all the right decisions. Putting hockey above everything, abstaining from cake and lemonade, and never kissing boys, especially Russian boys with crooked grins who always saw right through him. This restraint has secured Shane a legacy as one of the greatest players of all time. Everything he ever wanted, and somehow never enough.

Ilya Rozanov is long dead, lost to fire and water in a plane crash half a century ago. But at the end of his carefully controlled life, Shane can’t stop dreaming about him, haunted by echoes of what might have been.

Given a chance to change the past, Shane has to decide what really matters: hockey, or the only bad decision he was ever tempted to make.

or: fate and Irina Rozanov have unexpectedly romantic sensibilities, and some lovers (no, Ilya that’s gross) are meant to find each other in every universe.

time travel fix-it 💫 happy ending

Chapter 1: we’re so alone, most of the time we don’t have anyone

Chapter Notes

For me, it was always going to be about love. And that summer, I walked into the eye of the storm.

💫About Time 

Shane was dreaming of Ilya Rozanov again.

Thankfully it wasn’t his least favourite dream, the one that made him wake in a cold sweat, his heart pounding like he’d run a mile, voices of people who didn’t exist echoing around the room like shadows of sound, not real, but not a complete figment of his imagination either. 

That one always took place at his cottage, but it wasn’t the cottage as it was in real life. The dream cottage was messier, lit in a perpetually golden light that made Shane’s eyes burn, even as he basked in the impossible warmth that seemed to reach him even through sleep. Rozanov would be standing in the kitchen, singing along obnoxiously to loud music as he cooked a meal, or sometimes he was lazing on the couch, pretending to read a book while he peeked at Shane over the pages, his eyes lit with something Shane didn’t understand. Rozanov always looked older in this dream, little creases around his eyes that he had never achieved in real life. 

Shane would approach him, try to speak, though he was just as tongue-tied with this dream Rozanov as he had always been around the real man. All his words would stick in his throat as Rozanov watched him, until a happy chorus of voices started to call out. The voices belonged to children, Shane able to differentiate three individual ones over the years. They were always calling for their father - or fathers, Shane wasn’t sure, but they often used different versions of the title, like they were referring to two people. Papa! Dad! Rozanov would drop whatever he was doing with a fond shake of his head and head towards the voices, looking over his shoulder as if he expected Shane to follow. 

But Shane’s feet were rooted to the floor and he could never follow him, no matter how hard he tried. He would stand there with concrete limbs and watch as Rozanov’s grin slowly dropped, until his expression transformed into one of disappointed expectations, like Shane was somehow letting him down. Then Shane would wake, unable to forget that disappointed face, with a feeling he could only identify as longing building to an ache in his chest, edged with something more jagged, something that stung, close to self loathing. 

Even the sex dreams caused him less shame, though he’d had those even when Rozanov was still in his life, his subconscious mind the only outlet for the maddening desires Shane kept on a tight leash during waking hours. They were completely filthy, these dreams, Shane doing things that made him blush the day after, things he would never do in real life, could never have even come up with himself. Rozanov spoke often, whispering hotly against his ear or the back of his neck, words Shane had memorised, playing them back when he allowed himself to jerk off. Da, like that Hollander. On your knees. Fuck, so pretty. So good for me. Rozanov would manipulate his body like he owned it, guiding him into positions that made Shane gasp and arch like some desperate, wild thing. But Shane preferred when Rozanov was on top of him, the gold chain he had always worn glittering between them, cold against Shane’s chest when Rozanov would lean down to kiss him. Dream Rozanov kissed Shane like he was something precious, to be worshipped and treated with care, so different from how they had pushed each other around on the ice in the real world. 

Tonight Shane was dreaming his favourite dream, though he always woke with tears in his eyes afterwards. They would lie together in the quiet dark of a room that seemed familiar. Rozanov - but here he was Ilya, only and always Ilya - spoke to Shane with an ease and affection that they had never managed to find in real life. Shane could make him laugh here, deep, rumbling laughs that made his whole body shake. My Shane, he would say in that accent that made Shane’s hands clench whenever he heard it across a room, my funny Shane. Why don’t you give me a kiss, hmm? And Shane tried, would always try so hard to kiss him here in this perfect place where he felt no shame, but he always woke up before he could. 

The aftermath of the dream was no exception, Shane blinking open eyes filled with tears he would never let fall.  “Fuck,” he muttered to himself, scraping a hand across his face as he sat up in the cold grey light of the morning. 

Stumbling out of bed to the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water before examining himself in the mirror. Maybe his genetics had helped slow the effects of time, but Shane was always surprised by how old he looked in the reflection. He was nearly eighty-one, but most days he still felt like a seventeen year old kid. “Get it together, Hollander.”

Dressing in worn, comfortable clothes, Shane made his way to the kitchen to have his usual cup of green tea, begrudgingly taking the small handful of pills his doctor insisted on prescribing. Shane had been so careful, so rigid and unyielding in his quest for optimal physical health, but he had discovered that time didn’t care how many chocolate bars or chicken parmesans you turned down, it still marched on, leaving irreversible damage in its wake. He settled into the single chair on the perfectly manicured lawn that overlooked his lake and watched the sun rise over the water, orange meeting silver. 

The dreams were coming more frequently these days. When he was younger they happened maybe twice a year, gradually increasing until now a week couldn’t pass without Rozanov disturbing his sleep. Shane didn’t mind so much. The dreams made him feel less alone, even if they made him sad, too. 

He finished his tea and headed back inside, washing the single mug and setting it on the rack to dry. The day passed much the same way the previous thousand had, Shane moving through the familiar motions with acceptance if not enjoyment. A simple workout routine, stretches and light weights, his body still in fairly good shape though nowhere near as strong as it had been. Shower, then breakfast, scanning the television for any updates on the pre-season, lunch, reading some book he wasn’t really enjoying, pretending to tidy up the spotless cottage. 

A call came in from Ruby about a memorial they were having for Hayden next week, three years since he had passed gone in the blink of an eye. The kids called Shane every couple of weeks to check in. The gesture was sweet, and Shane appreciated it, but it still made him feel like a burden, like one of those sad old men everyone agonised over when they saw them eating alone in a restaurant. Assuring Ruby he would be there, he hung up after sending well wishes to Jackie and the rest of the family. 

The time came for dinner but Shane wasn’t hungry. Instead he found himself digging through cabinets he hadn’t opened in years, collecting fragments of his life to spread around as though he was trying to solve some obscure mystery. There was a photograph from the draft, three boys lined up on the precipice of their lives changing. Shane couldn’t even remember the name of the third boy now, only having eyes for the golden curls and crooked grin of that year’s number one draft pick, both now and back then. It was hard to summon the outrage Shane had felt all those years ago at coming in second for perhaps the first time in his life. In fact, the photo made him smile now, remembering the way he’d squirmed away from Rozanov’s shoulder as the other boy kept insisting on pressing against him. 

Then an article about the rivalry, some bullshit about their deep respect for each other despite how hard they competed on the ice. They had respected each other, at least Shane thought they had, but it wasn’t anything like the joking camaraderie so many of the other guys had shared across team lines. Montreal and Boston were long standing enemies, that being reason enough to make relations between them frosty, but it was more than that, and less. Shane and Rozanov were equals in a way that they weren’t with any other player, able to match each other skill for skill, neck and neck for any prize, in any competition. Shane hated being compared to him, hated that he loved the excuse to stand next to him so often, on podiums and stages, at award shows and interviews. 

Fifty years. It had been fifty years since they’d stood together. No one had ever measured up to Rozanov, not even by half. Shane’s hands never shook with nerves and anticipation, lit up like a live wire, the way they had when he approached Rozanov for a face off. It was the only time Shane could stand nearly as close to him as he wanted, could study every striation of those green and gold eyes, each colour battling for dominance with Shane never able to decide which won out. 

And that was the real problem, the tiny, secret, consuming problem. Those eyes, the way they studied him back, like they knew every desire Shane had ever had, effortlessly able to see his great weakness. Shane had never been easy around those eyes, never willing to drop his guard in case Rozanov obliterated his carefully constructed defences, the walls he’d built around his life, hemming himself in until he was safe and always alone behind them. 

Eventually the papers and memories started to blur together, until Shane’s tired mind was at capacity. Settling back into his recliner, he studied one last piece of history, the most painful one, a faded obituary clipped from a newspaper decades ago. His eyes grew heavy and slipped closed as visions of a great fall through fire, a drop into a dark ocean swirled through his head. Was he scared, in those last moments before everything ended? Shane didn’t think so. Rozanov had never seemed afraid of anything. 

I hope he wasn’t scared. That was the last thought Shane remembered thinking before he awoke again, still in his living room, but not, somehow. There was a woman staring down at him, a grin curling up one corner of her mouth like he was amusing to her. Shane didn’t know her, but he did, somehow. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, unreasonably calm considering there was a complete stranger in his house.

Her eyes creased and something about them… Shane wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d seen that colour somewhere before. Her face was austerely beautiful, with a sharp jawline and carved cheekbones, though softened by full lips and the golden curls that framed it. 

“You cannot help me, no. But I can help you,” she replied, her voice lightly accented with something that sounded vaguely European. 

Shane began to rise from his chair. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but this is my house and you’ve - ”

“This should be my son’s house, too.” The woman’s smile was sad now. “But what should be is not always how things happen, I suppose.” Moving around now, she studied the photographs he had displayed on the walls, the trophies and plaques gleaming behind panes of thick glass. “Tell me, do you have any regrets about this life, Shane Hollander?”

This was one of the oddest conversations of his life, and this woman was really quite presumptuous, but Shane was pretty sure he was dreaming, so he decided to give her an answer. Maybe not the most honest answer he could give, but an answer nonetheless. “Missing out on that last cup, I guess. I always wanted seven.”

“I can see why he loves you,” she replied laughingly.  

“Who does?” Shane asked. 

Ignoring the question, she stepped towards the stack of papers he had discarded, flicking through them with idle interest. “What would you say if I told you that this life has come to an end for you?”

Shane contemplated the question before sighing. “I guess I can’t be too disappointed. Eighty is a pretty good age.”

“So accepting!” The woman shook her head, the motion disturbing her curls. She really was so familiar. “He was not so resigned, but he was much younger than you are now.”

Shane was tired of the cryptic messages, so tired of a lifetime of never understanding the hidden meaning behind people’s words and faces, always a step behind, outside the action of life. Maybe he was apathetic about his death, but his life hadn’t really caused much of a fuss in the grand scheme of things, so why should his death be any different? 

“Can we get it over with?” Shane asked impatiently. It would be nice to see his parents again, if that was possible, and Hayden. Wherever he went, Shane hoped it was nice. 

The woman looked him up and down, a curious expression on her face. “We are going to go on a journey together first. A small odyssey of regrets, if you like.” She smiled like she was amused by him again. “Because I do not believe you, Shane. I know there are things you would change. And you are in luck, because you might just get a chance.”

“A chance for what?”

“To find a loophole. Fate can be persuaded, sometimes. She’s a romantic,” she whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially, as if they were keeping secrets from the universe. Holding out her hand, she urged Shane to take it. “Come. Before we go forward, we must go back.”

Shane had never liked to touch people he didn’t know, but the woman’s hand felt surprisingly nice as he took it. “This is insane.”

“Sanity is overrated.”

The house that was his house and also not began to spin and melt, colours and light merging together around them until they were in the eye of a storm, but not the traditional kind comprised of lightning and rain. This was a storm of time, a straight line and a crooked tempest all at once. There was no clear path forward, but Shane followed her into the breach anyway, surrendering control for the first time in his life, a life that was apparently over. 

-

Watching memories was like staring through a window without glass. Out of order, and a little too close for comfort.

“Where are we?” Shane asked the question, but he already knew the answer. 

This was the hotel gym where Shane had realised there was something else about himself he would have to hide, the same way he dodged questions about where he was from. He was from Canada, that was all that mattered. He was from Canada, he played hockey, and he didn’t like boys, couldn’t like boys. That was all that mattered. 

“You were captivated by him,” the woman said quietly, though dream - or past? - Shane and Rozanov didn’t seem aware of them at all. “It’s ok, Shane. There should never be shame when appreciating something you think is lovely.”

Shane shook his head, dismissing that statement as pure nonsense, turning away from the scene to look at her questioningly. “I don’t understand why we’re here.”

“We could have started outside the rink in Saskatchewan, I suppose. But no, I think this is your first true regret.”

“Regret about what?” Shane called out, but she was already walking away, forcing him to follow. The only regret Shane thought he might have from that night was touching himself to thoughts of Rozanov after he got back to his hotel room, the first time he’d ever thought of anyone when doing that. Before meeting Rozanov it had been fulfilling a bodily function, but after, picturing his body and that grin, Shane came harder than he ever had before, the pleasure tainted by his intense shame. 

They were walking through time again, though it was calmer than the first journey, Shane guessing because they didn’t go too far at all. There was a rink, a photoshoot, and two boys the whole world was watching, waiting to see who would be the first to draw blood, unable to stop giggling together. 

The woman smiled tenderly, her eyes dragging over Rozanov’s upturned face like he was something she wanted to memorise. “Beautiful,” she whispered, touching the corner of her eye to wipe away a tear. “You need to realise this yourself, Shane. But I wish I could make you understand right here, how much shame will steal from you, if you let it.”

The scene shifted, to the locker room Shane got dressed in… after. Shane was grateful they hadn’t watched what had happened in the showers, not sure he would have been able to bear the embarrassment. It had been bad enough the first time, without reliving it next to this strange woman. 

“This is what you want? To forget?” Rozanov asked. 

“Yeah, for sure,” past Shane replied. 

Shane turned to face the woman. “You seriously want to see this?”

“And what are we seeing, Shane?”

“He - he was fucking with me. I got - when we were in the showers together, I couldn’t help it. He fucking knew I couldn’t help it, and he had to hold it over me like he did everything else.”

The woman sighed. “Oh solnyshko, you are so wrong. He was very nervous here, just hiding it. He is very good at hiding the things that matter to him.”

Rage coursed through him, reddening the memory at the edges. Shane stalked off, no idea where he was going without his guide, suddenly convinced this whole thing was just a stupid, painful idea. A quiet death, quick euthanasia, seemed like a better option than this ripping open of old wounds, but Shane had agreed to it, foolishly believing he could face his past with equanimity. 

They reached another memory that took place on the ice. It was cold under his feet as he watched Rozanov hang onto the board, leaning past the plexiglass barrier between them to whisper jokes at past Shane, grinning at the blush blooming on his traitorous cheeks. 

“Come on, Hollander. Have drink with us, better than boring Americans.”

“What’s better, a bunch of Finnish guys talking about the cousins they’re in love with?” 

Shane had been particularly proud of that chirp. Looking over at the woman with an unimpressed expression, he gestured to the conversation taking place in front of them. “I’m sensing a theme.”

“You are smarter than you look.”

“Hey!” Shane protested. “I’m not a complete idiot, ok? But why here, why… him?”

“We will get to that,” she replied. “We have time, Shane.”

Rozanov climbed over boards and skated across the ice, sticking his face into past Shane’s for less than a second as he threw out the number. “1221.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Past Shane asked. 

Rozanov shrugged, skating back and forth in front of past Shane before throwing out that crooked fucking grin. Except now with the clarity of time, Shane could see how the curve of his lips faltered a bit at the corners, like he was struggling to hold the grin in place. “Room number. No Americans, no Finnish, just us.”

Shane had blushed again, blazing red instead of pink this time, praying that the other guys around them were as oblivious to the exchange as they seemed, so angry at Rozanov for trying to humiliate him that way. He’d always seen right through Shane, right down to the bone, and he never let him forget it. 

“Fuck you, Rozanov,” past Shane shot back. 

“Silly,” the woman said, clucking and shaking her head. “Come, much more to see.”

The next memories passed in a blur, the same way Shane’s life had at the time, an endless repetition of game and train, practice and press. A rooftop, past Shane drunk and not as happy as he though he would be after winning his big award, cigarette smoke and Rozanov, Shane thinking he seemed upset about something more than losing, scared to ask - here is view, Hollander, check it out! There was Russia, cold and unforgiving, past Shane watching Rozanov from the stands of some ice skating event, wondering if he was happy to be home, if he was ok, but scared to ask. Backstage at an awards show - where were you? - busy - with who? - wondering if Rozanov was ok, scared to ask. 

Then they were at the club, pink light and sound blaring around them, and Shane still flinched like he’d been struck when he saw Rozanov with the girl on the dance floor. Of course Shane had heard the stories, like everyone had, seen the paparazzi photos and social media threads, all about Rozanov’s sexual exploits, his supernatural ability to charm and seduce anyone with a pulse. But it had been different seeing it up close, seeing his mouth drag down a neck that wasn’t Shane’s, could never be Shane’s. It made him feel sick. Past Shane told himself that he had overindulged on the booze, but truthfully it was seeing Rozanov with someone else that had him losing the contents of his stomach in a dirty night club bathroom. He wasn’t drunk at all, really, sober enough to drive himself home, pulling over to the side of the road to sob for reasons he couldn’t understand. 

The woman pressed a hand to his shoulder as they watched past Shane through the fogged up windows of the car, rain falling around but not touching them. “Poor boy,” she said quietly, stroking her thumb across his shoulder in a gesture that reminded him of his mother. 

But even in death or this weird memory journey, Shane couldn’t allow himself to show weakness in front of others. The tears welled but he didn’t let them fall, not like past Shane, alone in his car and beside himself. 

“I don’t… I don’t want to watch this anymore.”

The woman nodded, steering him away. The next memory was in a restaurant, and Shane nearly fell to his knees in gratitude that it didn’t feature Ilya Rozanov. Apparently he had other regrets, and this one seemed to involve… “Rose?” Shane said, eyes raking over her face. It had been such a long time since he’d seen her, his dear friend who had never really known him. 

“Can I ask… have you ever been with a guy?” Rose asked. 

The look on past Shane’s face, disgust and poorly disguised terror, was so much worse to watch from the outside. Shane remembered how exposed he had felt in that moment, sure that everyone in the restaurant could hear every word. 

“Of course I haven’t been with - what are you saying?”

Rose tilted her head, eyes kind. “Shane, I don’t think we can keep doing this. You’re not - we’re just not meant to be together.”

Past Shane shook his head. “I thought things were going great. I know we’ve got things to fix, but I - ”

“Some things aren’t meant to be fixed.”

Then they were out on the street, past Shane walking Rose to her car, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. Shane knew that he wouldn’t lose her, that they would remain friends and speak often over the years, but he couldn’t help but wonder. 

“What would have happened if I told her the truth?”

“And what is the truth?” the woman asked, eyebrows raised speculatively. 

“You remind me of someone, I just can’t place it,” Shane muttered. 

“Someone gorgeous, I hope,” she replied with a grin. 

“No, someone really annoying.”

But she just laughed at that, tugging Shane forward to one of his favourite places in the world, his parent’s cottage in Ottawa, safe and familiar. Surely Shane didn’t have any regrets here. He loved this place, loved the people that lived there. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

His mother, his beautiful, exacting mother was right there, the brown eyes she’d given to Shane creased with sympathy. “I just thought - Rose seemed so lovely.”

“You know we love you no matter what, right?” And then his father, his father, who was so kind and had died when Shane was only thirty-five, leaving him before he was ready, if anyone could ever be ready to lose such a person. 

Shane pressed a hand over his trembling mouth, trying to cover his startled cry. “I can’t talk to him? Even for a second?”

The woman shook her head slowly. “Not here, solnyshko. But make sure you’re listening to what he is saying.” 

They continued their winding path, arriving at a bustling room in Florida. Past Shane was at the bar, giggling at something Rozanov was whispering to him, drunk on the beer in front of him and maybe something stronger, too. It was the last night of the All Stars weekend, the first time they’d ever played together. Their chemistry on the ice was some kind of mysterious alchemy Shane had never been able to account for, Rozanov exactly where he needed before he even had to think about it. Rozanov smacked a kiss to his helmet after their last goal and Shane had wanted to… well, he wanted, so much he had gotten incredibly drunk afterwards, either to smother the feelings or let them free. They rose from the bar, past Shane’s arm slung around Rozanov’s broad shoulders as he guided him back to his room. 

Shane covered his face with a groan. “Do we have to watch this?”

“Hush, I like this part.”

Past Shane was hovering in the doorway to his room, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “Do you wanna come in?”

“Yes. But I shouldn’t.”

At the time, Shane had been so sure Rozanov was fucking with his head, trying to humiliate him. But without the sensitivity of youth and the haze of alcohol, Shane could see the uncertainty on his face, how he twisted his hands behind his back like he was restraining himself. 

“Oh. Right,” past Shane muttered, casting his eyes down. 

Rozanov took a quick scan of the hallway behind them, then reached a hand up to touch past Shane’s cheek. Shane lifted a hand to his cheek, still able to feel that touch, fifty years after it happened. 

“You are drunk, Hollander. Ask me in the morning.”

Past Shane’s face screwed up, his dark eyebrows creasing with anger. “Fuck off, Rozanov. I don’t need your - your pity.” The door slammed between them, past Shane throwing himself face down on the bed and letting out a muffled groan of embarrassment.

Shane looked over at the woman in disbelief. “You’re trying to tell me that he was being serious?”

“Is this so hard to believe?” she replied. 

“It’s impossible,” Shane said, shaking his head. “Rozanov isn’t even - he wasn’t into… men.” The last word was whispered, Shane reluctant to say it at all. But Shane was right, he knew he was right. Rozanov was the straightest guy in the world. Even a rumour about him being with a guy would have been instantly dismissed as a ridiculous lie, by Shane most of all. 

The woman just raised her eyebrows knowingly. “What happened next, Shane?” she asked. 

“I was sick all the next day. I drank so much, trying to work up the courage to - I don’t even know. I just wanted to know what it was like.”

“To be with a man or be with him?”

“… him.” 

Even in this dream world, and with fifty years of hindsight, Shane still didn’t have the words to express just how intrinsic Rozanov was to that part of himself. Every fantasy, every sex dream, had always been about him. Shane didn’t know why. A light turned on the day he first saw Rozanov, a light that never turned off again. In the years after this memory, he’d tried with other men, a few clandestine encounters that should have been exciting or sexy but instead just made him feel disgusting afterwards, nearly as bad as when he tried with women. 

But the woman was watching him with eyes that seemed to see everything anyway. Normally Shane would have cringed away from it, but he had nothing left to lose, here at the end of all things. They moved on, Shane unable to stop himself from looking back at that hallway as they left it behind. Rozanov was still standing at the door, clenched fist pressed to the wood. 

“Yes, he stayed. For a very long time,” she whispered, looking around like someone was watching them. “I am only supposed to show your memories, but is important for you to know. He stayed.”

The ice was back. Rozanov was warming up, strong legs swaying as he stretched out his quads. Past Shane skated past him, back and forth, watching him with trepidation, clearly trying to make an approach. Rozanov looked up at him with that familiar withering expression, the one that made Shane’s throat clench up. 

“What do you want?” 

Past Shane turned his skates to stop abruptly, fidgeting his gloved hands. Shane knew what he was trying to say, what he’d rehearsed for weeks in preparation: I’m sorry about your father. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. Empty words, the exact sort of thing that Shane hated hearing when his own dad died. What could anyone possibly do to help, unless they knew how to resurrect the dead? But he’d wanted to say the stupid words, to let Rozanov know that despite the league’s obsession with this rivalry, Shane still… cared about him. They had been boys together. Watched each other grow into men. Surely that had to mean something, even if the whole world insisted that they hate each other. 

“I’m…” past Shane’s voice cracked, and Shane remembered the distinct feeling of wanting to die from the embarrassment.

Rozanov watched him for a moment, but past Shane was frozen. Shaking his head, he turned away, dismissing him. “Fuck off, Hollander.”

Past Shane skated off to the boards to stand next to Hayden. God, he looked so young, nothing like the old man Shane pictured when thinking of him now. Hayden handed him a water bottle, looking over at Rozanov with a suspicious expression. 

“What did he say to you?”

“Told me to fuck off,” past Shane answered, leaving out the part where he’d stood in front of Rozanov like an idiot. 

“He’s such an asshole,” Hayden said. 

Past Shane nodded, laughed. “Yeah.” It felt like a betrayal to say that. Shane had seen Rozanov with the kids in the stands, the rookies on his team. He’d felt his gentle touch outside the required violence of the game they both played, even if he had told himself that it was a joke. Rozanov wasn’t an asshole, beyond a few chirps on the ice, usually to actually cruel or bigoted players, things Shane wished he would have had the courage to say, looking back. The woman was looking at him again. Her eyes were a mercurial mix of green and gold, not able to decide quite what colour they should be. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane found himself saying, though he wasn’t really sure why he was apologising to her. 

She didn’t speak, and they walked for a long time after that, through years and months and moments. I don’t want a piece of cake, dad. I’m not drinking during the season. I think I just like the control. Shane watched himself get leaner, his face harder. Those years were a study in control, Shane trying everything, restricting his diet and his desires, all in an effort to be what he should be, what everyone wanted him to be. And then they arrived at the time he had come the closest to losing that control completely. 

The playoffs. 2021. Second round, Montreal vs. Boston, for the first time in decades. The pressure was unimaginable, seven games to beat the team that drew more hatred from Metros fans than any other. And all Shane had been able to focus on was Rozanov, his face, those gold eyes, that crooked grin. Every face off had felt like outright torture, being that close to him and watched by thousands of people as Shane tried desperately not to crack. Losing and winning, game after game, drawing it out until everything came down to one tiebreaker on Montreal home ground. And losing, missing out on their chance at another cup by one fucking point. Shane watched his past self, shoulders bowed in defeat, face ablaze with anger and shame. So much shame. 

And in the midst of all that, Rozanov had smiled at him from across the divide as they ushered their respective teams off the ice. It wasn’t a smirk, or even the grin that secretly drove Shane crazy. This smile was soft, genuine, softening his face and making his eyes crease around the corners. Shane had always been embarrassingly aware of how attractive Rozanov was, but in that moment he was struck by his beauty in a way he never had been before. The greatest regret of his life was that he didn’t smile back, only scowled and looked away, upset by the loss and too ashamed of his impossible feelings to show any sign of weakness. But any chance he might have had to change things was lost forever when the plane went down, reduced to ash in a collision of metal and fire. Shane never saw his smile again. 

Ilya Rozanov died the next day. 

The dream world shifted to the aftermath, Shane breaking down in his apartment, his phone flashing with dozens of notifications asking if he had heard the news, as if it were gossip, something entertaining, when Shane’s heart was ripping apart. 

The woman spoke then, tears in her own eyes as they watched past Shane wail, clutching at his head and rocking back and forth on the floor, writhing in agony. “I really do not like this part.”

Shane scraped at his eyes. “Me, either.” 

The crash was investigated for years afterwards, eventually put down to some combination of inclement weather, inexperienced pilots and a mechanical error. Mundane, random factors that added up to twenty dead players, as well as the flight crew, lost off the coast of Massachusetts, most of the bodies never even recovered. 

Shane had no claims to Ilya Rozanov, not to his body or any piece of his soul, but that still tore him apart. He’d stared at the empty casket during his funeral and wondered how someone could ever be properly laid to rest when their earthly remains floated through a cold ocean, untethered and unclaimed for eternity. The woman held his hand as they watched past Shane sitting in the back of the crowded church, watching stony faced as they spoke about Rozanov’s career, his indelible mark on the NHL and the city of Boston. Shane knew that his past self held his tongue that entire wretched day, every time they got a stat or fact wrong. No one knew Rozanov’s career like Shane did, no one had been a more devoted study of his life, his achievements, mostly because Shane had been there, competing against him for every single one. 

“I didn’t really know him, I get that,” Shane said to the woman. “But it just felt like the whole thing was organised by people who had no idea what he would have wanted. And I never understood why his family wasn’t there. His father died but surely he had other people who should have been there.”

The woman was crying in earnest now, the tears reddening her beautiful face. “Not everyone had what you did, Shane. I know life was not always easy for you, but no matter how alone you have felt, it could not compare. Ilya did not make it easy to know him, but that was only because he had been hurt so many times before by those who were meant to love and protect him. At the end, he was so scared, not for himself, but for his team, for all their families. He knew there would not be many people to mourn him, in the end.”

“But I did, I mourned him!” Shane yelled, heedless of the funeral in front of them, knowing no one would hear him. “I was never - nothing was the same, after that.” 

“But he never knew that. You did not tell him when he was alive, what does it matter how you felt when he died?”

Shane shook his head, turning away in disgust, unsure if it was for her or himself. This woman clearly had no idea how he felt, how he’d struggled for years with those very feelings, torturing himself with how things could have been different, until eventually time and old age gave him no choice but to accept what was. But no matter what she said, it did matter. That pain had been the sharpest he had ever felt, until six years later when he lost someone he knew better than anyone, another person Shane never really let know him. 

There it was, right in front of him. That last phone call, the last time he had spoken with his father, the last time he told him a lie. Past Shane paced around his apartment, wearily nodding even though the person on the other end of the line couldn’t see him. 

“I know, dad. I know you - I’m ok, I promise. Why wouldn’t I be?” He had just won MVP and a slew of other trophies, led his team to their fourth Cup. His mother was ecstatic, helping Shane to design a new room at his cottage to display everything, but his dad never stopped watching him with sad eyes Shane wished he could escape. 

“I just love you, buddy. And the last few years, I’ve noticed you haven’t been yourself.”

“I’m playing better than I ever have,” past Shane replied in frustration. 

“I don’t mean that. You’re not just a hockey player, Shane. You’re allowed to care about other things.”

“Of course I know that.” But past Shane was lying, Shane knew that now. They had said goodbye, and Shane said I love you, but he never told the truth. His mother rang a few days later with the news and the woman wrapped an arm around Shane as they watched. The funeral was arranged perfectly, everyone spoke from the heart, and David’s ashes were scattered in the lake behind Shane’s childhood home, safe and close forever. 

That was where they sat now, on the shore, years of interminable memory playing out on the dancing water. Shane’s career, his retirement, his lifetime achievement award and book deal and advisory roles within the NHL. Losing everyone that he had loved, until he was alone with this strange woman, the sky of the dream world whirling above his head, daylight and starlight impossibly intermingled and reflecting endlessly in the lake before them. 

“Well, we are at the end. Are you so accepting of death now you have remembered your life?”

“I guess not.” Now he had watched it all back, Shane realised this wasn’t his death, not really. He’d been dying for years, every time he denied himself something he wanted, with every I’m just not interested in dating and hockey is the most important thing and no I don’t need to talk and I’m good. Every lie he’d told his parents, or his friends, or himself, had killed him slowly, piece by piece. Until there was nothing left. Shane sighed, feeling weary down to his bones, deeper, tired to a molecular degree. “You were right. I do wish I could change things. But that’s impossible.”

“Not if you have someone very determined on your side,” the woman replied, a mischievous grin on her face. “But if I help you go back, you cannot make the same mistakes. New ones only, please. And you will have to be honest with me, need to know you can be, before I send you to him. I asked you before, but you did not give an honest answer. Shane Hollander, is there anything in this life you regret?”

Shane took a deep breath, studying the twisting light above and below him, purple and green and gold, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Is this what the universe really looked like, underneath all the human constructions of what everyone thought life should be? 

Shane looked ahead for a long time before answering. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Irina,” she replied gently. 

“Ok, Irina. I haven’t said this before so it probably won’t be right, but I want to say it anyway. I - I’m gay. I never told anyone that when I was alive, I don’t think I even said it in my own mind. But I am.”

Irina didn’t look surprised, which amused Shane maybe more than it should have. “And?”

“And I think it’s pretty obvious that I had… feelings for Rozanov. But I don’t know what you want from me. Am I meant to stop him from getting on that plane? I don’t know how to do that. I could never manage to tell him what I wanted, not one single time.”

“Did you ever wonder why you dreamed of him so often?”

Shane shrugged. “I don’t know. I was happy I got to see him at all, after he was gone. I didn’t really want to question it, in case they went away.”

Irina looked around like she had a few times before, as though she was checking they were alone. “Another thing I should not tell you. But those were not just dreams, solnyshko. Dreams are often glimpses of other worlds. Before you go back, you need to know this. There is a world, many worlds in fact, where you are brave enough to ask for what you want.” Her voice dropped lower, so Shane had to lean forward to hear her. “And he cannot say no to you.”

“Seriously?”

“That is all I can say. We will get into trouble if I reveal too much. And it is important you learn things for yourself. Come, I feel it is time.”

Irina stood, motioning Shane to follow her to the edge of the lake. Shane felt the water lapping at his feet, drawing him forward. “Where will I be, when I get there?”

“I am not sure,” she replied. “But the universe has a sense of humour, so I would not be surprised if it will send you to a difficult moment. Try to stay calm, you cannot tell anyone that you have travelled back.”

“Wait, there are rules to this?”

“There are rules to everything, silly boy. Listen carefully. The nature of your return must be a secret. You can change whatever you want, but some things are always meant to happen. And the last rule is from me personally, ok? You must be kind to him, and tell the truth, even when it seems like the hardest thing you will ever have to do. It will be, but that is because it is important.”

“God, I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” But Shane knew that was the last lie he would tell for a long time, because he was ready. The life he was leaving behind had been empty, every award and achievement ringing hollow because they weren’t really for him, not for who he truly was. If the universe or fate or this familiar stranger were giving him a chance to change things, he would take it gladly and without hesitation. 

“Step into the water, solnyshko. It will take you where you need to go.”

So Shane did. It was cold, then hot, like being pulled apart and put back together all at once. Flashes of colour and sound flew past him, disorientating him until all he could do was grit his teeth and clench his fists, pulled along the undertow of time to some unknown destination. Finally everything settled and he felt himself land somewhere solid. Shane blinked his eyes open and looked down to see he wasn’t drenched like he would have thought. He was dry, but cold, and his body felt heavy, though not with age. His gear was a familiar, intimate weight. The realisation struck him: he was back on the ice. So much for everything not being about hockey. But Shane wasn’t sure where he was, or when, and he started searching around for some sort of sign.

When he saw the crowd gathering, the signs, his team around him and the opposing team across the ice, he knew. 2021. The playoffs, round two, game one, in Montreal. The universe really did have a sense of humour. Shane was almost frightened to look, but his eyes were drawn to him like magnets, like they always had been. And there he was, grinning and joking, waving at the booing home crowd like he was having the time of his life. 

Ilya Rozanov, beautiful and alive, impossibly alive. And Shane only had ten days to stop him from dying again. 

Chapter End Notes

so I had some cute little one shots based on romantic comedies planned but alas, I listened to Noah Kahan’s new album, got hit right in the feels, and this story smacked into my brain. Some of my favourite Hollanov fics are time travel ones, and one of my favourite movies is About Time, and I guess everything weirdly melded together from there.
Disclaimer that there will be no permanent main character deaths, I literally cry even reading summaries where one of the boys die, I physically cannot write a fic where that happens.

chapter title from Dan by Noah Kahan (f u Noah all you do is make me cry but also love u you’re a lyrical genius)

Chapter 2: and loves dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves

Chapter Notes

disclaimer that I know absolutely nothing about ice hockey and the more research I do the more confused I get. that being said I didn’t realise teams play seven games in a row against each other in the playoffs, holy sexual tension.

I just try to live every day as if I've deliberately come back to this one day, to enjoy it, as if it was the full final day of my extraordinary, ordinary life.

💫About Time

The world tilted and whirled around like he was on a carnival ride. Shane reached out to grab something to stop himself from dropping to the ice, the closest thing turning out to be a familiar person. 

“Hayden?” 

“Yeah, man?” 

His best friend, who was - no, would be dead. Not yet. Here, he was still young and whole, no illness or old age yet present to leech away the brightest parts of him. Shane hadn’t seen him alive for three years, but it was even longer since he had seen him like this. Stumbling a bit, he rushed to wrap his arms around him in a tight embrace. 

“Woah, love you too,” Hayden said with a laugh, patting Shane on the back before pulling back. “Any particular reason for that?”

Shane shook his head and tried to steady himself. Irina had told him the rules, and Shane always followed the rules. No telling anyone that he had been sent back. Even if his head felt like it was about to explode, to be back in this moment again. 

“Just - uh, missed you. That’s all.”

“Oh, right. You missed me for the ten minutes total we’ve been apart in the last six months?”

“I guess,” Shane laughed. 

Hayden looked around and then back at Shane, expression serious. “Are you ok? Look, I know Rozanov gets under your skin, but he’s just an asshole. Don’t let him get to you.”

So here was his first test, and Shane was determined to pass it. He had promised Irina he would tell the truth and he meant it. While he decided not to freak Hayden out minutes before a playoff game with the entire history of his feelings, he wasn’t going to pretend to hate Rozanov anymore, not after fifty years of wishing things could be different. 

“He’s not,” Shane said, with an adamant shake of his head. “Rozanov isn’t an asshole, Hayd. He’s actually a good guy.”

Hayden studied him carefully, like he was examining his face for signs of a brain injury. “… right. I’ll take your word for it.”

Shane wasn’t really paying attention to the reply, his eyes already drifting back over to the object of their conversation, unwilling to let him out of his sight. God, had he always been so… everything? Shane felt himself blush, startled at this overwhelming reaction, so strong he had to actively restrain himself from rushing over and tackling him to the ground. What he would do once they got there Shane wasn’t sure, but he was willing to figure it out. 

After an endless warmup, and lectures from the coaches, and announcements over the loudspeakers, the game was finally about to start. If Shane was remembering correctly - and he remembered everything about hockey correctly - then he and Rozanov would be chosen for the first face off. When his coach directed him onto the ice, Shane was both ecstatic and completely panicked to be right. The crowd went ballistic as they skated towards each other, screaming for blood. Shane avoided his face for as long as he could, terrified at what his eyes would betray. 

“Hollander,” he greeted cheerily, like they were passing in a hallway or riding an elevator together. 

Finally Shane looked up into those eyes, green and gold swirled together, and realised they were eerily close to the colours of the dream lake he had just watched his life play across. Whatever Rozanov saw in Shane’s own eyes made his grin drop and his forehead scrunch. Shane tried to smile at him as he blinked back tears, painfully aware that he must look insane. But he couldn’t help it. Rozanov was there, only inches away, so close Shane could feel his breath against his cheek.

“Are you - ?” Rozanov started to speak, but the ref was instructing them to get into position. 

The puck dropped and Shane felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, as natural to him as breathing, when they battled over it. Rozanov won, Shane chasing after him with a grunt of frustration, wanting to beat him but also not wanting to let him get too far away. And he had forgotten - how could he have ever forgotten? - just how thrilling it was to compete against him. The other players may as well have disappeared, the two of them only keeping up with each other, clashing and ebbing back like the tide of a violent sea. The buzzer sounded and the first period was over, Shane feeling like it had lasted twenty seconds instead of twenty minutes. 

As he settled onto the bench and gulped from his water bottle, Hayden was looking at him with that careful look again, so cautiously worried that Shane laughed. “What?”

Hayden shook his head. “You’re like, really happy. It’s weird.”

When had hockey stopped making him happy, Shane wondered. There wasn’t an exact moment he could pinpoint, it was more of a gradual shift over the years, until gearing up and getting onto the ice transformed from something that thrilled him, made him feel alive, to a task he needed to complete, a job and nothing more. Shane always wanted to do a good job, and he had been the best player in the league right up to the day he retired, he was sure of that, but his passion for the game was gone long before he played his last. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Shane asked honestly. He was young again, no longer alone with all of his safe decisions, but on the precipice of being able to make some exciting mistakes, knowing that nearly anything he did would have a better outcome than the sad, lonely life he had ended up with. Shane wasn’t just happy, he was fucking ecstatic. 

The break didn’t last long, just enough time to answer a few stupid questions from reporters and reset the ice. Play resumed and Shane cut through Boston’s defence, playing with a ferocity he hadn’t felt in years. They had lost this game, the first time, but suddenly Shane was sure they would win tonight. Maybe if he could beat Boston sooner, the flight would never need to take place at all. 

“Let’s go!” he yelled as he scored another goal, wrapping his arms around Hayden and knocking helmets in acknowledgment of his assist. 

Rozanov was watching him. Instead of shying away from it, Shane smiled back at him freely, sure no one would notice anyway. But Rozanov noticed, he always did. He didn’t smile back, just blinked as if in shock. Montreal won the game, the home crowd roaring their approval. Shane ushered his guys off the ice, accepting their hugs and back pats, looking over at Rozanov the whole time until they were the last two left on the ice. 

“Good game,” Shane said sincerely. 

Rozanov narrowed his eyes. “Are you drunk, Hollander?”

Shane laughed. “Nope. Dead sober.”

Then they were separated, pulled away by their captain duties, needed for post-game interviews and locker room speeches. Shane went through all his obligations dutifully, never the kind of person to let down his team, even in this insane situation. But once he was done, he politely declined invitations to celebrate, showered quickly and headed to the back exit. There was somewhere important he needed to be. 

Shane knew exactly where to look for him. 

Rozanov stood in the quiet alleyway, leaning up against the concrete wall, smoking a cigarette and watching the door. He’d done that the last time, lingering outside instead of leaving with his team right away, shooting one last verbal jab at Shane as he made his way home. Shane had always thought he was doing it to annoy him, or psych him out. But knowing what he did now… was it possible Rozanov wanted to see him? 

“Hey,” Shane said in greeting, resting one shoulder against the wall next to him. 

Rozanov looked at him suspiciously, exhaling a stream of smoke from his pursed lips, turning his head to direct it away from Shane. “What do you want?”

Shane had forgotten. This wasn’t the Rozanov of his dreams, the echo-man he had laughed and whispered with. This was the real Ilya Rozanov and he was kind of, well… intimidating. But Shane had fifty years and some secret knowledge of the universe over him this time, and he wasn’t about to let Rozanov ice him out again. 

“I wanted to see you.”

Rozanov raised an eyebrow. “You, Shane Hollander, wanted to see me? Are you sure you have not been roofied?”

“Who taught you that - no, I’m not drunk. Or on drugs. I wanted to see you, to tell you that…” Shane trailed off as his eyes raked over Rozanov’s face, down his body. Clad in black, that gold chain sparkling on his chest, cigarette hanging from his lips. It should be illegal to look that good. Shane stepped forward and snatched the cigarette away, throwing it to the pavement. “You shouldn’t be smoking. Maybe it was cute when we were younger, but you’ll be sorry when you end up with lung cancer.”

“What the hell?” Rozanov grumbled, reaching down to retrieve the cigarette, but quickly prevented by Shane clasping his shoulders and pressing him against the wall. 

Irina had been right: the truth was hard to say. But Shane forced the words out anyway. “Look, this is probably going to sound completely insane. But I like you, Rozanov. Ilya. I - I always have.” Shane looked down, feeling his face heat.

But Rozanov was gripping his chin, forcing him to lift his head, his eyes darting across Shane’s face like he couldn’t make sense of what was happening. “What did you call me?”

Shane dropped his eyes again, even as Rozanov’s hand held him in place. “Ilya - ”

The name was lost in a kiss, Rozanov forcing Shane’s mouth open and licking his way inside, making a frustrated grunt as he flipped their positions, pinning Shane against the wall as his other hand moved up to cup his face. Pulling back, he pressed his forehead against Shane’s, nipping at his lips as he panted into his mouth. 

“Say it again,” he commanded. 

“Ilya,” Shane moaned, bringing a hand up to knot in his curls, the soft cling of them the best thing he’d ever felt. 

Ilya Rozanov was alive, here, and kissing him. Shane was overcome with how right it felt, when he had spent his whole life running away from this feeling, so sure it would lead to ruin. Running his free hand down Rozanov’s chest, he clutched at his shirt to bring him closer, wanting his mouth again. 

Rozanov seemed to need no further encouragement, sinking back into the kiss like it was something they did all the time. Shane had never thought kissing could be like this, rough and gentle at the same time, all consuming. Rozanov’s hands were everywhere, stroking his cheek, dragging down his neck, dropping lower to grip his ass cheek. Shane pulled away from his mouth with a gasp, running his lips across his jaw, down the line of his throat, needing to taste as much of him as possible. Shane barely knew what he was doing, but Rozanov didn’t seem to mind, if his muttered curses were anything to go by. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” he groaned into Shane’s neck, biting at the sensitive skin. “Say it, say my name again, please…”

Suddenly the door to their right banged opened as a group of support staff exited, laughing and chatting. Thankfully they didn’t seem to notice the two men entangled in shadows a few feet away from them as they walked to the car park. But the disturbance seemed to be enough to wake Rozanov from whatever spell he had been under, because he released Shane instantly, stepping back with a dazed expression. His hair was everywhere, the curls wild, and Shane felt a deep satisfaction knowing he had been the one to make them look that way. The feeling was tempered when he saw the way Rozanov’s eyes had shuttered over, like he had turned off the light behind them. 

“Sorry. I know that was a lot,” Shane whispered. 

“It is fine, Hollander. We can just forget about it.”

Shane looked up, sure his distress must be evident but unable to conceal it. “I don’t - ”

“Don’t worry, I will not tell anyone.” Rozanov crouched down and pocketed the now extinguished cigarette, nodding at Shane before turning away. “Goodnight.”

Shane was speechless, unable to come up with a response to make him stay. So much for the wisdom of old age. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself. So he could get Rozanov to kiss him, but how the hell was he supposed to make him actually talk to Shane?  

-

They had a day off before the next game, Shane never so resentful of the requirements of practice before. The rest of the guys were locked into the usual playoff frenzy, going through their weird rituals and locked in with targeted intensity. In a different universe, Shane would have been right there with them, but he only had nine more days to change things enough to save Rozanov. 

Irina hadn’t been particularly helpful about how to do that, so Shane had settled on a two-pronged approach. First, he would use his knowledge of the past to try and knock Boston out of the playoffs earlier, altering the timeline enough to keep them from that last flight. Second, he was going to keep Rozanov as close as possible, anything to keep him on the ground and with Shane. If only he knew how to get in contact with the man. 

“Do you know if anyone has Rozanov’s number?” Shane asked Hayden as they cooled off from practice. 

Hayden gave him that look Shane was now well acquainted with, the one that said he was convinced Shane had lost his mind. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I just want to ask him about something,” Shane replied, trying to sound casual. 

“Does the guy owe you money or something?” Hayden joked, widening his eyes in mock horror. “Wait, I think I know what this is about. He’s knocked you up. Man, I told you to use protection.” His peals of laughter rang out, clearly amused with his own joke.

Shane was exhausted, having spent half the night on the phone to his parents, desperate to see them but knowing that he needed to concentrate on saving Rozanov, still insisting on FaceTiming with them for hours, watching his father fuss over dinner, unable to believe he was seeing them both again. They were coming to the fifth game, if Montreal made it that far, but if they didn’t Shane would be driving to Ottawa the second he knew Rozanov was safe. 

Maybe it was that exhaustion, or his constant anxiety about doing what he had been sent back to do, or the turmoil raging in his chest over that earth-shattering kiss, but he couldn’t tamp down the sudden rage he felt towards Hayden, so completely sick of the assumptions he had always made about Shane’s life, never bothering to look beyond the surface of who he thought Shane was. 

“Two guys having sex is really that funny to you?” Shane snapped.

Hayden stuttered as he tried to reply, clearly caught off guard. “I didn’t - you know I’m not - ”

“I know you’re not homophobic,” Shane sighed, because he did know that. Hayden never used the foul language some of the other guys did in all the years Shane had known him, had even used rainbow tape in support of Scott Hunter when he came out, though he claimed it was just because Jade and Ruby thought the colours were pretty. “Just don’t be a dick. I need to talk to Rozanov about something important. You don’t know everything that’s going on in my life.”

“Since when?” Hayden mumbled. 

Since always, Shane thought to himself. But that was partly his fault, too, Shane always playing everything so close to the chest. He resolved to tell him the truth, or at least some of it, when the time was right, but if Shane came out to him right now he might connect it to Rozanov. After that kiss, he no longer held any doubts that Rozanov was attracted to him, but beyond that Shane wasn’t sure where he stood with his sexuality. 

“I’ll ask around,” Hayden replied quietly, and Shane shot him a quick smile of thanks. 

The team all shuffled off, clearly nervous about the upcoming game but more hopeful than Shane remembered them being the last time, because they had drawn first blood this time. When Shane arrived back at his apartment, he was delighted to receive a text from Rose, forgetting that they had caught up around this time. 

Rose: I can’t wait to see you! 

Rose: game three, Boston baby!! 

Shane: Haha. 

Shane: Hopefully we win, so I’ll be in the mood to celebrate. 

Rose: oh no my friend, you promised me dinner and I’m collecting on that no matter what. 

Shane: Fair enough. 

To see Rose again, maybe this time as his authentic self, finally able to be honest with her about why he had been such a terrible boyfriend, was such an incredible gift. If there was any woman in the world that he could have loved that way, it would have been her, but some things could never be changed. But she’d known that, said as much when they broke up. 

Shane: Love you, Rose.

Shane rarely said those words to anyone except his parents, and even then they were usually tacked onto goodbyes, not intentional. This time around he wanted to say it more, a lot more. 

Rose: I love you too!!!!

Smiling down at the phone, he decided to have an early night, anxious and excited at the prospect of seeing Rozanov again the next day. After a quick shower, he tossed himself down onto the bed, idly scrolling through his phone to try and wind down enough to sleep when a text message popped up. 

Hayden: here’s his number damn

Hayden: you know you can talk to me about stuff

Hayden: im an idiot but im like your idiot or whatever

Shane laughed at the message, so Hayden he wanted to cry. Hayden was an idiot, but Shane loved him like a brother. Maybe he hadn’t given him enough credit the first time around, hadn’t given a lot of people enough trust.

Shane: Love you, Hayd. 

Hayden: love you too, bro. 

Now he had Ilya Rozanov’s phone number burning a hole in his hand. He stared at the contact, unsure what to do with this new information. Deciding things couldn’t go anymore awkwardly then they already had, Shane typed, deleted, and retyped a message, finally settling on something simple. 

Shane: Hi. It’s Shane Hollander. I got your number through a friend, hopefully that’s ok. I was wondering if we could talk?

There, that sounded normal. Sane. Nothing like what Shane really wanted to say, a ridiculous jumble of words that would have been both pathetic and desperate: I’m sorry the kiss went like that can we please do it again and again pretty sure you’re the only person I’ve ever liked doing that with also stay away from planes and cigarettes and anything else that might hurt you I’m not ready to lose you again or maybe ever. He settled for the bland text and watched the three little dots appear that indicated Rozanov was typing with bated breath, his heart pounding against the walls of his chest like a drum. 

Ilya: you’re really not giving up on this

Shane: Please.

Shane: I meant what I said. 

Shane: Maybe we can meet after the game tomorrow? I can drive us back to mine and we can talk. 

Maybe it would be smarter to meet at a hotel, but just because Shane was in a younger body didn’t negate the fact that he was eighty years old. He’d be damned if he was going to sneak around like a teenager. Rozanov could come to his house and they would talk, like rational adults. 

Ilya: talk

Ilya: sure, Hollander 

Even Shane could recognise the sarcasm in that reply, but he took it as a victory. 

Shane: Meet me at the exit where we were last night. 

Ilya: oh that exit 

Ilya: don’t know if I’ll be safe with you there 

Ilya: if last time is anything to go by 

Was Rozanov… flirting? Irina had shown him a different perspective on his memories, so many times where it became obvious that Rozanov wasn’t just being an asshole, but trying to make an overture to Shane in his own roundabout way. But it was another thing completely to be at the receiving end of it in the present. 

Shane had been flirted with sometimes over the years. Even if he was a bit oblivious, he realised it did happen on occasion. He was a professional athlete, of course people tried to hit on him. Even men he’d found attractive in an objective sense had tried. But this was the first time he’d been overwhelmingly interested in receiving the attention. 

Feeling a blush heat his face, Shane tried to think about what the hell to write back. He didn’t know how to act like one of the women that clung all over Rozanov, boosting his already over large ego, and some instinct told him that wasn’t the right approach anyway. 

Shane: Fuck off.

Shane: We both know who started that. 

There. Simple, to the point. And it would surely silence any comeback Rozanov could shoot back. 

Ilya: those eyes started it

Shane’s blush blazed hot as he pressed his face into his pillow, smothering an agonised groan. He was simultaneously twenty-nine and eighty years old, but Rozanov had always been able to reduce him to a seventeen year old boy. Did he really like Shane’s eyes? 

“Get it together, dude,” Shane muttered to himself, lifting his shaking hands to type out a reply. 

Shane: Will you meet me or not? 

And deciding that he hadn’t come back to play it safe, he quickly typed up another message, again following that strange instinct that he knew exactly how to get Rozanov to give in. 

Shane: I can always use the eyes on someone else, if you’re not interested. 

The reply came through instantly. 

Ilya: I will see you after the game. 

-

Montreal won the second game, though that had happened last time as well. Shane was satisfied, now convinced his plan would play out the way he had envisioned. Boston would get knocked out early, and he would tie Rozanov to himself, safe and earthbound, until he was sure the danger had passed. Watching him across the ice, he wasn’t quite sure how he would manage that second part, Rozanov looking far too dangerous to be tied to anyone. But Shane remembered how he’d panted against his neck, said please in that frantic tone, and thought maybe he had an advantage.

It took longer to get out of the locker room this time, his team even more insistent that he join them for celebratory drinks now they’d won twice on home ground. Shane made vague excuses and they teased him about meeting up with a girl, which he let them believe because it got him out of there sooner.

Shane got his car first, pulling it up as close as possible to the exit, then sending a text to Rozanov to just get in once he got outside. He waited for probably only fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours, his anxious mind convincing him that Rozanov was going to blow him off. Just as he resolved to throw away his pride and text again, the passenger door swung open and a large Russian man was suddenly invading his space, overwhelming his senses. 

Shane blinked over at him. “You, uh - you smell nice.” Where the hell had that come from? 

Rozanov smirked, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses even though it was already dark outside. And why did it have to be this person that Shane was inexorably drawn to? Wearing sunglasses at night, in a fucking Boston Bears hoodie, and Shane could have devoured him right there. 

“You have a boring car,” Rozanov said with a little nod, like he was confirming a long held suspicion. 

“It’s practical!” Shane protested, then tried to take a deep breath, not wanting to let Rozanov’s shit talking derail his mission for the night. “Are you hungry? We could pick something up on the way.”

Rozanov rolled his head over to look at him, the shades sliding down a fraction to reveal an inch of those mercurial eyes. “Just drive, Hollander.”

Shane cleared his throat and nodded. “Right. Ok. You can put the heat on, if you’re cold. Or music, if you like. Whatever you want.” 

Rozanov grabbed Shane’s phone in the console and began to scroll through his music as Shane drove away. Shaking his head, he muttered something under his breath before ripping the cord from Shane’s phone and connecting his own, putting on some slow song with a deep bass. 

The music vibrated through Shane’s body as they drove through the night, Montreal flying past them in a blur of light. The journey to his apartment was usually a quick one, Shane having bought it for the proximity to the stadium, but tonight it dragged on, the tension building to an unbearable hum as he kept sneaking glances over at Rozanov from the corner of his eye. 

His thighs were spread apart like he was at ease, but Shane could hear the impatient tap of his foot over the music, and something about Rozanov also being nervous set him on fire. Shane’s hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles whitened as he held himself back from reaching over to touch him. But he wanted to so badly, and wasn’t that what this whole time travel thing was about? Taking risks, reaching out for what he wanted? 

Shane peeled one hand off the wheel, finger by finger, and casually dropped it to the edge of his seat, fixing his eyes on the road as he slowly moved it across the console, hitting the edge of Rozanov’s leg with his fingertips. When Rozanov didn’t instantly push his hand away, Shane dared to move it further, resting it on the expanse of his thigh, unconsciously curling into the muscle, seeking the heat of his skin. 

He could feel Rozanov tilt his head to watch him, eyes burning into the side of Shane’s face as they finally pulled up to his apartment building. Shane parked in the garage, turning off the engine and snatching his hand back, clutching it to his chest as though it was wounded. Maybe it was, because Rozanov hadn’t touched him back and that hurt, for some reason. 

Shaking away the ridiculous thought, Shane reached across his body and opened the door for him, the action bringing them closer together. Their eyes caught and Shane held his breath, sure the proximity was going to result in another kiss, but Rozanov slid out of his seat, nonchalantly strolling around the car to wait for Shane to get out. 

“This is the back entrance,” Shane explained, knowing Rozanov would be completely uninterested in the information but somehow unable to stop rambling as he guided him through the door and up the stairwell. Shane wanted to grab his hand as they ascended the steps together, but that didn’t seem likely to go well, so he linked his hands behind his back until he ushered Rozanov inside. 

Shifting his weight nervously, Shane watched as Rozanov strolled around the apartment like he owned it, stripping off his blazer and tossing it carelessly over a chair as he peeked at Shane’s bookshelf and the art on the walls with an unreadable expression. 

“Did you want a drink? I don’t have any, um, alcohol but I could get you a ginger ale or - ”

“Where is your bedroom?” Rozanov asked.

Shane gulped, unsure how things were escalating so quickly. While he definitely wanted to kiss Rozanov again, he wanted to talk first, try to explain himself and the feelings he had revealed from out of nowhere. “We should probably talk - ”

“Tell me.”

Helpless to refuse the command, whether from ingrained politeness or this sudden need to please him, Shane pointed towards one of the doors behind them. “It’s back there,” he said, walking over and opening the door as Rozanov followed. “I got a decorator,” Shane muttered. “That’s why there’s so many pillows.”

Rozanov moved closer. Shane swayed toward him, helpless to resist, like his body held some kind of gravitational pull. Straining up onto his toes, he tried to kiss him again, but Rozanov pulled back and looked down at him imperiously, obviously aware of how much control he had over Shane in that moment. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Shane gasped, taken aback. “I - I haven’t done this before.”

Rozanov’s eyes widened in surprise. “You haven’t been with anyone?”

“No!” Shane exclaimed, blushing furiously. “Obviously I’ve been with people, just never…” 

“Ah,” Rozanov said, eyes raking up and down his body. “But you want to know what it’s like, to be with a man?”

To be with you, Shane wanted to say, but he just shrugged, not wanting to embarrass himself more than necessary, happy to let Rozanov assume for the moment that he was just curious about sex with another man. Rozanov’s eyes blazed with something inscrutable as he stepped even closer, crowding Shane until he fell back onto the bed. 

“Take your clothes off, Hollander. Trust me, I will not do anything you won’t like.”

Shane complied, stripping down under Rozanov’s intense gaze, folding each piece of clothing and leaving them in a neat pile on the corner of the bed. He screwed his eyes shut as he took off his underwear, probably looking like an idiot as he fumbled around to place it on top of the other items. 

While Shane wasn’t unused to being naked in front of other men, having practically grown up in communal showers and shared hotel rooms, being so exposed in front of Rozanov was enough to make every inch of his body flush. He felt so shy, but so turned on by the vulnerability that his erection was almost painful, curling up against his stomach and already leaking. Shane had never had that kind of reaction to anyone in his life, but something about following Rozanov’s instructions made him feel like he was going to crawl out of his skin. 

Rozanov stripped off his own clothes more carelessly, tossing them to the floor. As he lowered himself onto the bed, Shane sighed in relief, sure he was about to finally receive the kiss he had been aching for. But Rozanov instantly dipped lower, dragging his teeth along the hard planes of Shane’s stomach, nipping at his hip bones before grasping his dick and licking up the length, lightly sucking at the head until Shane felt his entire body convulse. 

“Oh, fuck!”

Pulling back, Rozanov watched as Shane writhed beneath him with amusement, outright grinning when he ran a hand over Shane’s hole, making him moan aloud. “Do you have lube?”

Shane swore, sitting up and shaking his head, distraught at his lack of planning. Rolling over, he started to fumble around in his nightstand, desperately hoping there was an old bottle lying around that he’d forgotten about. What kind of single, twenty-nine year old man didn’t have lube in his apartment? The answer was Shane Hollander, because apparently he was an even bigger loser than he had remembered. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t think - you can just use, uh - ” Shane trailed off, gesturing vaguely to Rozanov’s mouth. 

“You want me to use spit to fuck you?” Rozanov asked disbelievingly. 

Shane shrugged. “I did it once, like that. It wasn’t so bad.” It had hurt like hell, actually, but Shane had been drunk and desperate, looking for anything to alleviate his grief when Rozanov had… no, there was no room to think about that here, he might burst into tears and completely ruin the moment. 

“You have been with other men?” Rozanov asked. “I thought - you said - ”

“I said I’ve been with other people,” Shane said with a shake of his head. “Including men. Just never someone I - ” Care about. Long for. But the words wouldn’t come out, stuck in his throat. “Not another player. And not in my apartment, like this.”

Rozanov studied him for a second then rose, the air around Shane’s body cold as he pulled away. Shane watched as he dug around in his jacket before tossing a small bottle and a foil packet onto the bed. 

Shane shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “You had that all along?”

Was he seriously infatuated with this… playboy, who apparently toted lube and condoms around like he would his keys or wallet? Looking at Rozanov in the low light of the bedroom, his broad chest rising and falling in staccato bursts, the rhythm irregular like he was holding something back, all Shane could think was: yes, yes I am infatuated. Hopelessly so. 

Rozanov moved back over his body, pausing to look up at him, eyes shadowed. “I am going to make you come now.” 

Shane could only nod, gasping as Rozanov took him into his mouth again, not pausing his sucking as he fumbled for the lube, flicking the bottle open and dripping it down Shane’s ass, warming it with his fingers as he circled the tight hole. Pulling off Shane’s dick with a wet slurp, his spit created a tenuous line between the head and his lips that snapped as he spoke. 

“Can I use my fingers?”

“Yeah,” Shane said, covering his face in embarrassment as his voice cracked, but Rozanov didn’t seem to notice. 

Stroking a finger down, Rozanov feathered it across the hole as he took Shane’s dick back into his mouth, swallowing him down almost to the hilt, using the distraction to slip a finger inside as Shane bucked into his throat. The finger swirled around, until focusing on a small bundle of nerves that made Shane writhe, caught up in pleasure so intense it was almost painful. 

“Fuck - fuck, Rozanov that’s - I’m gonna come, please don’t - ah!” Shane called out, sure he was making no sense, trying to tug Rozanov’s head up as he felt the orgasm start to burn from his stomach right up the length of his dick. 

Rozanov didn’t stop, slapping Shane’s hands away as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder, somehow increasing the seal as he added a second finger to his hole, now almost roughly crooking them against his prostate, ripping the orgasm from him, Shane coming into his mouth with a loud yell. 

Shane fell back to the bed, completely dazed, but Rozanov was hooking his hands under his knees, tilting his hips back to bring Shane to his mouth. “Again,” he muttered against Shane’s now loosened hole, entering with his tongue this time, licking inside with no hesitation, using his lips to suck around the rim as Shane rubbed shamelessly against his face. 

“That’s - you don’t have to - ” Shane tried to protest, completely mortified at the intimacy of the act, until he was impossibly on the edge of coming again. Losing control, he gripped Rozanov’s head to hold him in place, grinding against his tongue. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

The sounds he made were pathetic, whimpering as his stomach quivered and tightened, another small release shooting from his dick and up his chest. Shane tossed his head from side to side, feeling out of his mind, grabbing at Rozanov to bring him closer, pressing his face into his neck as he gasped. Shane tried to tilt Rozanov’s head to kiss him, but he turned away, stroking a hand across Shane’s hair as he guided him onto his stomach. 

“You are ready for me to fuck you now?” Rozanov muttered against his ear as he ran his fingers across Shane’s sensitised hole. 

“I don’t know if I can,” Shane sobbed, gripping the sheets as he pressed against Rozanov despite his protestations. 

Rozanov shushed him gently, removing his hand to grab the condom. Shane twisted back to watch as he tore it open with his teeth and rolled it down onto himself. 

“Say I can fuck you,” he said, an edge of pleading to his voice as he stroked lube over his cock. 

Shane dropped his head down with a moan. Feeling the head of him press against his entrance, Shane arched up, so unprepared for this physical onslaught but wanting desperately to give Rozanov what he wanted, to be good for him. “Yes, ok. I-I’ll try.”

“Fuck, Hollander,” Rozanov grunted as he pushed inside slowly, giving Shane time to adjust to his size, moving deeper as he felt the internal muscles give. “Is ok?” he slurred, his accent thicker than usual. 

Shane’s entire body shook, every nerve ending vibrating like he was being electrocuted. Pushing back against him, he tried to move, not knowing if he needed more stimulation or less. Rozanov gasped, gripping his hips almost tight enough to bruise and started a punishing rhythm, thrusting into Shane with so much force the bed slammed against the wall. 

“Tell me you want this, Hollander. Tell me you want me to - fuck - say you want this, want me - ”

“I want you - want you so much, oh god!” Shane arched up as he cried out. 

Rozanov leaned over him, dropping kisses to his shoulders, the back of his neck, and it was so close to one of his dreams that Shane started to sob, unable to help the tears slipping down his cheeks. Grabbing at the hand Rozanov had braced next to his head for leverage, Shane uncurled it to press kiss after kiss to the palm, hiding his face there as Rozanov sped up.

“Can’t stop - don’t want to, I am not hurting you?” Rozanov gasped the question against his ear, sounding like he was in pain. 

Shane moaned, reaching back to hold Rozanov’s head in place so he could hear his groaning and uncontrolled breathing, wanting him as close as possible. “You - you can go harder. Please, Ilya, I don’t care if it hurts, I want to feel everything,” Shane sobbed. 

Rozanov fumbled beneath Shane’s body to grasp his dick, barely enough room for the manoeuvre as he flattened Shane into the mattress and fucked into him so hard Shane’s teeth would have rattled if his face wasn’t pushed against the bed. “You are going to come again, Hollander. Last time, I promise. You are so, so good - fuck, so good.”

“I can’t - I can’t,” Shane wailed.

“You can.” Rozanov reared up again and pulled his hips back, driving against that place inside him without restraint. “Come, please, sweetheart - Shane, please,” he groaned out.

Shane completely lost the ability to produce sound, mouth wrenched open in a silent scream as he convulsed, a few drops of cum wrung from his spent body as he came for the third time. Rozanov collapsed against his back, finding his own release, pushing into Shane as he rode the aftershocks. Shane nearly cried out in protest when he pulled out and rolled off him, wanting the weight of him for longer, but he still couldn’t speak, barely remembered how to breathe. 

Finally he rolled to his back too and they both lay next to each other in stunned silence, close enough for their shoulders to brush whenever one of them inhaled. So this was what Shane had been missing out on, what he had denied himself for all those years because of fear and anxiety and some brand of self discipline he was beginning to realise may actually have just been punishment. 

Turning away from Ilya, Shane tried to hide the tears that had begun to well in his eyes, embarrassed at the reaction, but now completely sure that this was what the universe had been conspiring to make happen all along, why he’d been sent back, but also why he had been born in the first place, to be here with this person, laid bare before him. 

But just as Shane came back enough to himself to reach for him, to wrap him in his arms and maybe never let go again, Rozanov sat up and rose from the bed. Shane followed, his forehead scrunched in confusion. Rozanov raised his eyebrows at him, like he was daring him to speak. When Shane remained silent, unsure of the right thing to say to make him stay, he rolled the condom off and deposited it in the ensuite bathroom, then started to shrug his clothing back on. 

“Early flight. You got your experiment, Hollander. Hope it was fun,” he muttered as he zipped up his jeans. 

Shane started to feel his whole body shake, fighting back tears as he watched him leave, too distraught to speak. Rozanov - Ilya - wouldn’t meet his eyes as he walked out of the room. “Good luck for next game, you will need it.”

“Y-you too,” Shane managed to gasp out before he heard the front door open then click shut again.

-

An experiment. An experiment? Rozanov thought Shane would risk his career, his reputation, his team’s shot in the playoffs for a fucking experiment? Like he was some horny teenager fumbling around with anyone willing to reciprocate? Where the hell had he even learned that word? Shane had been blinded by regret and sentiment, and forgotten how absolutely infuriating the man could be. Some part of him had held back for this exact reason, sure Rozanov would never admit to having any sort of real feeling for him. 

The emotional and physical turmoil was disorientating, to say the least, especially as Shane was expected to catch a flight and play against him the day after it happened. His body ached almost as much as his heart did when they exited the plane, but he wouldn’t let the discomfort distract him. If he couldn’t make Rozanov want him back, he could still decimate him on the ice, knock him on his ass and out of the playoffs to save the idiot from the crash. 

Shane rarely gave bloodthirsty speeches before a game, usually just encouraging the guys to focus on their strengths and remember the strategy, but tonight he called for Boston’s heads, all but forbidding his team from failing. They yelled back their support and hustled out of the locker room, jostling and slapping Shane’s back on the way out, clearly psyched up by this new energy. 

Hayden slung an arm around his shoulders as they made their way to the bench. “Everything ok?”

“I just need to win tonight,” Shane replied, sitting down to lace up his skates, his eyes laser focused on the familiar routine. Tight at the bottom, a double cross along the front of the ankle, slightly looser along the top to allow for movement, looping knot to finish for luck. At least that distracted him for a moment, so he could pretend he wasn’t interested when he heard Boston start to arrive. 

“No argument from me there, buddy. You just seem - I don’t know - pissed about something?” Hayden said, shrugging. 

Shane was incredibly pissed, but truthfully, even that felt good. He hadn’t cared about anything enough to feel this kind of rage in years. The feeling of it coursing through his body, heating his blood, was almost exhilarating. If Rozanov thought he was annoying before, he was about to beg for the old Shane back. 

“I am angry,” Shane admitted, unwilling to lie about his feelings. “Someone I like is fucking with my head, and right now I could honestly scream this whole place down.”

Hayden blinked in surprise. “You - you’re seeing someone?” 

“I will be,” Shane muttered to himself darkly as he stood, ordering the guys onto the ice to warm up. 

Shane could feel Rozanov’s stare as he began to stretch, but he ignored it, determined to not get distracted. The crowd went wild above him and he looked up to see Rose waving on the Jumbotron, cheekily showing off her Hollander jersey. Hayden slapped his shoulder, grinning at him. 

“Are you and Rose hooking up again? Doesn’t seem like she wants to fuck with your head, man.”

Shane heard a sharp intake of breath. Whipping his head around, he caught Rozanov staring at him for a split second, but he turned away as soon as he saw Shane looking. Shane glared at the back of his head as he rolled into another stretch. 

“Rose and I are just friends, I’ve told you that a million times. Now go and tell JJ he needs to fix the tape on his stick, there’s a strip hanging off and if that costs us a goal I’m going to beat you both with it.”

“Right away, captain,” Hayden said with a mock salute. 

Finally the game was set to begin. Shane took his place at centre ice, jaw clenched tight as he sensed Rozanov moving closer to him. Shane looked up to meet his eyes, not letting him get away with avoiding eye contact. The man had put his tongue in Shane’s ass the night before, he could damn well look at him the next day. 

“Having a nice night?” Shane asked, casually tossing his stick between his hands. 

Rozanov just stared mutely, apparently speechless. Shane whacked his stick against Rozanov’s, ignoring the chastising comment he got from the ref. 

“Try not to choke,” Shane shot out. “But I guess you’re pretty good at that, right?” Irina had made him promise to be kind, but Rozanov was making that impossible, the way he made everything impossible. 

The puck dropped and Shane claimed it immediately, tearing off across the ice, not catching a single hit because he was too fast, too determined. The puck landed exactly where he wanted it, the first goal of the night but certainly not the last. The Boston crowd screamed their hatred at him, and Shane bared his teeth at the sound, stoking it to a barely contained roar. Usually he blocked out the animosity, certainly never engaged with it like Rozanov did, but tonight he wanted Boston to suffer as much as he was. 

Play was fast and furious, Boston unsuccessfully thrashing against the death grip Montreal had them backed into. The final buzzer sounded, announcing the win for Montreal 3-1 and Shane got caught in a pile up of giant hockey players, all trying to kiss his helmet or embrace him. Looking out from the middle of the chaos, he stared at Rozanov defiantly, rolling his eyes when he looked away again. 

The locker room was electric, everyone hyped and convinced they were only one game away from knocking their mortal enemy out of the playoffs. Shane ducked out of the celebrations, pleading his dinner with Rose as an excuse, reminding the team not to stay out too late. Rose’s car was waiting outside the stadium and he slid into the back seat, leaning across to hug her tightly. 

“Hi, honey,” she said, kissing his cheek. “You were freaking amazing out there tonight.”

Shane pressed a kiss to her lips, beyond happy to see her again. They had always kept in touch in his other life, but spoken less and less as the years passed, both busy with their careers, and when Rose got married and had a family. It had been so long since he’d seen her in person. She was as vibrant as ever, still the prettiest woman he had ever seen. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shane said in wonder, holding her face in his hands. 

Rose laughed, pushing him away teasingly. “Your cute little tricks don’t work on me anymore, mister. We’re staying friends.”

“I know, I’m not - actually, I might need a drink for this,” Shane muttered. 

“Shane Hollander drinking during the playoffs. God, what’s got into you?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

The car pulled up to the back entrance of some exclusive restaurant and they were ushered into a private dining room. A waiter attended them as soon as they sat down. Shane’s eyes scanned the drink menu, looking for the strongest thing he could find. 

“Do you have anything without preservatives?” Besides the obvious control issues and his strict diet regime, Shane also disliked the flush most alcohol gave him. 

“We have a great organic wine, it’s really popular with…” the waiter trailed off, clearly lost for a description of Shane’s ethnicity.

And fuck that too, actually, in this moment and every one that would come after it. “Yeah, I’m Asian. Japanese, actually.” Snapping the menu shut, he handed it back to the waiter with a grin. “I’ll take the bottle. And we need some bread and dip. And cheese. Arigato gozaimasu.”

The order arrived quickly. Shane tipped back half a glass of wine, then scooped up a generous pile of pesto dip onto a hunk of bread, sighing happily as he closed his eyes and chewed. Why had he avoided bread for so long? Anything that tasted this good could never be that bad for you. 

“Are you dying? Is this like a bucket list thing?” Rose asked, genuine concern in her eyes. 

Shane shook his head. “No, no dying allowed. Only room for living around here.” Rose reached across the table and took his free hand, clutching it tightly. Shane picked it up and pressed a kiss to the back of her wrist. “Rose, I’m so sorry for lying to you.”

“About what?”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t a lie at the time. When we broke up, you asked if I’d ever been with a guy and I said no. That was the truth, but also a massive cop out. I’m attracted to men, even if I’ve been too much of a coward to explore that. I’m… gay,” he blurted, the words tumbling out on a laugh. “Like super gay.”

Rose blinked at him for a long moment, clearly lost for words. A giggle burst out, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to silence it. But Shane started to laugh in earnest then, feeling so free his head spun. It was just like eating the bread: how could anything that felt so fucking good to say be wrong? They both laughed together until tears ran down their faces, hiccuping and clutching their stomachs, waving away the concern of the wait staff when they came to check on them. 

“God, my ribs hurt,” Rose gasped, covering her face as she tried to settle down. 

Shane had dropped his head onto the table, but he lifted up to grin at her, wiping tears from his eyes as he reached across to grab for her hand again. They clutched hands and smiled at each other, Shane so glad to be in this moment, to have finally told someone. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Rose said. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in such a long time. Maybe ever.”

“I am sorry. I swear I didn’t know I was completely gay when we started dating. When you asked me about it I nearly died of shock, I really thought I hid it so well.”

Rose shook her head, patting his hand fondly. “Shane, I promise no one is walking around picking up on your sexuality. I’ve just had a lot of gay boyfriends, my gaydar is excellent.” Laughing, she crinkled her nose. “Well, it is once it kicks in. Just takes me a minute.”

Shane released her hand to pour them both another glass of wine. “You’re quicker on the uptake than I am. Which I guess isn’t saying much.”

“So, can I ask what prompted this?” she asked, propping her head on her hands as she studied him across the table. 

“So many things,” Shane replied with an ironic smile. Reckoning with his own mortality, dying after a lifetime of never sharing this part of himself with anyone that mattered. But mostly: “I need your advice.”

“Holy shit, you like someone!” Rose exclaimed, pointing at him in excitement. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Shane muttered. Like was far too simple a word to describe what he felt for Rozanov. 

“No way, you’re blushing! Oh my god, who is this guy? How long have you been together?”

“I can’t… neither of us are out. And we’re not together, we just - literally just - hooked up. But I’ve been attracted to him for ages. Years.”

“… is it another player?” Rose asked, unbridled curiosity in her eyes. 

“Rose!” Shane chastised and she held up her hands in defeat. “It doesn’t matter who he is, because the second we, uh - finished, he left. Like basically ran out of my apartment.”

Rose tapped her finger against her lips, appearing deep in thought. “What was the sex like?”

“Is that really relevant?” Shane asked, avoiding her eyes.

“Yes, Shane, it’s extremely relevant. Was it like… intimate?”

Burning kisses pressed against his back, hands gripping his hips so tight he still had marks there. Sweetheart. “Yeah, it was… fuck, I’ve never experienced anything like it. But he wouldn’t kiss me on the mouth, like at all.”

“Wow, a Pretty Woman situation. Interesting.”

“Am I meant to know what any of that means?” Shane asked irritably. 

Rose rolled her eyes. “I really can’t blame myself for thinking you were straight. Pretty Woman, the movie? Julia Roberts?”

“Not a clue, sorry.”

“I bet your favourite movie is Mighty Ducks,” she grumbled. “In the movie, Julia Roberts won’t kiss Richard Gere because it’s too intimate.”

Shane’s stomach dropped. “So he doesn’t like me?”

“Not necessarily. Have you kissed at all before that?”

“Once,” Shane replied, somehow blushing harder from talking about that than the sex. 

“And he initiated it?”

Shane nodded, remembering the way Rozanov had grabbed his chin and forced into his mouth, the memory so blazingly hot Shane squirmed in his seat. 

Rose considered the information for a moment before shrugging. “Don’t take this as gospel, some guys definitely are just assholes. But if he kissed you before, and the sex was that intense… maybe he’s just a bit freaked out.”

“By what?” Shane spluttered. In the last four days he had died, been sent back in time, had sex with the man he’d been infatuated with since he was a teenager then lost to a plane crash, and come out as gay to his ex-girlfriend, and Rozanov was the one who was freaked out? 

“You’re pretty intense when you want to be, honey. And he might have liked you for a long time too, if you’ve always felt an attraction. It could just be a bit overwhelming.”

“But he’s so - he’s the biggest player - and I’m the one that told him I liked him!”

“Well, he obviously didn’t take the hint. You might need to be a bit more obvious.”

“I let him suck my dick, how can I make it anymore obvious than that?” Shane demanded.

Rose choked on her drink, coughing and spluttering as Shane begrudgingly pushed a glass of water into her hand. “I love gay Shane,” she gasped. “Look, men are simple. Clearly he’s into you. Just lure him in with the promise of sex, then ambush him with the emotional stuff when he’s all relaxed and vulnerable. Classic move.”

Shane thought about the idea before nodding slowly. “I can… do that. I think.”

Nothing to it, surely. Just convince his rival of ten years, turned his - one night stand? hookup? - that they’re somehow fated to be together in some insane redux of their original timeline, without revealing that the reason Shane was so frantically trying to keep him close was because he was about to die in a plane crash in six days. Simple. Right. 

Chapter End Notes

I had a blast writing this chapter, I love sassy old man Shane sooo much and I just love the idea of him finally breaking free of all the pressure he puts on himself and the expectations of others and ahhh character of all time I love him. also the coming out to Rose scene is a lot longer than I initially planned but it brought me so much joy, like happy pride month I’m emotional!!
and I know Ilya is probably frustrating the fuck out of you reader but I think his internal monologue for this entire chapter is basically: whatthefuckishappeningwhattheactualfuckishappeningahhhhhh.

chapter title comes from under pressure by queen and david bowie (a late edition to my playlist for this fic but holy shit it is Shane to a tee here)

Chapter 3: the line where the sky meets the sea

Chapter Notes

If love did not exist, I would be so goddamn sane. 

💫 Andrea Gibson

Shane: Could we meet after the game tomorrow? 

Shane: I could get a hotel room.

Shane: Or send me your address and I’ll take a car. 

The messages went unanswered for the entire day. Shane walked into the stadium for game four in a state of absolute, blinding rage. Standing in front of his stall and staring down at his phone with a sour expression, he barely noticed when JJ walked by and slapped his back in greeting. 

“What’s good, captain?”

“What do you do when a girl is ignoring your texts?” Shane asked without preamble. 

“Send her flowers. Can’t ignore that shit,” JJ replied. 

Some of the other guys chimed in with typical locker room bullshit: “call her by another chick’s name”, “dick pic!”, “cash app her”. All utter nonsense, but maybe if being polite wouldn’t work, Shane needed to resort to extreme measures. 

You have sent a payment of five thousand dollars ($5 000) to the account associated with this number, name of account: Ilya Rozanov. 

Shane: Since you want to act like Julia Roberts. 

Slamming his phone face down on the shelf, he stared to gear up, barely hearing the vibration of a reply over the general chaos of a locker room full of idiots, snatching up the phone to read it as soon as he did. 

Ilya: what the fuck is that supposed to mean? 

Shane: It means… 

Shane: Send me your address so I can come over. 

Shane: If you manage not to be a dick for five minutes I might even let you touch me again. 

Ilya: … 

Shane: Stop trying to come up with a clever reply and just send it. 

Shane continued to type, unable to believe the things he was coming up with. His fingers shook as they hovered over the screen before pressing send. The message was a shot in the dark.

Shane: I know you’re hard right now just thinking about it. 

Shane groaned in frustration when there was still no reply, furiously typing out the insult and sending it before he could stop himself. 

Shane: Idiot. 

The reply pinged through a second later, Shane’s heart surging in elation when he saw it was an address to somewhere in Boston. Now he just had to back up his falsely confident words with action and make Rozanov admit that this thing between them was more than a single hookup. 

Shane was too anxious and pent up to play well, unable to channel his restless energy into the game like he usually could. There was too much riding on it, the need to beat Boston to keep him safe, but also to somehow impress him. Shane fumbled shots that should have been easy, and no one seemed to be where he needed them. They lost, meaning Boston still had a shot at the cup, and the team could still die in five days time. 

The pressure of it stiffened Shane’s shoulders, made him grind his teeth as he sat in the back of the car. Checking the address, he headed up a walkway lined in greenery, unable to help but admire the beauty of the place. He’d expected frat house vibes, but apparently Rozanov had something close to good taste in architecture. For some reason the knowledge increased Shane’s already pissy attitude, probably because it made the man even more infuriatingly attractive. 

Knocking on the door while simultaneously sending a text to Rozanov for good measure, he tried to peek inside the house to examine the interior. The door suddenly swung open and there he was, shirtless, curls swept back, looking like some kind of Greek god. Shane pushed past him, but not before he kicked his shoes off, some habits unbreakable even in the face of so much anger. Whirling around, he glared at Rozanov’s stony expression. Shane moved closer, tilting his head as he crowded his space, trying to hide his shaking hands behind his back. It was hard to sustain that much rage, now Shane was here in front of him, hard not to falter when every nerve and muscle in his body was screaming at him to grab Rozanov, bear him to the ground until every inch of Shane met every inch of him. 

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

Rozanov blinked, looking like he’d just been hit over the head. “What?”

“I’m good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to kiss afterwards. Is that really what you think of me?”

Rozanov backed up against the kitchen counter, bracing himself as he studied Shane like he was an alien creature. “I am losing my fucking mind… Hollander, what are you doing here? We both know you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you!” Shane cried out. “I’ve never…” Looking down, he felt his cheeks heat as he tried to confess some part of his feelings, as much as he understood of them himself. “Fuck, you make me nervous, ok? I’m sorry I’ve pushed you away for so long, but I meant what I said outside the stadium. I like you. I don’t want this to just be some hookup. That’s not what I want at all.”

Rozanov moved slowly, stalking over to Shane like a predator cornering prey. “You are telling me for all the years I have followed you around like a fucking dog, you wanted me too?” 

“Of course I did!” Shane shot back. “Why do you think I got so pissed off with you all the time?”

Rozanov didn’t answer, just grabbed onto his face with both hands and finally, finally, kissed him again. Shane moaned into his mouth, wrapping his arms around his neck for leverage to climb higher up his body, pressing every inch of himself as close as possible to his chest. Rozanov crouched down and hooked underneath his ass, actually lifting Shane to carry him further into the house, pressing his back up against a wall to stop and kiss him deeper. Shane sucked at his tongue and sighed over the taste of him, wrapping his legs tighter around his waist. Then he was being moved again, this time into what must be Rozanov’s bedroom.

Tossing him onto the bed, Rozanov covered Shane’s body with his own immediately, pressing him into the mattress as Shane squirmed beneath him. 

“Fuck, Rozanov… please,” Shane panted, not even sure what he was asking for. 

“Ilya. You call me Ilya here.” 

“Ilya,” Shane whispered as he lifted his head to chase his lips. “Kiss me again.”

Giving Shane his mouth back for only a second, Ilya suddenly circled Shane’s wrists and wrenched his hands up above his head, locking his hips in place with his knees. It was both maddening and unbelievably hot, the way he could take control over Shane’s body. 

“Listen to me,” he murmured, breath tickling against the sensitive curve of his ear. “You bring Rose Landry to another game in Boston, I will fuck you on the ice in front of her. Understand?”

Shane should have protested, should have told him off for such a ridiculous statement, but all he could do was toss his head back and groan as the words sent a rush of blood straight to his dick. “Ilya.”

Ilya bit down on his neck, just enough to hurt. “Tell me you understand.” 

“Yes, yes, whatever you want. Just please fucking touch me, I’ll lose my mind."

Moving down his body, Ilya unzipped his pants, ripping them off in one quick whoosh, settling back down to mouth at Shane through his underwear. “And if I ever find out you let some guy fuck you without lube again, I will chain you to this fucking bed and never let you leave.”

“Ah - that’s, fuck!” The words, his mouth hot against Shane’s groin through the thin fabric, the thought that maybe he drove Ilya as insane as he made Shane feel, was all too much. Shane writhed up against his chin, locking a hand into his hair to hold him in place as he came with a few helpless shudders. 

“Did you just - ?”

“Yeah,” Shane whispered breathlessly, embarrassed by the reaction. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Barely giving him time to catch his breath, Ilya captured his mouth again, licking into him messily, pulling at his lips like they were something sweet. “Even dreams were not this good…”

Shane came back to himself enough to pull away, staying Ilya with a hand on his chest. “You dreamed about this too?”

Dropping his head to Shane’s chest with a groan, Ilya mumbled over his heart. “Always dream about you, Hollander. Very annoying.”

“You called me Shane, before.”

Ilya lifted his head, stroking a hand across Shane’s cheek as he met his eyes. “Shane. These freckles… I have waited so long to touch them again.”

Shane covered his hand with his own, pressing it closer against his face. “You really like them?”

“They might be the prettiest thing I have ever seen."

Shane usually hated that word - pretty - having had it thrown at him as an insult for years, but when Ilya said it in that reverent tone, the word lodged underneath his ribs, fizzing against his heart, making him feel giddy. Pushing against Ilya’s shoulders, he rolled him to his back, kissing down his chest, over the gold crucifix, lower. Settling between his legs, Shane dragged his pants down, nuzzling at his dick with his lips as soon as it was uncovered, greedy for the taste of him. 

“I might not be great at this. I’ve only done it a couple of times.” And not for approximately forty years, but they weren’t going to get into that. 

Ilya’s eyes scrunched as he stroked a hand through Shane’s hair. “You said you have been with other men?”

Shane eyed the length of him, dotting delicate kisses around the head as Ilya groaned his approval. Lifting up for a second, he reluctantly answered the question. “Three. But they weren’t ever - I don’t know, right, I guess. I always wanted someone else,” he said, shooting him an accusatory look. 

“Me?” Ilya asked, his breathing quickening when Shane nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me? God, Shane, I would have taken care of you.”

Blinking away the unexpected tears that had started burning in his eyes, Shane took him in his mouth fully then, wanting to make him feel good. There was no way he could take his full length, so he gripped his hands around the base and started to move, letting his saliva run down to make the glide easier. Ilya bucked beneath him as he swirled his tongue around the head, lingering on a sensitive spot underneath. 

“Fuck, you are so good.”

Shane encouraged him to thrust gently into his mouth, trying to relax his throat to take him deeper. Just when his movements became less controlled, he pulled Shane away, ignoring his protests as he tugged him up. Shane’s complaints were quickly silenced by Ilya’s tongue in his mouth, like he was trying to chase the taste of himself there. Reaching over, he fumbled for something in the nightstand, uncapping a bottle of lube to spread over his fingers, starting to stroke across Shane’s hole as he sucked at his neck. Bracing his hands on his shoulders, Shane sunk down onto his finger, clenching around him as he began to ride it. 

“I can take more,” he said through gritted teeth. His dick was nearly hard again, thrusting against Ilya’s stomach with every movement. 

Suddenly Ilya was flipping him to his back, crooking his finger and tapping against his prostate as Shane’s legs began to shake. “No, sweetheart. This is my dream, I will take my time.”

No matter how Shane begged, Ilya wouldn’t give him more, continuing to stroke that spot inside until Shane was shivering uncontrollably, gasping against his shoulder. Finally he added another finger, Shane clamping down around the extra width greedily, thrusting up against his hand. Then he was pulling away, desperately grasping around the bed, ripping open a condom and rolling it down his length. 

“I am going to fuck you so good, you will forget every other person who ever touched you before,” Ilya said, grunting as he pressed against the hole, taking his time to enter, pressing kisses to Shane’s face while he sank deeper. “Have - chert voz'mi - felt you watching me for years, with those fucking eyes, never letting me give you what we both wanted.” As he began to thrust, he panted against Shane’s ear, nipping the sensitive hinge of his jaw. “Hope you know what you are getting into, Hollander, because I am never letting you hide from this again. Will fuck you until you can’t run away, pretty boy.”

“That’s so - I don’t want anyone else, Ilya. I never have,” Shane gasped out, digging his fingers into his back, scraping his nails across the satiny skin. 

Ilya reached between them to start jerking Shane off roughly, his grip unrelenting. “You have to come, I cannot last long.”

“I will, I promise.” Shane kissed his cheek, along the bridge of his nose, open mouthed, frantic kisses, wanting to devour him. 

Ilya nuzzled into the kisses like he was as desperate for them as Shane was to give them. “Promise you won’t… no one will touch you like this again, no one but me.”

Shane nodded, his back arching up as he felt himself coming again. “Oh god, yes, only you.” The cum shot out between them, slicking both their bellies as Ilya quickened his pace, groaning against Shane’s neck. 

“Say my name again, please,” Ilya pleaded.

Shane wrapped his arms around him, whimpering against his ear. “Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.” The name, said over and over like an incantation, a spell Shane would use to bind them together forever. 

Ilya stilled, his whole body stiffening before collapsing his full weight down onto Shane. They held each other for a long, quiet moment, coming back to earth together. Shane petted his hair, pressed kisses to his forehead. 

Finally Ilya lifted his head, squinting down at him, touching his face as if confirming he was real. “Where the hell have you come from?” he asked, shaking his head. 

“I know that this whole thing has been… intense,” Shane replied, wincing a bit when Ilya moved against a sensitive spot inside him. “I don’t really know how to be anything else.”

Ilya tutted like he was displeased, fussing over Shane as he slowly pulled out, guiding him into the shower, washing and drying his body with care, then insisting he wear some of his clothes. Manoeuvring him onto the couch, he covered Shane with a blanket before sitting next to him. Shane couldn’t help wriggling closer, not wanting to lose contact with him for a moment, now he knew what it felt like. 

“Tell me what this means.”

Shane reached for his hand, toying with his fingers before bringing them up to his lips. “Do you like me too?”

Ilya groaned, using his thumb to delicately trace around Shane’s lips. “Keep up, Hollander. I have been fucking obsessed with you since we were seventeen. Even though you have weak backhand and are always very mean to me.”

“Fuck you, my backhand is not - ”

Ilya leaned forward, silencing him with his lips, not pulling back until Shane was gasping and trying to coax him closer. “I like you too, Shane. Stay the night.”

Old, familiar fears crept into his head. The team had an early flight, Hayden would notice he was gone, people would speculate and gossip. But Shane thought of the lonely life he had left behind, and how warm it was here, wrapped in Ilya’s blanket and his arms, and suddenly none of those things seemed to matter quite as much. Nodding, he tipped his head forward to rest on his shoulder. 

“Ok. Make me dinner, Ilya. We can pretend we’re just regular people for a little while.” 

-

“You stayed,” Ilya said as Shane opened his eyes. He was lying very close to him, obviously watching his face as he slept. 

Shane blushed, tilting his face toward him to brush noses. “You asked me to.”

“You are sure you did not hit your head during game one?”

“I’m not asking you to understand, and I probably couldn’t explain it even if I tried. But I need you to believe me that this is real. I tried for so long to push it away, because I knew I couldn’t be casual about it, and the implications for our careers, and what everyone would think.” Shane wriggled forward until he could drape an arm around his waist, tugging him closer. “I just don’t want to lose you again. I can’t.”

“Again?” Ilya asked, forehead scrunched in confusion. 

Shane struggled for a moment, trying to find a way for the words to make sense. “Hockey has always been everything to me.”

“Yes, Prince Hollander. This is why you are the second best player in the league.”

Shane smiled at the words even as he rolled his eyes. “But it’s like six days ago I woke up, looked around and saw everything it had taken from me, too. The first thing I saw was you. I liked you so much, from the first time we met, even when you were being an obnoxious idiot.”

Ilya nipped at his jaw teasingly. “I was trying to get your attention.”

“You always had it. Like, always, even when it was really inconvenient.” Shane stroked along his neck, up to his soft curls, still in shock that he could see him in this sleepy, undone state. “I don’t have much experience with all this, but I know the things people say during sex aren’t always… we got carried away, I get that.”

“You think I did not mean what I said.”

“It’s not that - I just mean, I get that we’re not freaking Scott Hunter. We can’t just start making out on the ice. I don’t expect you to be like my… my boyfriend, or anything.”

Ilya pushed him onto his back, bracketing his head with his arms as he smiled down at him. “Give me a chance, Hollander. I am not boring old man like Hunter, but you are also boring. You need someone to shake you up a bit, yes?”

Shane couldn’t help but laugh at the statement, the truest thing he’d heard in forever. He did need this, had probably always needed it. Ilya could never know the impossible depths of his feelings, the years he had spent aching for this exact moment, even before he had a name for what it was. Irina had told him to tell the truth and he wanted to so badly, but he also didn’t want to scare him away. His intensity had propelled him into playing at the highest level of professional sport, made him a multimillionaire before he turned thirty, but it probably wasn’t the best thing for those early, tenuous days of being with someone, when one wrong move could ruin everything. 

“We could just see where this goes. Obviously everything with the league would be insane, and I know you’re not exactly a relationship guy, and I’ve never - we don’t have to be exclusive. I’m happy to just be together, like this.”

Ilya’s eyes narrowed minutely, more green than gold in this light. Shane had never been good at reading people, but he vowed to memorise every expression of this man’s face, so that one day he could tell exactly what he was feeling with just a look. It had been like that in the dreams, their connection so instinctive it was easier than breathing. But this wasn’t a dream, and real life was much harder to navigate. 

“I will do whatever you want,” Ilya said quietly, tipping his head down to nuzzle along his cheekbones. 

“Kiss me,” Shane whispered.

“Ok.”

It was hard to kiss when they were both grinning like idiots, but Shane thought they did a pretty good job. 

-

If Shane couldn’t knock Boston out of the playoffs using traditional methods, he was going to have to resort to something more unconventional. In his previous life, the idea of using a personal relationship to tamper with a game would have been unthinkable - would still be, if Ilya’s life didn’t depend on it. And somehow, so quickly he couldn’t quite believe it, Shane’s life depended on it too. 

Losing him now - after seeing his face first thing in the morning, sleepy and rumpled and gorgeous, or feeling how he held Shane with his whole body, or the sound of his voice when he whispered something in Russian before kissing him - it would be unendurable. Shane would not survive, not even in the same shadow existence he’d lived before. He simply couldn’t live without the fragile connection he was forging with this infuriating, maddening, perfect person. And there was no line he wouldn’t cross to protect it. 

 His heart raced as he geared himself up to make some truly questionable decisions. The team was warming up, clearly happy to be back on home ground, though less confident now that Boston had two wins under their belt. All they needed was one game, one more fucking game, then Shane could forget this whole nightmare, and maybe figure out what a future with Ilya could look like, how they could tackle the million other problems a relationship between them would cause. At least they could do that together and Shane wouldn’t have to hide anything from him anymore. 

All of his overthinking narrowed to one focused objective: distract Ilya by any means necessary. In the past, Shane always warmed up as far from him as possible, trying to keep distance between them. Now, he chose a spot on the ice right next to him, drawing more than a few raised eyebrows. Shane did his best to block it out as he twisted himself into the most suggestive shapes he could think of, groaning far more loudly than he ever normally would as he moved. 

“You ok, Hollzy?” JJ asked, voice awkward, the way a lot of the guys sounded around him these days. 

“All good, just sore,” he said, flicking a significant look at Ilya from underneath his lashes. He nearly jumped for joy when he saw Ilya stumble as he stood from a stretch, swearing under his breath. “That’s a good position, Rozanov. Looks nice and… deep. You should teach me sometime.”

Ilya’s face flushed bright red and Shane decided he should have done this earlier. Years ago, in fact. It was nice to get a bit of payback after the decade Ilya had spent tormenting him with heated glances and innuendo, even if Shane had to suffer intense indignities to do it. 

“Hollander,” Ilya said, warning clear in the tone of his voice. 

Shane started ordering his team off the ice to hit the bench and prepare for play. The crowd gathered was getting larger and louder, so loud that anything someone decided to carefully whisper to their opponent would surely go unnoticed. Shane skated past Ilya, keeping his face neutral as he paused for just a second to brush his gloved fingers across the hem of his jersey. 

“If I win tonight, you have to make me come four times,” he whispered. “Don’t worry, I got myself ready for you.”

Ilya gulped and Shane swore he saw a bead of sweat run down his forehead. But he always had to have the last word. “And if I win, I get to come in your ass and lick it out of you. Sound good, sweetheart?”

Shane’s vision whitened at the edges as he stumbled away, knuckles squeezed so tight they burned. While he might look twenty-nine, he was an eighty year old man, and the filthy words should have scandalised him. Instead, he was so hard he felt like he might pass out. Flirting with Ilya Rozanov was like playing with fire and Shane watched his clever little plan go up in a puff of smoke as Boston absolutely destroyed them. 

Ilya played like he had something to prove, smashing players into the boards like they were ragdolls instead of two hundred pound men. He seemed to take particular delight in herding Shane up against them, grinning like an excited child every time they slammed into each other. Shane was still hard by the time they lost, eyeing Ilya intensely as they ushered their teams off the ice. The things he was going to do him when they were finally alone… he would be sorry he won, that was for damn sure. 

The mood in the locker room was downcast, the guys barely making eye contact with each other as their coach bellowed out every wrong move they had made the whole night. Shane pretended to pay attention as he stripped off his gear but his mind was elsewhere, focused mostly on his new plan to tie Ilya to his bed until the playoffs were over completely. Finally he could sneak off, rushing out to check his phone, call him, anything to get to him sooner. 

By some miracle he was there already, leaned against the wall in the shadows of the long hallway, his attention focused on the locker room door. Their eyes met and caught, the irresistible pull between them now taut as a bowstring. Shane was helpless to do anything but move toward him. 

“Honey, there you are!”

Holy shit, how could he have forgotten his parents would be attending tonight? Having them interrupt the moment felt like the worst possible thing, a nightmare, but then Shane saw his dad for the first time in nearly fifty years, his beloved face creased up in a smile, that gentle kindness radiating out like rays of the sun, and he was undone. Rushing forward, he wrapped his arms around them both, suddenly in the middle of an embrace he had thought he would never feel again. This had always been where Shane had felt the safest, between his mother and father, their warmth a shield against a world that was often too loud and too bright for Shane to easily tolerate. 

“What’s all this about?” his mother exclaimed. 

“Just missed you,” Shane mumbled back, voice muffled against his dad’s shoulder. 

A shift in the air or some tiny shuffle of movement made him look up. Ilya was still there, though he had moved further into the shadows, his eyes glinting in the low light as he watched Shane with his parents. Shane had never seen someone look more alone, the only possible exception being his own reflection when he had been an old man with no one left to love. Irina’s voice echoed through his mind, when she had described how Ilya felt as he was about to die: he knew there would not be many people to mourn him, in the end. The words left his mouth before he had a chance to stop them. 

“I want to introduce you guys to someone.” Shane pulled back from the embrace to wave Ilya over. 

Ilya froze, looking like he’d been caught committing a crime, but he shuffled over at Shane’s direction, posture rigid and hands clutched stiffly in front of his body. 

“Mum, dad, this is Ilya Rozanov.” Shane cringed at how awkward he sounded, but pushed through the embarrassment. “I guess you already knew that. But I don’t think you’ve ever met in person, and I wanted you to. Because Ilya and I are… well, we’re friends.”

Ilya looked at him like he was insane, which Shane had to admit was fair. But to Ilya’s credit, he managed to put a polite smile on his face as he turned to face them. “Hi.”

Yuna stared at him with her eyes narrowed, clearly distrustful of her beloved Metro’s greatest enemy, but David seemed to handle the new information with equanimity, reaching forward to shake Ilya’s hand. 

“Good you meet you, Ilya.”

Yuna still appeared unimpressed, but she did give him a short nod of acknowledgment before turning back to Shane. “We should get going. We have our dinner reservation, remember?”

“About that.” Shane cleared his throat. “Ilya is - ah, he’s gonna come out for dinner with us,” he said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “I’m sure the restaurant will be able to fit in one extra person. Four is a better number than three, anyway.”

Ilya spluttered out a cough, covering his mouth as Shane blushed fiercely, realising the parallel to their earlier conversation on the ice. His parents looked between them with nonplussed expressions, clearly at a loss for words. 

“Sounds good to me,” David declared, giving Yuna a meaningful look. 

“Yes, of course. Whatever you like, honey.” Yuna didn’t look like this was something she was happy with by any means, but Shane just gave her the look that usually got him his way, the one where he softened his eyes and smiled like he was posing for a school photo. 

The restaurant was a small Japanese place that they often went to when his parents were in Montreal. Thankfully the staff were disinterested in their guests in the way only a genuinely authentic place could be, never seeming to recognise Shane or give him any special treatment. The same was true of tonight, where they also appeared oblivious to who Ilya was, and why his eating with the Hollanders was a total disruption to the normal world order. 

“So when did you and Rozanov get to know each other so well?” Yuna asked, peering at them over the frame of her glasses sceptically. 

Shane shot her a look. “Ilya, mum. We’re not at a game, you can chill out.” The irony of Shane lecturing his mother on relaxing about hockey was not lost on him, but he was determined for her to give Ilya a chance. 

“I bet it was the All Stars game, right?” David asked with an encouraging smile. “You guys played so well together. Yuna and I both said it was nice to see Shane with someone that could keep up with him.” 

“I was surprised, but you’re not half bad at playing wing,” Yuna conceded. 

“Thank you,” Ilya replied, the first time he had spoken since they got to the restaurant. 

Shane saw how stiffly he was holding his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched under the table, and realised with a jolt that he must be completely freaking out. It had been barely two days since they’d even admitted to liking each other, they had never been on a date or even hung out without sex being the main activity they engaged in, and Shane had dragged him into dinner with his parents like the crazy person he now apparently was. Shane couldn’t even blame the time travel, really. It was Ilya that made him this way. He had meant it when he told Ilya that this wasn’t something he could be casual about. 

Shane liked watching nature documentaries on the countless flights his career required, so he had learned all about birds that mated for life, birds that found their equal, their match, and would never accept any substitution, even if they suffered or died from a broken heart because of it. Shane was one of those birds. So Ilya might be freaking out, but he would just have to get used to Shane’s intensity and dinners with his family, because from the moment they had played against each other at seventeen years old, he’d known Ilya was his match. 

Shane slid his foot across until it tapped against Ilya’s once, twice, three times for luck, trying to let him know that he was welcome at this table, would always be welcome at any table Shane sat at. “I’ve always liked Ilya,” Shane said, huffing at the blank stares of his parents. “I have! I just think the whole rivalry thing got to me over the years. The league and everyone was so invested in us hating each other, but Ilya is - he’s funny, and… nice. Well no, not nice. But he’s kind.” 

His dad was staring at him intently, a sheen to his eyes that looked suspiciously like tears. Reaching across the table, he patted Shane’s hand gently, and all Shane could think was that he had missed him so much his heart ached. Shane and his mother were so similar, both intense about the same things, bonded by their efforts to ensure that his talent wouldn’t go to waste. He would always be so grateful for her guidance, her unshakable faith in his abilities, but his dad loved Shane in a different way. Not in greater quantities or more effectively than his mother, but it was love that didn’t need a shared goal or lofty aspirations to anchor it. His dad was always interested in his career, but he was also interested in what plants Shane had growing in his apartment, or the movie he watched on the weekend, all the mundane parts of his life Shane was sure no one else had ever cared about. Maybe that was why Shane had always shied away from closeness from him, because his dad saw all the human, fallible parts of himself that Shane would have trimmed away if he could. 

“Any friend of Shane’s is welcome with us,” David said sincerely. “Ilya, I want to know everything. Tell us about where you grew up, what your family is like. Did you always know you wanted to play professionally, like Shane? Do you have any interests outside the sport?” 

Ilya looked between Shane and his father. “I see where you get it from.” 

“Get what?” Shane asked, tilting his head. 

“Asking many questions. It must be genetic.” 

Yuna laughed. “I think it’s just a Canadian man thing, actually.” Shane was gratified to see her smiling at Ilya with a hint of warmth. “But I wouldn’t mind knowing some things as well. I suppose we should have made the effort before, you and Shane did come up at the same time. It’s nice for him to have you as a friend, as long as you don’t think that will mean he’ll go easy on you.” 

Now it was Ilya’s turn to laugh. “I do not think Shane knows how to do anything the easy way,” he said, looking over at Shane with a fond smile. 

The rest of the dinner was one of the most entertaining nights Shane had been apart of for a long time, the jokes and conversation flowing effortlessly, like Ilya had always belonged to their small group. When the evening was over, his dad gave them both a tight hug, his mother even patting Ilya on the shoulder and instructing him to catch up the next time he was playing in Ottawa. They waved goodbye to them then headed to Shane’s car. Shane assumed they would be going back to his place but Ilya quietly gave him the address of his hotel before he even had a chance to pull away from the curb. 

“Oh. Right.” Shane began to drive, trying to hide his disappointment by concentrating on the road. 

“Early flight,” Ilya mumbled, as if that was sufficient explanation. 

It only confused Shane more when Ilya reached across to grab his hand, clutching it in his lap, leaning down every so often to press a kiss to the back of it. Shane pulled up a discreet distance from the hotel, shutting the car off and taking a deep breath before turning to face him. His face was inscrutable in the dim light of the car, the sharp planes of his face cut into segments of light and shadow, beautiful but so distant. Shane would do anything to have him, but he didn’t have the right words to close that distance, no matter what Irina had told him. 

“My parents really liked you.” 

Ilya nodded absently, still holding Shane’s hand, staring down at it instead of meeting his eyes. “They are great.” 

“We really can’t - I thought we would… ” 

“That is not a good idea, Shane.” 

Shane tried to disguise the hurt expression on his face, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling his hand back. “Why not?” 

Ilya looked up then, his crooked grin familiar but not reaching his eyes like it usually did. “Boston is on a winning streak. I need to concentrate, now we are so close. No distractions.” His gaze travelled up and down Shane’s body slowly. “And this is very big distraction, Hollander. You have to admit that.”

Shane shook his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought we agreed to… to be together.”

“That is not what you said,” Ilya said, his face downturned. “I should go. Early flight, like I said.” 

“Ok,” Shane replied, leaning forward to kiss him, needing to touch him before they separated. They only had three days of guaranteed time left, but every second was slipping through his fingers like water. 

Ilya moved back, smoothly dodging his advances. “Goodnight.” 

Peeking through the windows for a moment, he got out of the car with his head down, face shielded behind his hand. Shane knew that they had to be careful, but the exaggerated secrecy of it was almost insulting. Did Ilya really care that much about being seen with him? But then Shane remembered every time he’d glanced over his own shoulder, anxious whenever he and Ilya so much as looked at each other, sure that everyone would guess his shameful secret with just a glance.

“Night,” Shane whispered. 

But it was to an empty car, Ilya already gone. 

-

The next game was a complete disaster. Shane knew how much was riding on it and he felt the pressure of every tiny decision and movement, until it was like he could barely move at all. To make everything worse, Ilya barely looked at him the entire game, only smiling politely at appropriate moments and being completely sportsmanlike. This was torture of the acutest kind for Shane, who had never thought he would miss Ilya’s shit talking and infuriating attitude on the ice. Boston screamed for their beloved team as the buzzer sounded, booing Montreal as they trudged off after being beaten soundly. The only thing that echoed through Shane’s mind was the knowledge that he had failed. Boston would be in Montreal in one day, then they would fly home but never reach their destination. Ilya would be gone, lost for a second time, and Shane might as well jump into the ocean with him. 

“Man, where the fuck where you tonight?” Hayden asked him as he stripped off his gear. 

Shane just stared down numbly, not replying as he shoved everything into his bag, wanting to get out of the Boston stadium as soon as possible. They finally got back to the hotel room and Shane lowered himself onto the bed with an exhausted sigh, still ignoring Hayden as he peppered him with questions. 

“Obviously you’re upset about something. I meant it when I said you could talk to me about stuff.” 

Shane checked his phone for the millionth time that night, heart twisting when he saw no new messages. “I’m not in the mood to talk tonight. Come on, put on one of your stupid movies and we’ll order some room service.” 

“I’m going to ignore that comment about my movie taste because I don’t believe in kicking people when they’re down,” Hayden muttered as he started to flick through the television channels. 

They ate in silence, Shane choking the food down before giving up halfway through and pushing his plate away. In an unspoken agreement that an early night was in order, Shane switched off the lights and tried unsuccessfully to sleep. The hours ticked past, dragging on interminably as he checked and rechecked his phone, getting increasingly more agitated as he saw no notifications. 

What had he done wrong? Shane had thought they were finally on the same page, but apparently Ilya wanted absolutely nothing to do with him again. Remembering the way he’d nodded politely to Shane at the beginning of the game, Shane decided that no, it was even worse than that. Ilya seemed to be treating him with civility, like they had gone through some kind of bloodless, mutual breakup. If they ever did break up, it would not be civil. Shane would go kicking and screaming, leaving claw marks across Ilya’s skin on his way out, so anyone after would know who he belonged to first. Unable to lie there any longer, Shane tossed the blankets aside and started to dress in the dark, trying not to wake Hayden. Sneaking out of the room, he ordered a car to meet him at reception, pulling up his hoodie as he slid into the back seat. 

The car pulled up outside the house and Shane stuffed his hands into his pockets as he got out, nervously approaching the front door. Maybe he should have texted first, but he probably wouldn’t have had the courage to come if he planned it out beforehand. All the lights were off and the house seemed quiet. Shane rang the doorbell, then bashed loudly on the door as well for good measure. Finally he watched Ilya’s familiar form pass across large window beside the front door as he shuffled over, covering his mouth to stifle a yawn before squinting at Shane through the glass. 

“Shane?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep as he opened the door. 

Shane launched at him, locking his arms around his neck, nails digging into his back to tighten his grip as he kissed him without preamble. Ilya backed into the wall with a grunt, pulling back to let out a shocked gasp before returning to Shane’s mouth like he couldn’t help it, his hands travelling down to grab Shane’s hoodie, tugging it over his head, biting into the uncovered skin and soothing the marks with more kisses. 

Lifting his head, he gripped Shane’s chin tightly. “Get on your knees.” 

Shane dropped immediately, desperate for any piece of him he could get even if it was just this, so grateful he wasn’t ignoring him or being polite anymore. He nuzzled Ilya’s groin through the thin fabric of his sweats, inhaling the scent, so addictive it must have been laced with some mysterious substance. Ilya stroked a hand through his hair, Shane pushing up into the touch like he was a puppy. Unable to resist any longer, he tugged his pants down, letting them drop to the ground as he uncovered his dick, already hard and pointing to Shane’s mouth like an arrow. Shane wrapped his lips around the head, flicking his tongue over the slit, enjoying the way Ilya clutched at the wall for support, his legs trembling as he pushed into Shane’s mouth. Moaning at the invasion, Shane gripped his hips to pull him deeper, his eyes rolling back as he swallowed as much of the length as he could, choking as he took him past the back of his throat. 

“Fuck, Hollander, you want it so bad,” Ilya said. The words were taunting, but the hand stroking across Shane’s cheek was unbearably gentle. “Pretty boy, so desperate for my cock.” 

Nodding around him, Shane looked up with tears in his eyes as he took him almost to the hilt. Ilya guided him off with a tortured groan, dropping his head back against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut. After taking a few deep breaths he tugged Shane to his feet, guiding him to the couch and pushing him onto it facedown, dragging his hips up to run a finger along his exposed ass. Shane pressed back against him, moaning into the couch cushions as he chased the touch, yelping when he felt him bite his ass cheek. 

“Meant what I said,” Ilya said against his back. “I won, so I get to come in your ass and lick it out. You will let me do this, won’t you?” Feeling the way Shane shuddered at the words, he smiled before dipping his head down to lick around his hole, just inches away from where Shane really needed him. “You would let me do anything to you right now. No matter what happens, you and I will always know how much you want this, how you fucking beg me for it.” 

“Please, Ilya,” Shane gasped out, reaching back to grab for him, needing him closer, needing him everywhere. He watched Ilya fumble around the coffee table for something, too far gone to even jab at him for keeping lube in his living room, only grateful it allowed him to enter Shane quickly, his finger curling inside and stroking against his prostate with featherlight touches. 

“I want to hear you beg.” Ilya leaned down closer to pant the words against his ear, biting his neck as he let Shane fuck his finger shamelessly. 

“I-I’m begging you, please… I’ll do anything, Ilya.” 

Shane felt him grin against his face. “Tell me you need my cock.” 

Turning his head, Shane nuzzled against him, kissing his cheek. “I need you. God, need you so bad.” 

“Fuck, you are so - ” Ilya pulled his hips up roughly, spreading him wide as he nudged against the hole with his dick now, his breathing strangled, like he was in pain. “Tell me now, Shane, I can get a condom, or if you need more time I will - ”

“Fuck me,” Shane demanded, grinding back against him, crying out as the head of his dick pushed in, stretching out the rim, feeling so good he felt himself already on the edge of coming. 

“Are you - ?” Ilya gasped as Shane bucked beneath him, his cum spurting out onto the couch. Pushing between Shane’s shoulder blades, he forced him to arch higher, reaching between them to grasp his dick tightly, stroking him even as Shane tried to cringe away from the overstimulation. “You will come for me again, Hollander,” he gritted out, pounding into Shane until he felt himself impossibly close to the edge again. “Fucking hell, you feel so fucking good.” 

“Ah - ah! Ilya, please, I can’t take anymore,” Shane pleaded, clenching around him as his body started to spasm again, flattening against the couch as Ilya slammed into him, until finally he yelled out, smothering the sound against the back of Shane’s neck. Shane moaned weakly as he felt the warm flood of his release inside his body. Dazedly, he turned to reach for him, whimpering when he pulled out and moved down Shane’s body. “What are you doing? Come back.” Maybe one day Ilya would stay inside him for as long as he wanted. Shane gasped in shock as he felt the intrusion of his tongue, so unspeakably wrong, but so hot he writhed against his mouth. 

“Want to know how I taste inside you,” Ilya muttered, licking deeper, his hands digging into Shane’s ass cheeks to spread him wider. 

“Oh god, you’re so - no more, it’s too much.” Shane rolled away from him, almost turning back when Ilya groaned in protest, wanting to please him so badly. But he was completely spent, his body unable to take anymore. Ilya crawled over him, pressing his face into Shane’s neck, blanketing his body with his own. Shane wrapped his arms and legs around him, holding him tight. “I’m going to keep you here forever,” he whispered into his hair. 

“You just don’t want Boston to kick your ass in game seven.” 

Actually, in what had to be the true miracle created from all of this insanity, for the first time in both of his lives Shane Hollander didn’t care about hockey at all.  

-

The air around him was cool but one half of Shane’s body was unbearably warm, enveloped by an insistent weight. It was both uncomfortable and the most exquisite thing he had ever felt, like he was finally in the exact place he was meant to be, no small accomplishment for someone who had spent years needing to break down barriers and smash records just to gain a place at the tables he wanted to sit at. 

Shane twisted his head to watch Ilya in the dim light of the early morning. The sun was yet to rise, cool blue clouds glowing through the wide windows, illuminating the living room and creating arcs of silver light that stroked along his profile, so vulnerable in sleep, like he was years younger. Reaching up, Shane stroked along the crooked line of his nose in quiet wonder, still in disbelief that this was happening. Tears stung his eyes as he leaned over to kiss his forehead. Their last game was tomorrow, the outcome hovering on a knife’s edge, and Shane was so scared he wouldn’t be able to save him, that he would fail the test he had been set by the universe when he was sent back.  

Ilya stirred, blinking his eyes open, dazed at first but softening in recognition when he looked at Shane. “Good morning,” he mumbled, looking away. 

Shane was startled to realise he looked slightly pink around the cheekbones, across his nose. “Are you blushing?” he asked in disbelief. 

Ilya shoved at his shoulder, no real force behind the push. “Don’t be stupid. Russians do not blush.” 

“You are, you’re blushing!” Shane said delightedly, moving over him to examine his face more closely. “Look, it’s right there.” Poking at his cheek, Shane could feel the gentle warmth of the flush under his fingertip. 

“Last night was… are you ok?” Ilya asked, still not looking him in the eye. Shane wasn’t used to that in this life, having spent his entire past being the one to avoid eye contact. 

“Of course I’m ok.” Shane guided his face over to look at him, wanting to reassure him. “You are the most… I wasn’t expecting you to be like this.” The Ilya of his dreams had been demanding, imperious, but always so tender that he seemed like nothing more than an impossible fantasy. It had never even occurred to Shane to hope that he would be like that in reality, but he was all of it, and more, somehow. 

“Promise I get tested. I am clean, will show you the paperwork,” Ilya said, stroking the back of his fingertips along Shane’s cheek. 

Shane tilted his head into the touch. “I trust you.”

Ilya groaned, pulling him closer to dot kisses along his cheekbones, to the corners of his mouth. “Please do not have unprotected sex with people just because you think you can trust them, Shane. You are too… you should not risk yourself like that.” 

Shane shook his head, the action rubbing their noses together because they were pressed so close. “Yeah ok, I get that. But it’s not with people, it’s with you. I trust you, Ilya. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” And that was the first real lie he had told since coming back, because Shane knew that in two days time if Ilya died, he would be hurt beyond repair. 

Ilya wrapped his arms tighter around him, burrowing his head into Shane’s chest like he wanted to get as close as possible. “How has this happened? I can’t understand it.” His voice sounded close to tears, so afraid and small, completely unlike anything Shane had heard from him before. 

Shane kissed the top of his head over and over, hands stealing into his hair to stroke through the curls. “Maybe we don’t have to understand it, maybe we can just be happy we found it.”

“Shane, do you - would you ever - ” Ilya looked up, staring at him intently before dropping his head back down with a sigh. “Your flight will be soon, solnyshko. Come, I will drive you back to the hotel.” 

Shane groaned as he dragged him up, his whole body aching from the loss of his weight. They got dressed and drove mostly in silence, though Ilya grabbed across the console for his hand as soon as they got in the car. When they pulled up outside the hotel, Shane refused to relinquish Ilya’s hand for a long moment, his own fingers stroking along the tendons, the veins, the little creases, trying to memorise every detail. Looking up, he saw Ilya studying his movements. Surging forward, Shane wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling into his neck. 

“People will see,” Ilya chastised gently, though he didn’t pull away. 

“Please just - god, why is this so hard? I wish I could just - ” Shane mumbled against his neck, feeling his pulse under his lips, so strong, and so, so alive, the way he always should be. “This is insane, but you wouldn’t consider just skipping the game tomorrow? We could just go back to your place and… I don’t know, hide out for a few days.” There, Shane had asked the impossible question, his last shot. But of course Ilya lifted his head and looked at him like he was crazy. 

“I know hockey is most important thing to you, but please tell me this is not some twisted plan to beat us in the playoffs.” 

Shane glared at him. “You think I need to seduce you to beat you? I’ve never needed to do that for the multiple other times I’ve won a cup, I don’t think I need to start now,” he shot at him, the words laced with insulted fury. 

Ilya deflated a little, as though he was relieved. “Am just trying to… sorry, Hollander. That was stupid to ask.” Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering there. “I will see you in Montreal tomorrow, and after we destroy you, we will talk. I will tell you some things I should have said a long time ago.” 

Shane kissed him then, tugging at his lips insistently, trying to trace the shape of them, to imprint himself into the plush surface of them. How could he tell Ilya that this might be their last chance, that in another life they never got to say anything to each other ever again after tomorrow? “Please just be safe. Wear your seatbelt and - and listen to the safety talk on the plane - I bet you never do - you probably put your headphones in and listen to that stupid music and ignore - ”

Ilya silenced him with another kiss. “I will listen, Shane. If you want me to.” 

-

Shane sat in the locker room staring ahead at nothing, his gut churning with a fear so intense he couldn’t think straight. 

JJ walked past, slapping him on the back companionably. “Hey Cap, don’t look so down. We’re gonna kill them tonight.” 

The words made him feel sick. Shane dropped his eyes to the stick perched across his knees. He ran his hand over the familiar length of it, the callouses on his fingertips catching the edges of tape, the curve of the end, the little nicks, more familiar to him than any other surface in the world. Shane wanted to snap it in half, fling it across the room, the weight of it suddenly an unbearable shackle, tying him to this agonising moment caught between the whims of fate and his own heart. He heard his phone vibrate in the stall, making him instantly stand and grab for it. His lips trembled as he watched the video of a flight attendant demonstrating how to inflate a life jacket around her shoulders. 

Ilya: happy? 

Shane: Can I see you? Just for a second. 

Shane: I’ll meet you at our spot. 

Ilya: you are very bad influence 

Shane: Please, Ilya. 

Ilya: ok 

Shane was off in a flash, mumbling some bland excuse under his breath at the questioning expressions of his team as he fled from the room to the familiar exit. Ilya was already there and Shane couldn’t help but marvel at the change, knowing that in his last life he would have bolted in the opposite direction if he saw Ilya standing in this hallway, the temptation of being alone with him a feeling he would have instantly stifled. Instead Shane lost all control, completely unable to pretend he was fine for one more second, throwing himself at Ilya, needing to hold onto him before he collapsed. They should have gone outside, but the hallway was deserted, everyone surely occupied with preparation for the game about to take place. No one would notice them here, two men who had spent half their lives circling each other, finally crashing together in this inevitable embrace. 

“What is this about?” Ilya asked, reaching up to run a soothing hand along the back of Shane’s neck, across his shoulders. “Solnyshko, you are shaking.” 

“P-please, I know this sounds insane, but I can’t lose you - I can’t - ”

Ilya cupped his face in his hands, peering down at him with unbearably soft eyes. “You will never lose me. Shane, you have to know how much I - ” 

“What the fuck?” an outraged voice asked from behind them. 

Ilya moved in front of Shane protectively as he turned to face Hayden, glaring at him. “Is there something you need, Pike?” he asked, his voice no longer gentle. 

“This is the person you’ve been seeing, have you lost your fucking mind? Seriously, who the fuck are you right now?”

Shane went to step forward but Ilya stopped him with an arm across his chest. “Don’t speak to him like that.” 

“I’ll speak to my best friend however I want,” Hayden shot back, craning his head past Ilya to glare at Shane. “You’re cheating on Rose with Ilya fucking Rozanov?” 

Shane shook his head, suddenly able to step towards Hayden with no impediment because Ilya had dropped his arm to his side. “Rose and I aren’t - “ 

“You went to dinner with her like a week ago, man. She was wearing your jersey! And now you’re making out with your biggest rival right before a fucking game? This is beyond wrong, you have to know that. Your career would be over if this ever got found out. The team would never forgive you. Is he seriously worth that?” 

Shane reached down to grab Ilya’s hand but he had moved away, watching Shane with a blank expression. “Ilya and I are - ”

“This is nothing, Pike. No need to get all worked up for your golden boy, it was just a hookup. Won’t happen again,” he said quietly before turning away. “Good luck tonight, Hollander. You will need it.” 

“Wait!” Shane called out, trying to follow him, but Hayden placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. “Get off me,” he cried out, pushing at his hand. 

“Just leave it, he’s obviously finished playing whatever game he had going with you. Don’t chase after him, it’s pathetic.” 

Shane stormed off, frustrated tears stinging at the corners of his eyes that he swiped at impatiently. His whole face convulsed in an effort to hold back the emotion, a jagged sob coming from his mouth like he was a wounded animal, quickly smothered as he set his jaw and shook it off, allowing his fury to take over. Ilya was not going to die, Shane would not allow it. Montreal was going to win this fucking game if Shane had to score every goal himself. Fate or the universe or whatever other force trying to separate them would have to answer to him, and he would not take no for an answer. Hayden chased after him, trying to ask questions, but Shane ignored him completely. 

Returning to the locker room, he glared around the room at his team. “We are going to win this game. If any of you miss a single opportunity to score, you’ll answer to me. If I don’t see every one of you playing to the absolute best of your ability, I will make it my personal mission to end your fucking career in the league, because you don’t deserve to be on this team. Is that understood?” Everyone nodded frantically, muttering their agreement, cautiously stepping around Shane as they made their way onto the ice. 

Shane played in a way he never had before, taking risks and hogging the puck, toeing the line of misconduct so minutely the refs argued amongst themselves and glared at him after every call, warning him that he was close to a penalty. But Shane knew hockey better than he knew how to breathe and he wasn’t going to spend a minute of this game in the box. He heard the commentators speculating on his chances for a hat trick and he decided that was what he would do. Surely if Boston lost, the change could cascade and give them a chance to survive: their flight would be later, the crew wouldn’t ignore some tiny safety check, the pilot would pay more fucking attention. The buzzer sounded to signal the end of the first period and Shane was instantly at the plexiglass barrier between him and the Bears, frantically banging against it. 

“Marleau!” Shane yelled, trying to get his attention. “Get Rozanov over here, I need to talk to him.” 

“Fuck off, Hollzy,” Marleau said dismissively. “You nearly tripped me back there, you bastard.” 

“Tell him he can’t get on the plane tonight. Please, you have to listen to me!” 

But he had turned away, the entire Boston team an impenetrable wall that he couldn’t get past, all fiercely protective of their captain. Shane clutched at his jersey, trying to pull himself back from the panic attack, feeling it creeping up his chest. He finally caught a glimpse of Ilya, and even though his face was so grave, it grounded Shane enough to settle. The second period started and Shane smashed through Boston’s defence to score his second goal of the night, not even listening to a single word of his teammates’s congratulations, apparently now not afraid or pissed, because he was winning, the only thing they ever wanted from him. 

Hayden tried to pat him on the shoulder but Shane shrugged him off. “Don’t touch me.” 

Shane pushed past the reporters trying to get a comment, refusing to talk to anyone before throwing himself onto the bench, checking the laces on his skates, running his hands over his stick, making sure everything was right. Finally he was allowed back on the ice for the third period, and finally, finally he could look at Ilya again as they met for their first face off of the night. 

“Ilya, you have to listen to me,” Shane begged, tilting his head down, trying anything to get him to look up at him. 

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Just drop the fucking puck.” 

They battled for a few lightning fast seconds, Shane winning and taking off, needing to finish it. He ignored Hayden’s obvious signal that he was open, shooting the puck to his other wing, edging around a giant defensive player as he caught it again, racing to the net with his eyes laser focused on his objective, waiting for the goalie to make one wrong move, just a millimetre was all he needed to send the puck where he wanted it, smashing into the back of the goal. Pulling back, he swung his stick, losing focus on everything except the progress of that small black disc which now contained every hope he had left. But he never saw where it ended up, because someone slammed into him from the right, knocking the breath out of his body as he collided with the ice. Shane couldn’t help letting out a small scream when he felt the impact against his shoulder, the snap of a bone echoing in his head like a tree branch under a boot. 

The game was paused, medics and refs rushing onto the ice, while both teams started to yell various obscenities at each other, pairing off to shove and jab fingers and pass blame. Shane pushed away the hands assessing his injuries and tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t support his weight. 

“I’m fine - just let me get up - ” he muttered, trying to push up again with his good arm. Looking around frantically, he finally saw him, hovering just outside the circle of people surrounding him. Shane reached for him, past caring what anyone thought, his heart beating so hard he could feel it in his throat. “Ilya!” 

Shane watched as he cautiously skated closer, ignoring the shouted warnings from the refs to keep his distance. “Is he ok?” he asked, his voice sounding so far away it made Shane start crying. 

“Don’t get on the plane, you can’t get on that fucking plane!” Shane cried out, completely out of his mind as he started trying to crawl to him. He didn’t care about the rules of the universe anymore, he had to warn him, even if it cost him this second chance, even if it cost him everything. “Listen to me, it’s going to crash, you’ll die - you can’t die!” 

The medics were whispering amongst themselves, restraining Shane until he felt a small jab in his arm, then his entire body weakened, his mind going cloudy. “It’s ok, Shane. We’ve just given you a mild sedative to help with the anxiety. We’ll get you checked out as soon as we get you out of here.” 

The last thing he saw before everything went black was Ilya’s worried face, those green-gold eyes watching him, creased around the edges like he was in pain. Shane reached for him, whispered his name, but he couldn’t bridge the distance between them, couldn’t save him, knew that he was going to wake up and Ilya Rozanov would be dead again, and this time Shane would be too. 

Chapter End Notes

Brooo why am I crying when I'm the one steering this ship??

Hayden Pike they could never make me form an opinion on you. I can form an opinion on Ilya being a sexual terrorist to old man Shane, and that is I like it a lot.

Writing this I was sometimes like, hmm, am I making Shane act a little too insane here? Then I remember that canon Shane bought a sex building, hunted Ilya down like a bunny rabbit the second he figured out he was gay, and basically proposed the first time they spent like two uninterrupted days together and suddenly I'm good, my Shane can cry a little while they have sex, as a treat.

chapter title from How Far I'll Go from the Moana soundtrack, listen it sounds crazy but picture Ilya as the ocean and Shane as Moana and you'll realise I have galaxy brain.

Chapter 4: you're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be

Chapter Notes

so this is an incredibly long chapter that covers weighty topics such as life, death, the compromises we make for love, immortality, the afterlife, as well as free use and Shane Hollander's breeding kink.
jokes aside I worked really hard on this I hope you enjoy.

A bird may love a fish, signore, but where will they live?

Then I shall have to make you wings.

💫Ever After

It was almost a surprise to Shane when he woke up. The glare of fluorescent light stung his eyes as he blinked them open, gaze instantly snapping to his hands, somehow still the hands of a young man, smooth and unblemished. Turning his head, he examined the monitors beeping away next to his bed and realised he must be in a hospital. Flashes of memory hit him all at once as he sat up, the jolt of pain across his chest making him wince. He tugged at the plastic leads attached to his body, trying to free himself, needing to get out of this bed and go somewhere else, to someone important. 

“Shane, is ok.” Gentle hands were coaxing him back to the bed. “Try to breathe. I will call the nurse.” 

Shane clutched at the familiar body. “Ilya?” 

“Just wait, I will get the nurse and they will help.” 

“Don’t go!” Shane cried out when he tried to turn away. 

Returning to his bedside, Ilya patted his arm hesitantly. “Ok, I will stay, just don’t - where is stupid button?” he muttered, digging around the bed for something, making a satisfied grumble when he found a little remote. “They will come now. You have to stay still, there is a fracture.” 

Shane lay back and tried to steady his breathing, letting out a garbled protest when Ilya attempted to pull his hand away, grabbing at it to clutch against his chest. Finally his eyes seemed to adjust to the light and he could see his face properly. Ilya looked exhausted, curls messy and dark shadows under his eyes, the most beautiful thing Shane had ever seen, because he was alive. Screwing his forehead up, Shane’s brain ached as he tried to understand how that could be. 

“You didn’t get on the plane. Why didn’t you get on the plane?”

Ilya looked at him with an inscrutable expression. “You asked me not to.”  

He cannot say no to you. Had it really always been so simple?

“But the playoffs, you - how are you here?” 

Ilya settled back into the chair he had apparently been occupying next to Shane’s hospital bed, still allowing Shane to keep possession of his hand. “Montreal won,” he said gently. “No more playoffs for me, and no more for you either, with broken collarbone.”

“And you’re… here. With me.” Shane shook his head, his mind still foggy. “I thought you hated me.” 

“I have never hated you, Shane. Never.” His voice was fierce, softening as his eyes moved over Shane’s face. “Even when you break my heart and knock me out of playoffs in same night.” 

“Ilya, I - ”

They were interrupted by a nurse bustling into the room, grumbling about protocol as she dimmed the lights. 

“You’ve got a mild concussion, Mr Hollander. No bright lights and no exerting yourself,” she chastised, clicking her tongue in disapproval when she saw he had pulled off his monitoring equipment. “Count yourself lucky. Apparently you were quite confused after you took that hit, but the CT ruled out any major head trauma. That nasty break on your collarbone may give you a bit of grief.” After checking his vitals, she encouraged him to have a small sip of water. “Ring the bell again if you feel nauseous or need more pain relief. I’ll let you know when I hear any updates.” Smiling fondly, she patted his uninjured shoulder. “Thanks for getting us to the next round.” 

Shane gave her a polite smile before she left, then turned back to Ilya. “My parents?” 

“They are here, just went to get coffee. I said I would stay with you.” 

“And they were ok with that?” Shane asked doubtfully. 

“Didn’t really give them a choice.” 

Lifting his free hand, Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. His stomach flipped when he remembered that the rest of Ilya’s team were still meant to be on that flight. While Shane thought they were all overly aggressive, dirty players, he wouldn’t wish serious harm on any one of them. 

“Your team, are they ok?” 

Ilya shot him an amused smirk. “They are staying in Montreal tonight. Some crazy guy kept screaming about their plane going down, now they are all scared shitless to fly home. Think they might charter a bus.” 

Shane exhaled, the relief making him slightly dizzy. Somehow he had done it. The Bears were alive and so was Ilya, saved from their horrible fate by Shane’s stunt at the game. Remembering his behaviour, he winced. “That game wasn’t my finest moment.” 

“Are you kidding, Hollander? That was the best I have ever seen you play,” Ilya said with a shake of his head. “Probably because you were not slowing down to make Pike look better.” 

The name made Shane instantly tense, triggering his memories of what went down in that hallway before the game. “Hayden had no right to say those things.” 

“So you and Rose Landry are not…” Ilya trailed off, gaze fixed firmly on the wall behind Shane’s head. 

Shane tilted his head to force him to meet his eyes. “Ilya, I’m gay. Rose knows that, I told her the night she came to see me in Boston. But honestly, she probably knew way before that, I just wasn’t ready to admit it to anyone. I swear we’re just friends, we’ve been broken up for years. Sometimes we just play into the rumours because it’s easier than getting into the truth.” 

“And what is the truth?” 

The truth is the universe gave me another chance, because even it knew how wrong everything is when we’re not together. The truth is some crazy woman took me on a tour of my life and I realised the reason it was so empty is because I didn’t let you into it. The truth is I think you’re my only chance at actually being a part of this world, instead of always standing outside moments like I’m a stranger in my own life. Maybe one day Shane could tell him all of that, but he settled for the truth that would make him sound the least insane. 

“I think you’re funny,” he said, rolling his eyes at Ilya’s triumphant ha! “Yeah, idiot, I do. I also think you’re ridiculously hot, like so hot it makes me mad sometimes when I look at you.” 

Ilya grinned delightedly. “I knew it.” 

“Can you let me finish?” 

“Always, Hollander. Not like it takes you long, anyway.” He winked, making Shane groan. 

“And that too. What I’ve done with you… I’ve never had that with anyone else.” Shane took a deep breath, gearing himself up to expose himself even more, the effort making him blush. “I’ve dreamed about being with you for years. I mean actual dreams, ones that I couldn’t get out of my head no matter what I did. But I think that’s because I didn’t really want them to go away. And every time I pushed you away or told you to fuck off, I didn’t mean it either. I wanted you to stay. I want you to stay, because you are funny, and hot, but you’re also sweet, even if you try to hide it. You’re a good man, Ilya. I’d like to get to know you better, if you’d let me. Sorry it took me so long to figure all that out.” 

Ilya was very still, watching him with a rapt expression. “Bozhe moy, Shane,” he whispered. 

“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake!” His mother burst through the door, interrupting at the worst possible moment. “How are you feeling, nauseous? In pain? Have you seen the doctor?” 

“Nurse came, probably smarter than doctor and she said he is fine,” Ilya reassured her. Shane was shocked to see her pat his back fondly, as though it was something she’d done a million times before. 

“You gave us all a good scare out there,” his dad said, approaching the bed to squeeze Shane’s leg over the covers. “Poor Ilya, especially.“ Shane looked at him questioningly. “You wouldn’t let them put you on the stretcher unless he could come with you.” 

“Oh god,” Shane groaned, turning his face into the pillow. “I’m so sorry. People must be freaking out over that.” That was an understatement. A player screaming out for another, one on an opposing team no less, would surely raise more than a few eyebrows within the league. The implications for both of them would be damaging no matter how they spun it. 

“Is ok,” Ilya shrugged, grinning at Shane’s doubtful expression. “Really. I think everyone was just worried about brain injury. We will just say you confused me for Pike or something. Even though I am much better looking.” Looking over at Yuna with puppy dog eyes, he tilted his head appealingly. “And much better player, yes?” 

Yuna laughed. “No comment.” 

There was a brief rap on the door before it opened, a small team of doctors entering the room. Giving a brief greeting, the one who appeared most senior read through Shane’s chart, nodding to himself. 

“Your vitals look stable. You’ll need that arm in a sling for about three weeks. I’m happy to discharge you, provided you have someone to stay with you for a few days to keep an eye on you. I’m sure you’re well aware, Mr Hollander, but you’ll need to strictly rest for at least the next two days. No bright lights, no screens.” Looking between his parents and Ilya, the doctor nodded. “Seems like you’ve got a few good candidates here.” 

“We can take you home, honey,” Yuna said. “Just for a little while.” 

But Shane was already shaking his head, gripping Ilya’s hand tighter against his chest. His parents looked down at the motion, identical expressions of disbelief on their faces.

“No, Ilya is gonna stay with me.” A frisson of uncertainty ran through him as he looked over at him. “You will, won’t you?” he asked, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. 

Ilya was watching him with those eyes, that maddeningly indecipherable face Shane wished so badly he could figure out. Stroking his thumb across Shane’s hand, he nodded slowly. “Yes, I will stay with you.” 

Sighing in contentment, Shane relaxed back against the pillows, smiling over at him and giving a satisfied little nod to echo his. “Good.” 

-

His apartment had never felt more like home, Shane thought to himself, as his parents chatted, their voices ringing out from the kitchen as they made dinner, and Ilya fussed over him on the couch, making sure he was covered with a stack of blankets and his arm was supported by pillows. 

“I’m ok, really,” Shane said, watching him in mild shock. 

Ilya was caring and generous in bed, but Shane was taken aback by how much that apparently extended into his character outside of it. It was almost like he was a boyfriend, though Shane had never had anything like that before. The idea that they could be that to each other, that Shane could have him that way was dizzying, beyond his wildest hopes when he had landed back in this part of his life. 

“Are lights too bright?” Ilya asked, squinting at the dim glow of the lamp next to the couch like it was personally offending him. “I will turn this off. And you should have more blankets. It is very cold in this stupid city, supposed to be summer,” he grumbled, leaning over him to pull the blankets further over his shoulders. 

Shane reached up and touched his hand. “Will you sit with me?” Ilya lowered himself next to Shane immediately, taking care not to jostle his injured side. Shane snuggled closer to him, laying a head on his shoulder. “Better,” he whispered. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke through Shane’s hair, Ilya applied gentle pressure to bring him more firmly against his chest. “Thank you.” 

Raising his head, Shane looked at him questioningly. “For what?” 

“I have not had someone to take care of for a long time,” Ilya replied, cupping Shane’s face and stroking across his cheekbone. “It’s nice.” 

David cleared his throat behind them. “Dinner’s ready, you two.” Moving around the couch, he placed two plates on the coffee table, laying a towel across Shane’s lap. 

Yuna perched on the couch with her own plate. “We made one of your old favourites, honey.” 

Shane looked at the chicken parmesan on the table in front of him, at the golden edges and lashings of red sauce, cheese oozing over the top, and felt a familiar wave of shame. He was already out of the playoffs, would miss countless days of training because of this injury, surely his body didn’t need all those extra calories and carbs. “Maybe I should just have - ” 

But Ilya had pulled one of the plates onto his lap and started cutting the chicken, holding a fork up to offer Shane a mouthful. “Come on Hollander, eat before it is cold.” 

“I can feed myself,” Shane mumbled, leaning forward to take a bite despite his protests. 

Ilya nodded approvingly, spearing another piece. “More.” 

The food was the most delicious thing Shane had ever tasted, second only to Ilya’s lips. He ate the entire meal, Ilya’s gentle coaxing taking away every ounce of shame he might have felt, his instruction somehow giving Shane permission to exist without it. 

Once his parents were satisfied his apartment was set up and properly stocked for his convalescence they reluctantly said their goodbyes. Shane could tell they were confused by his sudden attachment to someone they had always thought he disliked, but the ordeal of the last few days made Shane so exhausted he had no energy to try and explain anything to them. 

“Take the pain medication before bed, you need your rest,” Yuna said, hovering in the doorway like she was unsure if she should really leave. “Ilya has our number, just get him to call us if you want to talk or if you need anything. Remember, no screens and you have a check up with the doctor in two days. We can drive up and take you.” 

“Mum, I’ll be fine,” Shane snapped, instantly giving her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, just tired.” 

She gave Ilya a significant look. “Take him straight back to the hospital if you notice any bad symptoms. We’ll talk soon.” 

“Come on, dear. Let’s leave Shane to rest.” David wrapped his arms around Shane in a gentle hug. “You take care of yourself,” he whispered. 

“Thanks, dad,” Shane said, gripping onto him tightly for a moment before allowing him to pull away. Now Ilya was going to live, Shane could focus on helping his dad live a much longer life as well. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Then they were alone, Shane unable to help remembering the last time they were there together. Before Ilya had run away, it had probably been the happiest night of his life. Looking up at him, he smiled before stifling a yawn. Ilya circled his wrist with his hand and pulled him towards the bathroom, helping him with toothpaste so Shane could brush his teeth, before pulling back the covers on his bed, guiding Shane to lay down. He pulled them up around his shoulders, adjusting the pillows under his head and arm until he seemed satisfied. Shane crinkled his forehead when he realised he was pulling away, not getting into bed next to him like he thought he would. 

“Where are you going?” 

Ilya rubbed a hand across his chest over the blankets. “You need proper rest. I will sleep in the guest room. If you need anything, just call out and I will come help.” 

“No way, I want you to stay with me. You said you would.” Shane could actually feel himself pouting.

“Goodnight, Shane,” he said with a fond smile, ignoring all of Shane’s pleading as he left the room, cracking the door a few inches open before walking away. 

Sleep tugged at his mind, eclipsing his determination to get his own way. Tomorrow, Shane decided, he would work on the bed situation tomorrow. He knew that he would get his way eventually. Fading into unconsciousness, the last thing he could focus on was the quiet sounds of Ilya getting ready for bed in the room next to him, so close but much too far away. 

The dream was familiar, lying in a darkened room with Ilya next to him, whispering lovely things that made Shane want to burrow against his neck and hide his blush. Dream Ilya pulled back, looking over at him with such unguarded affection it took Shane’s breath away. 

“Why don’t you look at me like this in real life?” Shane asked, reverent fingertips stroking across his face like he could learn the expression by touch alone. 

“Maybe you just never noticed before, silly boy.” 

Shane leaned into him, anxious to get closer. “Please don’t leave.” 

But there was no reply and suddenly his body was still, the familiar warmth he seemed to radiate leeching away slowly until it felt as though Shane was holding onto a block of ice. Pulling back, Shane cried out as he saw his lifeless face, the golden eyes dull and unblinking as they stared endlessly out at nothing. Shaking him frantically, Shane started to claw at his chest, anything to make him wake up. 

“Ilya! No, you can’t die - I saved you! Listen to me, I saved you, please don’t go - ”

“Shh, you will hurt yourself,” someone above him murmured. 

Shane fought against the hands trying to hold him still. “Let me go! I need to save him, he’s going to - ”

“Shane, wake up. Please, I am here. Moy lyubimyy, I will not leave you.” 

Shane tried to sit up, gasping at the pain in his shoulder. As his eyes opened, the first thing he saw was Ilya’s face. He collapsed back, shaking uncontrollably. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I - god, I just - ” Shane had no words left, rolling over to press his face into Ilya’s lap, clutching at his hip as he let out a few little sobs. 

Ilya leaned over him, rocking them back and forth as he whispered against the back of his neck. “Just a bad dream.” 

“Stay with me, Ilya. I need you to stay.” Shane knew he was begging, that he sounded pathetic, but he was beyond caring, certain that Ilya warm and alive next to him was the only thing that would keep the nightmares at bay. 

Ilya didn’t say anything, just moved to the other side of the bed, crawling under the covers and curling up next to him. It was awkward, trying to get close to him with the sling in the way, but Shane felt the terror subside almost instantly when his warmth started to seep into his side. Fumbling between their bodies, he gripped Ilya’s hand and pulled it to his chest. Tilting his head to look at him, he was struck by the outline of his expression in the low light of the bedroom, so familiar but even more beautiful, because it was in the waking world this time. 

“I dreamed about you,” Shane mumbled, already sinking back into sleep. 

-

The next two days were a study on existing in the space between heaven and hell. A constant dull headache throbbed behind his eyes, his shoulder ached like the devil, concentrating on anything for too long made him exhausted and too much movement made him sick. But Ilya was there, holding him, coaxing him to eat and drink water, rambling in Russian to lull him to sleep, telling stories about his life when Shane asked to be entertained in waking hours. 

“You tried to hide the cat in a backpack?” Shane asked, smiling at the image. 

“I was eight, Hollander. I thought she could just live there and my parents would never find out. Worked for a while, too, until I ran out of sardines.” 

They were lounging on the couch together in the late afternoon of the second day, Shane’s head pillowed on his lap, Ilya’s hands in Shane’s hair and his words making Shane laugh. From his prickliness whenever family was mentioned in the past and the way he brushed Shane off the few times he’d worked up enough courage to ask about them, Shane eventually realised that his life back in Russia probably wasn’t very pleasant. But now he spun fairytales for Shane that made Moscow seem like some magical kingdom Ilya had reigned over as a young prince, evading the villainous attempts of his father and brother to impede his grand schemes, usually saved by a mother he obviously idolised. 

“What happened to her?” Shane had never been particularly fond of animals, but Ilya’s descriptions of the scrappy street cat had endeared her to him and he found himself concerned over her fate, especially when he pictured Ilya as a little boy desperately trying to keep a pet for himself.

“My father was very angry, of course.” Ilya rolled his eyes dismissively. Shane got the distinct impression that his father was often angry. “But Mama convinced nice old lady who lived in our building to take her in. I got to visit after school, until… well, we moved away a few years later.” 

“Your mum sounds really great,” Shane said quietly. The unspoken truth hung in the room. They both knew she was dead, Ilya because he clearly couldn’t speak about her without stumbling over his words, and Shane because he remembered that there had been no family at Ilya’s funeral. He rolled over and pressed a kiss against his stomach, nuzzling against the spot for good measure. 

Ilya sighed before extricating himself from the tangle of limbs they had ended up in. “I will make dinner.” 

Shane got one more night with him, one more night of being certain he was going to stay. Beyond that, once he was cleared by the doctor, Shane had no idea where they would stand. The gentle light of morning came in through the curtains, signalling the beginnings of the day that would most likely separate them. Usually Shane was a morning person, sunlight making him feel energised and keen to face the day, but now he just wanted to hide away from it. 

“You talk in your sleep,” Ilya said gently from where he lay next to him. 

Shane blushed under the intensity of his gaze, a gaze that was getting closer to the one from his dreams every moment they spent together. It was a comforting thought, the idea that Ilya also felt this irresistible pull between them, made stronger and more real by their proximity of the last few days. But the sleep talking was not comforting and Shane dreaded to think about what he might have revealed. 

“Oh god, what did I say?” 

Ilya seemed to hesitate for a moment before speaking. “My name. Mostly you ask me not to go.”

“That’s… I’m sorry. All of this must be weird for you.”

“I always tell you I won’t.” Ilya sighed, wrapping himself tighter around Shane, pressing his face against his neck as they let the start of the day wait a while. 

-

“You are sure there is no damage to his brain?” Ilya asked the doctor, his brow furrowed like the clean bill of health Shane had just received was unsatisfactory. 

“The CT was clear, Mr Rozanov. Shane’s symptoms are resolving in line with a mild concussion, as was my initial diagnosis. He took a hard hit and he will have to be careful to avoid cumulative damage, but no, at this time I believe his brain is functioning well.” 

“But he’s - what if he has been acting strangely?” 

The doctor looked between them with a bemused smile. Shane was grateful for the protection of patient confidentiality, because he hated to think about the conclusions the Metro’s team doctor must be drawing about their relationship after the last few days. 

“Your new found friendship is… surprising, Mr Rozanov. But there is no physical process responsible for this happening, as far as I can tell. Perhaps Shane has simply had a change of heart about you.” Giving Shane an approving smile, he patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe he feels sorry for you after destroying you in that last game.” 

“So I don’t need to stay with someone anymore?” Shane asked quietly, afraid of the answer. 

“No, you can have your space back.” The doctor delivered it with no compunction, completely oblivious to the fact that it would rip Shane’s heart out. “I’ll consult with your trainers and physios for a return to play plan, other than that you’ll just need to rest that arm and get yourself back in shape for next season. Hopefully we still have a shot at the Cup this year without you.” 

“Yeah, hopefully,” Shane replied, feeling like he was floating outside of his body, numb and untethered to the world around him. 

The car ride back from the appointment was passed in tense silence that only continued when they got to the apartment. Ilya was still fussing over Shane as he ushered him onto the couch, but looking away when Shane tried to talk to him, insisting he needed rest. Shane did doze off briefly, awakening to his head resting against Ilya’s shoulder. He turned and tried to kiss him, but Ilya rebuffed him with gentle hands, standing and muttering something about making lunch. He hadn’t kissed Shane once in the last two days, and suddenly Shane was acutely aware of that fact as the rejection settled over him. They were eating together in more silence, some stupid movie playing in the background that neither of them were paying attention to, when Shane couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“You’ll leave now, won’t you?” 

Ilya stopped eating, turning to face Shane with a cautious expression. “I cannot stay forever.” 

Why the hell not? Shane wanted to ask but he already seemed freaked out enough without bringing up words like forever. But Shane still had to know something, Ilya’s words from earlier having circled through his head all day. “You seriously think this has all been because I have a head injury?” 

Ilya looked down. “Or brain tumour,” he mumbled. 

Shane saw red, his temper flaring into something hot and vicious, stoked higher by the undercurrent of fear beneath it. “So this whole time you thought I’d just lost my mind or something? I told you I liked you - I introduced you to my parents!”

Ilya slammed his plate onto the coffee table, shooting up to pace around the living room, stopping abruptly to glare at him. “As a friend, Hollander. Are we friends? Do you do this with your friends?” 

“Of course not, but what was I supposed to say?” Shane was on his feet too, instantly crowding him. “Mum, dad, this is the guy I want to be my boyfriend but I’m scared to ask because he never texts me back and only says what he really feels when we’re in bed together?” 

“You were the one who said we would not be boyfriends,” Ilya shot back.

“Because I thought you wouldn’t want anything serious! I figured I would just - I don’t know, let you come around to it in your own time.”

“You think I don’t want this.” The words were a statement with no hint of question in them, like Ilya thought he knew exactly what Shane was feeling, when clearly he had no idea. 

“You’re not exactly known for having serious relationships, so yeah, I didn’t think you would want to commit to something right away. But I was willing to wait for as long as you needed.”

Ilya stepped forward, cornering Shane against the couch as he loomed over him, his expression almost murderous. “You really want to know what I feel?” 

“That would be nice,” Shane huffed, throwing his good arm up in defeat. 

“I threw up after the first time we fucked. Uber driver was very unhappy.” 

“What, why?” 

“You make me crazy, Hollander.” He gripped a handful of his shirt, dragging him closer. “When I am with you… it’s like I lose my mind. Thought that would be the only time you would let me - that I would never have you again. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Oh, I’m so - ”

“Shut up, let me say this,” Ilya snapped, shaking him slightly. “I have spent the last ten years trying to forget you, trying to kill this fucking thing inside me that wanted to crawl to you, beg for you. I have slept with beautiful women, probably hundreds of them - ”

“I don’t want to hear about that - ”  

“Not one of them has compared to the two hours you let me flirt with you at that All Stars game, not one thing could compare to the three fucking seconds you let me touch your cheek. You never let me touch you,” he said, voice almost accusing as he moved his grip to the back of Shane’s neck now, fingertips digging in like he wanted to punish him. “You let Rose Landry call you her boyfriend, when I would have done anything - anything - to be what you wanted. I would crawl across glass or walk through fucking fire - would carve out my heart right now if you asked, and you think I would be scared off by you asking for something serious?” His chest was heaving now, as though the speech had caused him pain to give. 

Shane clutched at his face, forcing him to look at him. “You don’t have to do any of that stuff.” 

Ilya dropped his forehead against Shane’s with an exhausted sigh. “I could learn to be good boyfriend, Shane. I will text back and sleep next to you every night, cook you dinner, make Yuna and David like me, will stop being so jealous and making stupid jokes - ”

Shane kissed him, pulling away with a gasp. “You’re exactly what I want. I told you I like the jokes, and my parents already love you.” Ilya cupped his face in his hands, pressing kisses to the corners of his mouth, making Shane draw helplessly closer to chase the touch. “I don’t care if you’re jealous, because I’m going to act like a psycho about you now.” Shane had always been a possessive child, never wanting to share his toys with anyone else, but he’d never been that way with people, always fairly passive in any sort of relationship. But the idea of Ilya with someone else drove him crazy. “If you ever let anyone else touch you again, I’ll lose it. It fucking kills me to think about.”

“I won’t. Only you, promise,” Ilya murmured against his lips, stroking across his cheek. 

Shane bit down on his bottom lip, worrying his tongue across the little indent he’d made like he could embed himself in the soft surface. “You’re mine. You belong to me,” he said fiercely. 

“Yours,” Ilya replied.

-

“I think you should come and stay at my cottage for the summer,” Shane said. One of his dreams had finally come true: he and Ilya lying in a dark, quiet room, bodies nearly fused together, their occasional whispers to each other the only thing breaking the peaceful silence. 

Ilya lifted his head from Shane’s chest to look at him doubtfully. “You are not serious.” 

“Why not?” Shane tugged at a stray curl that had fallen over his eyebrow. “The season is over for the both of us, and I’m in this stupid sling for another two weeks, so my mum can’t even drag me into brand deals.”

“She could make you ambassador of medical supply company,” Ilya said with an amused smirk. 

Shane pinched his arm in retaliation. “Your English continues to improve, asshole.”

“Ah, how can I say no to such sweet words?”

Lacing fingers through his curls, Shane dragged him down until he could press a kiss to the bridge of his nose, the line slightly crooked for as long as he’d known him. “Seriously. It’s my favourite place in the whole world, but it will be so lonely there without you.” This was Shane speaking from personal experience. He hadn’t been to the cottage since his return to the past and he dreaded going back to the place he had spent so many years alone, aching for the one thing he was somehow now holding in his arms. 

“I want to… but is impossible. I need to go to Russia, my family is there.”

Shane scrunched up his nose. “Who? I’ve never met any of them.” Not one of these family members had bothered to attend his funeral, how could he possibly leave Shane to see them? 

“My brother. We are not close and it is complicated between us, but he has a daughter and I must - ”

“Please?” Looking at him from underneath his lashes, Shane tried to look as cute as a two hundred pound hockey player could be. “I promise to be really nice to you the whole time.” 

Ilya crawled over him, caging his head between his hands, careful not to put weight on his injured side. “Why is this hard to believe?”

“I will!” Shane protested laughingly. “I’ll do anything you want.” 

“Hmm…” The sound vibrated in Ilya’s chest as he looked down at Shane like he wanted to eat him. “This is tempting. Would you suck my dick every morning, then?” 

“Yes,” Shane breathed, tilting his hips up to press against him. “I could do that.” 

“And let me fuck you every night, as many times as I want.” 

“Of course.” 

Ilya leaned down, hovering his lips above Shane’s, every breath making them brush together. “In my jersey? You would look so pretty in Boston colours.” 

“Fuck off!” Shane cried out, shoving his chest and breaking the sensual current running between.   “Absolutely not.” 

But Ilya had him pinned, lifting his good arm and holding it above his head, catching his lips in a teasing kiss as he smiled into his mouth. Pulling back, he released his arm to cup his face, thumb stroking across the freckles Shane had started to suspect he was weirdly obsessed with. “There is my Shane.” 

It was the first time he had ever called Shane that outside of the dreams. Hearing it had Shane sighing contently, tilting into his hand to press a kiss against the palm. “Please, Ilya. I can’t wear the freaking jersey, but I’ll do everything else. Just stay with me, give me a chance to prove that this is real.” 

“Ok,” Ilya replied, his accent stroking over the syllables of that wonderful, miraculous word, so short but containing everything. 

The moment was interrupted by an insistent knocking on the front door, loud enough to be audible from the bedroom. Shane sat up instantly, shooting Ilya a confused look. “Did my parents say they were coming to visit? They’re the only ones with the building code, except… fuck.” 

“What is it?”

“Hayden,” Shane said grimly. 

Ilya was still for a moment before nodding. “I can stay in here if you want.” 

Shane studied him for a long moment, weighing up the idea in his mind until he saw how Ilya’s eyes were shifting, like he was preparing himself to be hurt, and decided that there was no way in hell he would make him hide in his bedroom like some dirty secret. Taking his hand, he squeezed firmly then pulled them both to their feet. 

“No, we’ll go together.” Shane’s eyes ran up and down his bare chest. “But you should probably put a shirt on, you look completely indecent.” 

Ilya grinned crookedly. “You love it.” 

Shane leaned up, threaded his fingers through his hair, suddenly tugging him down to bite his bottom lip, licking into his mouth for a brief, searing kiss. Pulling back, he watched Ilya’s dazed expression with smugness before slapping a hand lightly against his cheek. “I really do. Now get dressed.” 

Leaving him to it, Shane headed to the door, opening it with his entire body tensed for a fight. He was taken off guard by three little bodies slamming into his lower half, engulfing him in a hug. 

“Uncle Shane!” Jade and Ruby cried out in tandem. 

Shane looked down, patting Arthur on the head gently as he smiled at them in shock. “Hey guys,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic while inwardly screaming. Of course Hayden had deployed the children against him, knowing Shane couldn’t completely lose his shit in front of them. 

Jackie stepped forward, depositing Amber in the crook of his good arm, her little hands grabbing for him. “Hey, buddy. The kids wanted to know how you were doing. Hayd and I too, obviously.” 

Shane leaned into the kiss she dropped on his cheek, looking past her to glare at her husband, who was hovering in the doorway looking like he was about to be executed. “Wow, Hayden. Good to hear how worried you’ve been.” 

“Hey,” Hayden mumbled, finally shuffling inside. 

They stood facing each other in awkward silence before a startled noise came from behind Shane. “Oh!” 

Turning around with the kids still attached to his legs, Shane saw Ilya standing in the same awkward stance he’d had when meeting his parents, shoulders turned inwards and hands clutched in front of his body. Shane noticed the Boston Bears t-shirt and raised his eyebrows at him. Ilya looked completely dumbstruck, his eyes raking over the scene in front of him like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

“Uncle Shane, who is that?” Arthur asked in his sweet little voice. 

Everyone froze, the tension in the room thicker than concrete. Jackie was the first to react, mercifully herding the kids into the kitchen and out of earshot. “Come on, let’s put the cards we made Uncle Shane on his fridge.” 

Shane adjusted Amber on his hip, turning back to glare at Hayden. “You brought the kids to emotionally blackmail me, didn’t you?” 

“No! I just wanted to - Jesus fucking Christ, Shane - what the hell is he doing here?” 

“Don’t swear in front of the baby,” Shane shot back. 

Ilya leaned forward to mutter near his ear. “Shane, I can - ”

“No, you’re not going anywhere. Hayden can leave if he’s got a problem with us.” Shane loved his friend and he knew that in a culture that permitted - if not outright encouraged - misogyny and homophobia, Hayden was basically a saint compared to other guys in the league. And maybe in his past life that would have been enough, to know he begrudgingly accepted Shane for who he was and who he wanted to date, but now it wasn’t even close. Amber wriggled in his hold and he unceremoniously plonked her into Ilya’s arms. “Hold her for a sec, would you.” 

“Ilya Rozanov is holding my baby,” Hayden mumbled under his breath. “Look, I’m sorry I freaked out at the game, but can you blame me? This is insane.” 

Shane moved closer to him, trying to keep his voice down so the kids wouldn’t hear. “Freaking out is one thing, telling my boyfriend that I’m cheating on him - which I am absolutely not, by the way - is another.” 

“Shane, I swear I don’t have a problem if you’re gay, it actually makes a lot of sense - ”

“Wow, Hayd, thank god for that.” 

“Wait, boyfriend? I’m actually losing my mind, that’s the only explanation.” Hayden clutched his head in his hands, running them through his hair to make it stand on end. “You seriously couldn’t find one nice man in Montreal, it had to be this fucking guy?” 

“Language!” Shane whisper-shouted, seeing with approval that Ilya had reached up to cover Amber’s little ears. “Hayden, I have never judged you. Not when you wore a t-shirt to your wedding, or when you and Jackie named the girls after shiny rocks.” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice even more. “I didn’t tell Jackie about the time you accidentally left Jade behind at the aquarium. And I’ve never told you that I think you’re a good dad, but you don’t do enough to help Jackie, even when we’re not on the road.” 

Hayden’s face turned bright red as he spluttered with barely contained outrage. “Seriously, Shane? Fuck you.” 

“See how much it sucks when someone who’s supposed to be your friend judges you for your life choices, even when you didn’t ask for their opinion?”

“I…” Hayden trailed off, clearly at a loss for words. 

Jackie returned to the living room, her face set like she was determined not to appear surprised. Moving over to Ilya, she held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Jackie. We’ve probably met before at some event, but I can’t remember.” 

“Ilya,” he replied, awkwardly shuffling Amber around to accept her hand. 

“Oh god, I’m sorry. Let me take her,” Jackie exclaimed, trying to take Amber from his arms, hesitating when she started to make fussing sounds. 

“Is ok, I can keep her for a while.” Ilya smiled down at the baby and Shane felt his heart melt into a puddle. 

The kids were apparently no longer content to miss out on the action, spilling out of the kitchen in a tangle of limbs and arguments. Ruby, the most confident of the bunch, squared up to Ilya like they were the same height, not a six-three man and a tiny child. Shane felt a surge of fondness for her, this little girl who he had already watched grow into such a wonderful person. She had never stopped being as fearless as she was now. 

“How do you know Uncle Shane?”

Ilya’s eyes darted nervously between her and Shane before he cleared his throat and settled on an answer. “We are friends.” 

Tilting her head, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you love him?” 

Shane coughed, choking on his own saliva as he felt his face heat in embarrassment. Jackie stepped forward, clapping her hands on Ruby’s shoulders and pulling her back. 

“Sorry, Ilya. Ruby has forgotten her manners,” she said, giving her daughter a significant look. 

Ilya’s face looked a little pink, but he handled the situation admirably. “You kids like PlayStation? Maybe we play game while Uncle Shane talks to your dad.” The kids followed him like he was their new favourite person and Shane smiled when he heard them start to debate over what game to play. 

“He’s really your boyfriend?” Hayden asked, his voice subdued. 

“Yeah, he really is.” 

“How long has this been going on?” 

Shane sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, reluctant to cover their entire complicated history. “I’ve had feelings for him since the first time we met, but we didn’t - the first time I ever went after him was game one in the playoffs. Not the best timing, but I couldn’t ignore it anymore.” 

Hayden pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Wait, you’re saying you hit on him first?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Shane asked irritably. 

“I mean, kinda. You’re so shy, and Rozanov is - well, he’s Rozanov. And you’re telling me this all happened, what, three weeks ago and you’ve already got him to agree to be in a relationship.” He let out a low whistle. “I did not recognise your game, buddy.” 

“Shut up,” Shane grumbled, trying to hide his smile. 

Hayden reached up to clap him on the shoulder, wincing when he realised it was the injured one. “Shit, sorry. And I’m sorry about the whole cheating thing, and being a dick to you. You scared the shit out of me at that last game, Shane. I really thought you would - and that maybe I wouldn’t get a chance to apologise.” 

Shane reluctantly smiled at him. “I forgive you, on the condition you never disrespect my relationship again.” 

“Ok, but I can’t promise to be nice to him. I’m sorry, man, but he’s from fucking Boston.” 

The evening passed without any more major incidents, Ilya managing to charm Jackie and every one of Hayden’s children, though he was merciless when beating them in Mario Kart. Even Hayden nodded to him at the end of the night, though they had spent the entire time snipping at each other. Shane supposed it was progress. When the door clicked shut behind them, Shane was instantly in Ilya’s arms, suddenly so desperate for him he felt like he would burst out of his skin. 

Ilya seemed equally affected, panting in his mouth as he backed him up against the door. “You called me your boyfriend.” 

Shane ducked his head against his throat to hide his blush. “You did say you wanted to…” 

The fumbled words were lost in another kiss, Ilya drawing his lips in, nuzzling against him as he groped down his body. “I liked it very much.” 

“Good,” Shane sighed against his mouth. “Now would you please fuck me?” 

Grabbing his shirt, Ilya dragged him over to the couch, gently depositing him there as he kneeled between his thighs. He pulled Shane’s pants down, frantically jerking him until he was impossibly hard, then taking him into his mouth, swallowing down the entire length with practiced ease, moving his free hand down to slowly roll Shane’s balls between his fingers. Shane gasped, thrusting up into his mouth helplessly, tangling his fingers in his soft curls. 

“God, that’s so - ” 

Ilya reached up to stroke his face, his golden eyes looking up across the expanse of Shane’s body. The gentle touch combined with that look was enough to undo Shane completely as he shuddered into Ilya’s mouth, coming with a tortured groan. Ilya tucked him back into his pants, kissing his way along his body until he reached his neck, sucking a kiss into the delicate skin of his throat. Shane started trying to pull his shirt off, whining when Ilya pulled away from his attempts. 

Running a soothing hand across his chest, Ilya mumbled against his neck. “No, sweetheart, I am too - your collarbone is sore, I will hurt you.” 

“You won’t, you could never,” Shane pleaded. 

“Just let me hold you, that is all I want.” 

Ilya guided him back to the bed and they lay back in their careful position where they could be as close as possible without hurting his injured side, Ilya curled against him with his head pressed over his heart, Shane dropping kisses to the top of his head every so often. 

“The kids loved you,” Shane murmured. 

Ilya smiled against his chest. “They are funny. Hayden is very lucky man, to have all of them.” 

Shane hesitated, but had to ask. “You would want that? Like marriage, kids, the whole thing?”

“Is this so hard to believe?” Ilya pinched his stomach teasingly. 

Shane was about to shoot back some stupid retort about his less than monogamous past, when he saw a flash of one of the dreams he’d been having for years, the one he most dreaded, because it had always seemed the furthest thing from being possible. Their house, the voices of children echoing around, Ilya right in the centre of it like the sun holding planets in a gravitational embrace.

“No, it’s not. You’d be a good dad,” Shane replied sincerely. Maybe the dream wasn’t so impossible, after all.  

“By the way, do not hold anymore babies around me.” 

“Why?” Shane asked, terrified he’d done something wrong. 

“Might have to get you pregnant, Hollander.” 

Shane laughed even as he felt a warm flush that travelled straight to his groin. “I am… weirdly into that, actually.” 

Lifting his head, Ilya grinned at him. “I cannot believe Shane Hollander is such a secret pervert. Actually, maybe I can,” he said, almost to himself. “You are perfect everywhere else, why wouldn’t you be in bed too?” 

Shane shook his head, forehead crinkling. “I’m not perfect, believe me.” 

Ilya rested against his chest again, pressing a kiss over his heart. “You have always been perfect.” 

Shane was smiling too hard to argue. 

-

The cottage looked right with him in it. That was Shane’s first thought as he trailed behind Ilya, nervously rambling about the well in the backyard and the contents of the fridge. Ilya seemed absently interested like he usually was when Shane went into one of his overlong explanations as he glanced around, taking everything in with those perceptive eyes, no doubt coming to his own conclusions rather than taking Shane’s word about the place. 

Setting the bags down in the living room, he turned back to Shane. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Yeah, of course. M-make yourself at home.” Shane cursed himself for the tremor in his voice betraying his nervousness. 

Ilya was suddenly wrapping his arms around him, burying his face against Shane’s neck. Shane raised his free arm and wrapped it around his back, stunned by the way he was clinging to him and the realisation that he was shaking. It never ceased to amaze him, just how exquisitely human Ilya was this close up, having spent years seeing him as some sort of implacable statue, fascinating to stare at but ultimately unknowable. Shane was sad to think that Ilya had built walls around himself just as he had over the years, high enough to dam any hint of vulnerability or emotion behind, too high for anyone to get past. The idea that he would let those walls down for Shane was more astonishing than anything, even the travels through time.

Shane petted his hair in an attempt to comfort him, turning slightly to whisper against his ear. “I’ll tell you a secret. This is the only place I feel like I can really be myself. I want you to have that, too. So maybe here we can just… be honest with each other about how we’re feeling. Promise not to judge you, if you won’t judge me.” 

Ilya lifted his head and Shane was stunned to see tears making little silver tracks along the creases beside his eyes. “I dreamed about this place. Probably sounds crazy, but I feel like I belong here.” He shook his head, looking dazed. “Everything is so strange, these days.”

“Tell me about it,” Shane replied with an ironic smile. “Come on, it’s my turn to make dinner.” 

They sat outside in the dying light and Shane realised with a start that he had lost count of how many meals they had shared together. Something that once seemed like a rare miracle turned into an everyday one, like it was the most natural thing in the world to sit down at the end of the day and eat with him.

Ilya stared out at the backyard and Shane reached over to wipe a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

“The documentary did not show this part of the house.” 

Crinkling his forehead, Shane tried to make sense of the comment before remembering the stupid documentary he had agreed to participate in years before this time in his life. Turning to Ilya with a delighted grin, he rocked in his chair like an excited child as he clutched at the hem of his shirt. “You saw that?” 

“Needed help sleeping,” Ilya sniffed, lifting his shoulder in a typically nonchalant shrug. 

Shane had memorised every word Ilya had ever said to him. In theory he could acknowledge that Ilya claimed to have been equally obsessed with Shane since they were teenagers, but this was objective evidence of his feelings, enough to make Shane giddy. He had watched what Shane could admit was a very boring documentary, apparently paying close enough attention to memorise the sections of his house it had shown. Summoning his bravery, he dared to ask. “Have you really always liked me too?” 

Ilya looked at him steadily. “I already told you this.” 

“No, I mean - ” Shane shook his head in frustration, trying to find the words. “I want to know the first time you realised.” 

Ilya scratched at the corner of his eyebrow. “Wanted to kiss the freckles, first time we met.”

“Seriously?” Shane laughed. “I thought I annoyed you.” 

“Oh, you did. Very annoying being chased around by cute Canadian boy who seemed interested in me, but never let me do anything about it. You remember the commercial we did, for CCM?” 

Shane blushed, well aware of the events that had taken place after the shoot, when he had been so sure Ilya would tell everyone about his physical reaction to seeing him in the showers, that he would expose Shane’s deepest, most embarrassing secret. “I was so… I thought you’d tell everyone, but you never did.” 

“Shane, I asked if we could do commercial together. You didn’t know this?” 

“What? Of course I didn’t know.”

Ilya muttered something under his breath that sounded like a Russian curse word. “Always thought you found out and got scared away.” Studying him closely, Ilya smiled, though it was tinged by sadness. “Told myself to leave you alone, but you made it impossible. Didn’t help when league kept forcing us together. I had to see you too much, learned that Canada’s hockey prince really was as perfect as everyone said.” 

“I was such an asshole to you,” Shane protested, sliding his hand along the table to rest on his arm. “How could you think I was perfect?” 

“No, you were very cute when you got angry with me, like little kitten.” Shane batted his hand away as he tried to pinch his cheek. “I thought you hated me, for a while. Then there was that press conference before our first All Stars game. My English was not so good and you could have left me on my own, but instead you saved me. I saw then, what kind of person you are. I never thought you would give me a chance, but some part of me always hoped.” 

Pushing aside his plate, Shane reached for him to kiss his cheek, anything to make up for the years he had made them both miserable. Irina had been right, he had let shame steal so much from him, but he’d never realised how much it would hurt Ilya as well. Ilya leaned into the kiss, stroking his hand along Shane’s back. 

“Then you corner me outside another rink ten years later, but this time you let me kiss you.” Ilya’s smile was victorious now, thankfully without a hint of sadness. Shane wanted to bask in it like sunlight. “I do not know what happened for you to take this chance, but I am very glad you did.” 

Shane decided a confession of his own was in order. “The night of the draft, after we ran into each other in the gym? I jerked off thinking about you.” 

“You did?” Ilya asked in startled delight. 

“Yeah. And forgot I had a girlfriend until I got back home, and then had to break up with her because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

“I was first boy you ever had a crush on.” Ilya beamed, leaning over to nuzzle against his neck. “This is very sweet.” 

“The first person,” Shane corrected. “And the last. I’m sorry I pushed you away for so long. I was scared. Completely terrified, actually. It only got worse as the years went on and I realised it was never going away. I was so ashamed of myself for it, this stupid weakness for the most inappropriate person in the world. And I honestly thought you wouldn’t ever feel the same. I didn’t even know if you liked men.” 

“I like you.” Shane could feel the heat of his skin as he pressed his face closer. “More than I ever liked anyone.” 

“Good.” 

“Tell me more, Hollander. I would like to know about every time you touched yourself and thought about me. With details, please.” 

-

Shane talked more than he ever had over the next few days. There was something intoxicating about it, being able to say whatever he was thinking, to truly be himself with someone who seemed so interested in who that was, when Shane had always thought of himself as dull when hockey was removed from the equation. Ilya didn’t seem to agree, wanting to know every mundane detail: the colour of his sheets, the system he had for laundry, his skincare routine, what books he read, the time he went to bed and the time he woke up in the morning. Being the object of Ilya’s interest was somehow even more thrilling than the sex, which Shane was thankful for because Ilya refused to touch him again while he had to wear the sling. 

“Please? I’ll lie really still, you’ll barely notice I’m there,” Shane pleaded as they lay on the couch, trying to decide on a movie to watch. Shane was more focused on getting what he really wanted, namely Ilya inside of him. 

“The point is you being there, sweetheart.” 

Shane was blushing too hard to keep arguing. They were burrowed against each other, Ilya propping about a million pillows around him until every inch of his body was supported. Watching the screen as Ilya rapidly flicked through the options, Shane slapped his thigh to make him pause. The title of this movie seemed familiar, and when he saw the name of the lead actress Shane remembered what Rose had told him. 

“We have to watch this,” he said. 

Ilya looked at him skeptically. “Did not know you were a romantic.” But he assented, pressing play with no further urging needed from Shane. They watched the first scenes play across the screen as Ilya fed Shane popcorn smothered in butter and salt, ignoring his protests about cholesterol. 

“Your cholesterol is probably minus one hundred. Anyway, butter is good for you” 

“How do you figure that?” 

“It makes you taste even better.” Ilya ducked down to nip his bottom lip. “And not everything is about macros and calories, Hollander. Some things are good for your soul, not just your body.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” The popcorn was delicious, probably more so because Shane could dart his tongue out to lick across Ilya’s fingertips with every piece, enjoying the way he tensed and adjusted his position each time. 

The movie was surprisingly entertaining, Shane becoming more invested than he thought he would in the love story between who he now knew was Julia Roberts and the grey-haired guy who hired her to pose as his date. Ilya was similarly engrossed, offering his commentary frequently, something Shane would have found annoying from anyone else, but charming because it was him. 

“You are definitely Julia Roberts.” 

Shane pinched him. “No way.” 

“The eyes are exactly the same! Dark and pretty,” he murmured, running his thumb gently underneath the lower lid of Shane’s eye. 

“You’re the one who wouldn’t kiss me the first time we hooked up, thank you very much.” Shane had meant the words as a joke but was surprised by Ilya’s stricken expression. 

Before he could say another word, Ilya moved his hand down to cup his cheek and kissed him. The kiss was different from the others they had shared, slower and more deliberate, like Ilya was mapping out every inch of him, savouring the little noises and gasps he couldn’t help but make. Drawing back, Ilya smothered his face in kisses, nuzzling into his cheek, the corner of his mouth, as Shane laughed at the ardent display. 

“Ilya, it’s ok,” he tried to reassure him, reaching up to hold his face. “I know it was a lot.” 

“No, I am a lot.” Ilya kissed him again, tugging at his lips until they felt swollen. “Knew if I kissed you that night, I would never be able to stop.” 

“It’s a good thing I don’t want you to stop, then.” Shane ducked his head away, meeting his eyes shyly. “I mean it, Ilya. You can kiss me whenever you want.” 

“For as long as I want?” Ilya whined against his mouth, breath warm as it brushed the sensitised surface. 

“Forever.” 

-

While Shane couldn’t swim with his injury, he enjoyed watching Ilya in the lake, his body golden and so vital as it cut through the deep blue water, the shape of it shimmering into view before sinking back under. The depths he went to made Shane nervous, but he seemed so carefree out there, like the child Shane suspected he hadn’t gotten to be for a very long time, that it was hard to begrudge him any distance he wanted to travel. It was more comforting when he circled around the dock, splashing Shane every so often, demanding he watch some handstand or backflip. 

Once he had exhausted himself, they would lie under the full sun together, bodies stretched out under the warm light. Shane bemoaned the freckles that kept appearing on his face no matter how much sunscreen he applied, but Ilya just declared that every new one meant another spot he got to kiss, his personal mission in life to touch his lips to every freckle that ever appeared on Shane’s skin. In the early afternoon light, they stretched out at opposite ends of the dock, heads meeting in the middle, Ilya rolling over from time to time to gush over a new freckle. 

His gold eyes stared into Shane’s for a long moment. “You are very beautiful.” 

“Shut up.” Shane rubbed their noses together before rolling away to sit up. Grabbing for the tube next to him, he squeezed sunscreen into his hands and started to smother Ilya’s face in a fine layer. “You should really get these moles checked out,” he muttered. 

“Shane Hollander said he will be my boyfriend,” he said with a soft smile. “Is ok if I die young now.” 

Shane started frantically trying to cover every beauty spot, hands shaking with the effort to appear at ease, before his control snapped and he buried his head against his chest, heedless of the sticky lotion or clinging lake water. “It’s not ok. You’re not allowed to die, not ever.” 

“Everyone dies, solnyshko.” 

It was ironic having such a young man tell him that, when Shane - the old man he really was inside - was intimately acquainted with the knowledge. But even after experiencing so much death, even after losing him the first time, the idea of Ilya not being alive was unspeakably wrong. And Shane knew that the universe agreed with him. 

“Not you. You’re going to live forever.” Lifting his head, he glared at him. “I mean it. You have to promise me.” 

Ilya let out a startled laugh. “To live forever? I do not think this is a promise I can keep.” 

“You can,” Shane insisted, grabbing for his hand and bringing it to his lips. “Promise me and - and the lake, and the trees and the sun, and this cottage that you’ll live forever. They can’t exist without you, you realise that?” 

“My funny Shane,” Ilya whispered, stroking along his freckles, connecting them like he was tracing out constellations. “I promise to try.” 

“I mean it, Ilya. You have to wear sunscreen and get these spots checked out, and no more of those disgusting cigarettes - ”

Ilya reared up and silenced him with his mouth. “I promise to try and live forever, if you promise to live. No more starving yourself. You have to eat good food with me, pasta and cheese and butter. And you won’t ever hold back from the things you want, even if it might be very bad decision.” He punctuated the words with kisses, pulling back to give him that crooked grin. “If you want to kiss boys, you should kiss boys. This mouth was made for kissing, very sad to keep it to yourself.” 

Shane gripped his hair, licked into his mouth, tracing the sharp points of his incisors with his tongue, pulling back when they were both gasping. “I’ve only ever wanted to kiss you.” The confession made him feel the most vulnerable he had ever felt with anyone, made under the blazing sun with no shadows to hide in. “I don’t think I like boys or girls, really,” he whispered, stumbling over the words. “You’re the only person I’ve ever… sorry, I don’t know how to say this.” 

Ilya watched him carefully, finally nodding. “You can put more sunscreen on, if you want.” 

Shane covered every inch of his beautiful body in sunscreen, settling back down next to him under the sun with a contented sigh. 

Suddenly Ilya sat up. “You need sunscreen too, Hollander!” 

-

Turning to examine his back in the mirror, Shane shook his head in disbelief. “Did you seriously miss a spot on my back on purpose?” he called out. 

Ilya appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, grinning mischievously. “My name looks good on you.” 

Studying the small, pink I, Shane had to admit it did look good. “If I get a weird skin cancer there, I’m blaming you.” 

“Come on, Mr Serious. Marshmallows are ready,” Ilya replied, herding him out to the kitchen. 

While he had been initially unenthusiastic about the idea of a fire, when Shane promised they could make s'mores like in the movies, his interest had been piqued. Looking at the mountain of marshmallows and chocolate, Shane shook his head fondly and tried to think less about the glucose spike and more about how he couldn’t wait to kiss Ilya with the taste of burnt sugar on his lips. Shane was in charge of the fire and he dutifully stacked the wood in an efficient formation, lighting up little pieces of kindle and placing them in the perfect spots to start a good blaze. 

It was entertaining watching Ilya gleefully pile up sticks with marshmallows, taking the task of roasting them far too seriously. “You’ve seriously never done this before?” His parents had taken him on endless camping trips as a child, until his life got overtaken by training camps in the summer and games most weekends. 

“Moscow is a city, Shane,” he said with a pointed look. “Russia is not just magical forests and castles.” 

“You made it sound kind of magical,” Shane replied. 

Ilya chewed his s’more contemplatively, eventually finishing it and snuggling his head onto Shane’s lap, curling his legs up like a child. “It was, for a while. But it has not been that way for me for a long time.” 

Shane remembered another one of his regrets and steeled himself with a deep breath. “I screwed it up the first time I tried to tell you this, but I wanted to say I’m really sorry about your dad passing away. That couldn’t have been easy.” Ilya tensed and Shane ran a hand along his shoulder, up to the curve of his neck. “Did I say the wrong thing?” 

Ilya shook his head, pecking a kiss to his hand. “It was hard when he died, yes. Harder before that, probably.” He stared straight ahead, the dancing flames reflecting in his eyes, blazing orange and green. “He had dementia.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Shane said, stroking his cheek. 

“You said that we would not judge each other?” Ilya asked, his voice very controlled, still staring away from Shane. 

“Of course.” 

Ilya tilted his head, muttering into his thigh, the words almost too quiet for Shane to hear. “I liked him better when his mind faded. I think he liked me better too. It was impossible to be soft around him, impossible to be myself. He hated weakness. And he knew I was weak, so he hated me the most.” 

“You’re not weak,” Shane protested. 

Ilya grabbed at his hand, held the palm to his mouth. “I am very weak for some things, Hollander. But you must keep this a secret.” 

“Of course.” Shane leaned down and dropped a kiss onto his forehead. “What about the rest of your family? You’re so… surely there was someone good, in amongst all that.” 

“Yes,” Ilya said, his mouth tipping up in a little smile. “My mother. She was so beautiful, but so sad. She - she died, when I was twelve. Part of me went with her, I think.”

“Ilya, I…” But Shane had no words, no way to convey just how much his heart ached for him, how sorry he was that he had let fear and shame keep them apart, when all this time Ilya had been so alone in the world. Ilya was always surrounded by people - friends, fans, and women. Shane never would have guessed that maybe he had been as lonely as Shane had always felt. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.” 

“It was not magical,” Ilya joked. “Russia is probably not best place for me, if we are going to be together. I was not happy there, anyway. But I will be sad not to visit her again.” 

Shane blinked away tears, tried to tell himself that it was just the smoke. “I’m sorry. I wish I could make things different for you, I wish - ” 

Ilya sat up, staring at him intently. “Do not wish that, please. I know this is not easy option, but I don’t want things to be different.” Touching a hand to his chest, he linked a finger around the gold chain, untangling the small crucifix from his t-shirt and clasping it in his fingers. 

“You never take that off,” Shane said with a fond smile, reaching up to touch the surface of it, the metal warmed from proximity to his body. 

“It was hers. Only thing I was allowed to keep, after she was gone.” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Of course. It belonged to her.” Ilya looked down at it for a long moment before letting it drop back against his chest. “It is so strange, but I feel her here sometimes. Like she is watching over us.” He smiled at Shane, the genuine smile he rarely gave. “She would have liked you, I think.” Laying his head back on Shane’s lap, he tilted his head up to the sky. 

The smoke from the fire rose and rose, high into the night, curling around the stars, sparks from the fire joining them in a sparkling collision of opposing elements. Shane sensed the edges of the universe pulling back, allowing pieces of other worlds to flash across his mind, scenes from his past life. He’d sat out here plenty of times under the night sky - usually alone, even if he was with other people, lost beneath the vast, empty void, calling out for something that never answered. The answer was lying across him now, smiling up into the stars. The sky didn’t seem so empty tonight, and neither did his life. 

“Ilya?” 

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“What do you think happens to us when we die?” Shane knew what happened to him, but surely being thrown back into the past was an exception, not the rule. “I mean, do you think there’s a God or some sort of higher power?” 

“My mother taught me to believe in heaven and angels, all of it.” He shrugged, then shot Shane a teasing grin. “Maybe I do not go to church as often as I should. But I still believe.” 

The information was surprising, but Shane was discovering that he was full of surprises. “You don’t worry about after this? What will happen to people… like us?” 

Ilya shook his head, reached up to trace Shane’s freckles. “No matter what happens after, this was worth it.” His eyes flicked between the sky and Shane’s face. “Your freckles are just like stars. My god, Shane. Eating dinner with you, arguing about how to pack dishwasher, seeing your face in the morning before anyone else. What the fuck is heaven compared to being here with you?”

“What was your mother’s name?” Somehow Shane already knew the answer. 

“Irina.” 

“I wish I could thank her.” Ilya gave him a questioning look, but Shane just smiled. Reaching down to hold his necklace, he hoped wherever Irina was she could feel how much he adored her son, how grateful he was for the second chance she had given him. He wished he could tell Ilya everything, that he did know his mother was beautiful, and funny, just like he was, because Shane had met her, because she loved Ilya so much she would bend time and space for him. 

“Thank her?” 

“I think she sent you to me. She knew I needed you.” 

-

Shane was buzzing in his seat on the way back from Montreal. The doctor had finally cleared him to stop wearing the sling and recommence light physical activity, so he had a list of exercises from the physiotherapist and his own list of what he was going to do to Ilya when they got back to the cottage. They hadn’t been together properly in over three weeks and he was going out of his mind with the need to touch him. Ilya seemed unaffected, placidly patting his hand as Shane stroked along his thigh while they pulled into the long driveway leading home. 

Ilya opened his door and guided him into the house like he was an elderly person who had just returned home after shattering a hip. Shane had been an old man for long enough. As soon as they got inside, he spun in Ilya’s arms, backing him against the door and sticking his tongue in his mouth, licking at the startled sounds he made. Fumbling between their bodies to undo Ilya’s pants, he finally got his hands on him, savouring the way he groaned against Shane’s neck. 

“Do you ever think that you could be doing something for the last time and not even realise it?” Shane asked, whispering the question into the charged air between them. 

Ilya covered his hand with his own, urging him to move. “Better make it count then, Hollander.” 

Dropping to his knees, Shane took him in his mouth without preamble, tilting his eyes up to watch his reaction. Pulling off, he let his breath mist along the satiny skin, sucking kisses along the length as Ilya jerked forward with every touch. “I’m a little mad at you, actually.” 

“Why?” 

Shane gripped him then, tight around the base, licking a torturously slow circle around his slit, moving to the base of the head, knowing the spot always made his legs start to shake. “You said you belong to me. So this,” he held him tighter, making him gasp, “this belongs to me too. You shouldn’t get to keep it from me, I should have you whenever I want.” 

“Didn’t want to hurt you,” Ilya said, stroking gentle fingers through his hair. 

“It hurts me not you have you.” Shane rubbed his face against his cock, sucking delicately around the head. “God, you have no idea how much I… I ache for you, for this. You’re all I think about.” 

“Me too. Promise I am yours, will do whatever you want, my sweetheart.”

Shane moaned around him as he took him deeper, trying to watch his every reaction even as he blinked back tears, totally destroyed from how badly he wanted him. His fingers dug into Ilya’s hips as he urged him further, wanting to take every inch. Finally his nose brushed against Ilya’s pelvis as he felt his throat convulse around the tip, gagging a little as he began to move back and forth, his toes curling up as he listened to Ilya come apart above him. 

“Fucking hell, that is so - your mouth was made for this, can’t believe how well you take me, such a good boy.” Ilya’s accent had gotten so thick the words were nearly unintelligible as he tossed his head from side to side. 

Shane slapped at his hands as Ilya tried to pull him away, the little sounds of protest vibrating along his length. Ilya seemed to lose control then, gripping his hair to thrust into his mouth, fucking into him in a frantic rhythm that had Shane gagging and salivating, tears streaming down his face as he pulled him closer, urging him to go as hard as he needed, wanting to be used this way. 

“I will - I am going to - fuck - ”

Ilya tried to pull away again, but Shane reached around to grip his ass, holding him in place, finally feeling the hot splash of his release against the back of his throat, swallowing it down greedily. “You taste good,” he mumbled, nuzzling along the length, enjoying the way he shuddered from the overstimulation. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Ilya said, rubbing his thumb across Shane’s bottom lip as he looked down at him in wonder. 

“I never have before,” Shane replied, peering up at him with a calculatingly innocent expression, following one of those strange instincts that told him he could drive Ilya crazy. “You’re the only one I would ever do that for.” 

Ilya pulled at his hair, dragging him to his feet. “I must be dreaming again,” he muttered, trying to kiss him, whining when Shane pulled away. 

“Close your eyes,” Shane whispered, sweeping a hand down over his eyes to make him comply. “Count to a hundred, then come and find me.” Pecking a quick kiss to his lips, he grinned like an idiot as he darted away. 

The grin didn’t disappear until he got to his bedroom. Then he locked in, determined to be ready for him. He struggled with his clothes, getting undressed in a disorganised flurry as he tripped over to the nightstand, grabbing the lube he bought the day after their awkward first time, determined to be prepared for Ilya from then on. As he lay back on the bed and started to spread the cool lube over his hole, he shook his head and smiled to himself, unable to believe he was doing this, yet so grateful he had the chance to act this way, so careless and uninhibited he barely recognised himself. Finally he relaxed enough to insert his entire finger, trying to mimic the way Ilya crooked against that spot inside him, arching up when he brushed against it. Somehow he got so caught up in the feelings, the anticipation, he didn’t even notice that he had an audience until the bed shifted beneath him. His eyes flew open to see Ilya crouched on the edge, staring at him like he was hypnotised, his mouth hanging slightly open. 

“Only made it to fifty,” he said, lifting one shoulder in an unrepentant shrug. 

“I’ll - ah - make you pay for that later.” Shane concentrated on his face, everything else fading away as he added a second finger, spreading himself wide before him, opening his legs shamelessly to give him a better view. 

“Let me help,” Ilya pleaded, reaching for him. 

Shane tilted away from him, rolling to his stomach and arching his back, gasping against the bed as he pumped his fingers faster. “You better be ready to fuck me, Rozanov.” 

Ilya dropped his head against his ass cheek with a groan, sucking a kiss there. “Please let me touch you. Need to touch you.” 

“You’ve been pretty good at hiding it. You acted like you weren’t interested at all.” Shane turned his head to glare at him. 

“I was going out of my mind, is this what you want to hear?” Ilya dug his fingers into his hip, pulling him up to expose more of his body. “Jerked off in the shower or when you were asleep, like horny teenager. I will never have enough, you are the best I have ever had, make me feel out of my fucking mind, is that what you want to hear?” 

Any semblance of control Shane had snapped. He pulled his fingers out and grabbed for him, pushing him back against the bed roughly as he straddled his hips. Leaning over him, he pressed their foreheads together and held eye contact as he reached between them, lining up Ilya’s cock so he could slide onto him, gasping into his mouth as he took him to the hilt. 

Shane rained kisses across his face as Ilya shook beneath him. “Fuck me like it’s the last time you’ll ever get the chance.” 

Ilya surged up, gripping his lower back in one hand, adjusting their position until Shane was nearly sitting in his lap, using the powerful muscles of his thighs to drive up into him in a frantic, almost punishing pace. Shane felt him everywhere, shivers running up and down his body, his muscles clenching, trying to adjust to the overwhelming fullness. Ilya used his other hand to tug his hair and pull him in for a kiss, moving down to grip his jaw and open his mouth wider, sucking at his tongue, the motion a filthy imitation of the way he was fucking into him. 

Shane pulled away, baring his throat as he leaned back and let out a long moan, thankful that the cottage was miles from where anyone could hear the desperate noises he was making. “Oh god, Ilya - baby, that’s so - ah! - harder - fuck, don’t stop!” 

Ilya bit into the sensitive skin of his throat, licking across the spot, gripping Shane’s hair and pulling him back to give him better access. “You are going to come harder than you ever have before, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, yes,” Shane whined, wrapping his arms around his head, holding Ilya against his throat as he used the leverage to meet his thrusts, digging his heels into the bed to grind against him, feeling him brush past the bundle of nerves inside him over and over again. 

Ilya dropped his hand, tracing a finger around where they were connected, making Shane’s entire body began to shake uncontrollably. “Come for me, sweetheart. You’re so fucking perfect, so good, know you can do it.”

The orgasm started to build low in his belly and Shane tried to bury his face in Ilya’s shoulder, so undone he didn’t want to show his face, afraid of what it might betray. But Ilya wouldn’t let him hide, grabbing onto his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. 

“Want to see you fall apart. No one has ever looked so pretty when they come, the prettiest thing I have ever seen. Fuck, Shane, will never forget the first time I saw you this way, like I died and went to heaven.” 

Shane felt himself tighten around him as he clutched at his shoulders, arching helplessly into the feeling. Ilya’s eyes were intense and so soft at the same time, his face flushed as he watched Shane crumble in front of him. 

“Tell me you are - please, moy lyubimyy you have to - ” 

“I’m coming, I’m - fuck, Ilya.” Shane felt the orgasm rip through him more intensely than anything he’d ever felt before, his cum shooting up between them, catching on the edge of Ilya’s jaw. The sight was so hot he felt another impossible jolt, wringing out more cum before dropping his head to Ilya’s shoulder as he drove into him and found his own release, filling Shane with obscene, satisfying warmth. 

“God, your cum feels so good inside me, want to keep it there forever.” They collapsed against the bed, Shane wrapping all of his limbs around him to keep him in place. “I mean it, stay inside me. You always leave too soon.” His exhaustion got the better of him and he dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

The next thing he felt was Ilya settling back next to him, his body warm and hair slightly damp from a shower. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I cleaned you up. Will help you shower properly when you wake up.” 

“Thanks,” Shane mumbled, cuddling against him. 

-

The moon was casting an arc of silver light across the room the next time he woke up. His eyes blinked rapidly trying to adjust to it, finally settling on Ilya’s face next to his on the pillow. Shane smiled when he saw Ilya was already watching him, then gasped a little as his gaze dropped and he saw Ilya’s hand wrapped around his own cock. 

“Sorry,” Ilya said, pressing his flushed face against the pillow like he was trying to hide. 

Shane shook his head, leaning forward to kiss him, unhappy to see him embarrassed. “You don’t have to hide from me.” 

“Is a little bit insane, how much I want you.” Releasing himself, Ilya reached up to stroke Shane’s face, thumb sweeping underneath his eyes. “You are tired, and shoulder must be sore. Go back to sleep, I will wait.” Ilya guided him to his back, settling his head onto Shane’s chest, hooking his leg over his thigh. 

Shane idly played with his curls and tried to think of how to say what he was thinking without sounding like a lunatic. Deciding that after the things they had done together, there was probably nothing he could come up with to scare Ilya away, so he just blurted it out. “You don’t have to be sorry, either. I don’t want you to hold back with me.” 

“Shane, you cannot know - it will be too much, I will be too much.” 

“I don’t how to say this in a romantic way, but you can have me whenever you want. I don’t care if I’m asleep or injured or in a fucking coma, my body is - I belong to you. You don’t have to ask permission, just take me. Take whatever you need.”  

Ilya shivered against him, pressing a kiss against his chest before lifting his head to look at him. “How are you so perfect? I don’t deserve this, deserve you.” 

Shane kissed his fingertips before stroking them across Ilya’s cheekbones, down the crooked bridge of his nose. “I trust you to take care of me.” 

-

“Moy lyubimyy, we need to go grocery shopping.” 

Shane stood on his tiptoes to examine the content of the fridge over his shoulder. “What are you talking about? There’s heaps of stuff in there.” 

Ilya held up a bunch of celery, turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “This is food for rabbits, Shane. I need cookies. And hot Cheetos.” 

“How are you a professional athlete?” Shane muttered. 

“Have never had complaints about my body,” Ilya said, lifting his shirt to reveal his stomach, grinning up at him. 

“Uhh, fine. But only because you’re so hot.” 

They went to a small store about thirty minutes from the cottage and tried to keep a discreet distance as they traversed the aisles, but something about the everyday beauty of shopping for food with him, knowing they would take it back to a place that felt like their home, made Shane so happy that he lost his capacity for discretion. He let their hands brush together as they walked, tugged at the hem of Ilya’s shirt when he wanted to draw his attention. And when he wordlessly picked up the exact brand of laundry detergent Shane used and tossed it into the cart, Shane couldn’t stop himself from cornering Ilya against the shelf and kissing him. 

“What is this for?” Ilya murmured against his lips. 

“You remembered,” Shane replied, gesturing to the detergent. “The hypoallergenic one, with no fragrance. You remembered.” 

Ilya’s face flushed. “You are very cute when you explain laundry.” He looked side to side before pecking a quick kiss to Shane’s cheek. “Now let me go, before I have to get down on my knees and suck your dick right here.” 

Shane reluctantly pulled away and started to push the cart again, allowing his fingers to creep along the handle to meet Ilya’s. “You know I’d let you, right?”

“Fucking hell, you are trying to kill me,” Ilya muttered. 

Shane nuzzled against his neck for a brief second. “Nope, I’m going to make sure you live forever.” 

It was a miracle they made it back to the cottage without committing an act of public indecency, though Ilya did pin him against the front door as soon as they got home to suck his dick so hard Shane saw stars. After he returned the favour, they finally unloaded the groceries, Shane peering at Ilya across the counter suspiciously as he packed the cold items into the fridge.

“You’re really good at that,” Shane said. 

Ilya turned to him with a grin. “Putting things into refrigerator? Crazy as this sounds, we even have these in Russia, not just big blocks of ice from Siberia.” 

“No, at giving blowjobs,” Shane shot back, enjoying the way he spluttered, clearly caught off guard. Rising from his seat, he cornered him against the counter. “I never asked how many men you’d been with before me.” 

“You really want to know?” Ilya asked, tilting his head. 

“I thought you only liked girls, but you’re like some professional at deep throating. I’m just curious about how you learned this skill.” Shane narrowed his eyes when Ilya laughed. 

“Sorry, just - have you made yourself jealous over this, solnyshko?” Stroking a finger over Shane’s furrowed eyebrows, he shot out another laugh when Shane tossed his head to shake him off. “You are like angry little kitten. This is very adorable.” 

“I’m not adorable, I’m a fully grown adult!” Shane knew the words sounded petulant but he was suddenly enraged, hot and cold all over, at the thought of Ilya with another man. 

Ilya kissed him, smiling when Shane nipped at his lip. “I have wanted to suck your dick since we were teenagers. Just practiced so I could do a good job for you.” He leaned back to cup Shane’s face in his hands. “If it makes you feel better, was only a few. And all of them had dark eyes and bossy attitude, but they were never you. No one could compare to you.” 

Shane still had his eyes narrowed, but he felt a reluctant smile tug at his lips. “Lucky you’re good with your words, Rozanov. Now get out those vegetables, there’s no way I’m letting you have Cheetos for dinner.” 

Ilya put on some upbeat music over the speaker system, singing along as he chopped up green vegetables under Shane’s instruction. He leaned over his shoulder at the stove, pressing a kiss to Shane’s neck as he watched him measure out seasoning, carefully following the recipe he had up on his phone. Resisting his protests, he sprinkled in different amounts, digging around Shane’s spice cabinet to add in a few more. 

“Trust me,” he insisted. 

Shane did trust him, even when he had no respect for a perfectly good recipe, so he let him have his way. As they sat at the dining table, the sun setting through the windows behind them, Shane tried a bite of the stir fry and was surprised by how good it tasted, so much better than the other times he had made it for himself. 

“This is really good, honey,” he said, absently patting Ilya’s hand in thanks as he placed a can of ginger ale next to his plate before sitting down. 

“Honey?” Ilya asked with a delighted grin, reaching over to pinch his cheek. “I need to capture this moment,” he said, digging his phone out of his pocket to open the camera, focusing it on Shane’s now unimpressed face. “Everyone must know, Shane Hollander thinks I am sweet like honey bee. Come on, you cannot take this back.” 

Shane rolled his eyes. “Get that thing out of my face.” 

Ilya squeezed his thigh. “Come on, no one has called me this before. It makes me very happy.” 

Shane wrenched his arm out of the way to kiss him, pulling back to whisper against his lips. “Honey, if you don’t put that phone down, I’m going to throw it in the lake.” 

Ilya turned to face the camera that was now pointed towards both of them. “See how much he adores me? I am very lucky man.” 

Shane did adore him, even when he was being incredibly annoying, so he just kissed him again, ignoring the dinner getting cold on the table in front of them. 

-

Shane awoke in what must have been the middle of the night to Ilya inside him, curled around his body and gently thrusting as he dotted careful kisses to the back of his neck. He twisted his head around, gasping when he saw Ilya’s face, so close to one of his dreams he wasn’t sure if it was really happening. 

“You looked so peaceful, didn’t want to wake you… but needed you so bad,” Ilya whined against his lips. “You say my name in your sleep, drives me crazy.” 

Shane reached up to grip his hair, urging him to speed up. “Is this - oh, god - is this real? I think I’m still dreaming,” he sobbed out, turning his head into the pillow to hide his tears. 

Ilya followed him, pressing kisses to the side of his face, lips dragging over the tears like he was trying to absorb them. “This is real, promise. I am here, Shane, this isn’t a dream. And if it is, we are in it together. You can’t know how much I - you will never know.” 

“Tell me,” Shane demanded. 

“Ya tak sil'no tebya lyublyu, ty dlya menya vso. Ya lyublyu tebya, ya lyublyu tebya, pozhaluysta, nikogda ne ostavlyay menya.” The words were said rapidly, forthright in a way he never was when speaking English.

Shane groaned, reaching back to pinch his hip. “You know I don’t speak Russian.” 

Ilya reached up to cup his face, turning him to face him, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. “Will teach you, sweet boy.” 

Reaching across his body, Ilya gripped his painfully hard dick, pumping up and down in time with his thrusts. Shane ground into his hand, coming endlessly, his cries swallowed in the kiss they were still sharing. Ilya followed quickly after, grinding against him frantically until he stilled. Quietly muttering his protests, he still allowed Ilya to pull out, shivering as he wiped his body down with a damp cloth before snuggling under the blanket, sighing happily when Ilya joined him. 

Bracketing him with his arms, Ilya stared down at him. “You are ok?” He ran a gentle hand across his collarbone. “This is not hurt?” 

Shane turned and kissed the soft skin at the bend of his elbow. “I’m good. Just hold me again, ok?” Settling into his arms, he peered over at him, his face barely visible in the dark of the bedroom. “You never said what those words meant.” 

Ilya moved and Shane sensed he was studying him for a long moment, before giving a little shake of his head. “Not yet.” 

-

They were eating breakfast at the kitchen counter the next morning, smiling over at each other between bites, Shane blushing as memories of the previous night kept flashing through his mind. “Ilya, would you want to - ” The words were interrupted by his phone buzzing on the table between them. 

Ilya looked down at the screen and groaned. “Why is Hayden Pike calling you?” 

“He’s my friend,” Shane replied laughingly, picking the phone up. “Hi, Hayden, how’s it going?” 

“Have you been online lately?” 

Shane shoved at Ilya as he nipped at Shane’s ear, trying to steal his attention. “No, I’ve been… busy.” Cut it out, he mouthed at Ilya, who pouted and settled for standing right next to him, their shoulders pressed together as he listened in on the call. “Why, has something happened?” Shane tried to sound interested in whatever celebrity gossip or drama Hayden was no doubt invested in. 

“Dude, you’re all over Twitter and Instagram. It’s probably on the actual news by now.” 

“What are you talking about?” A feeling of dread started to settle over him. 

“There’s a video of you and Rozanov together at some grocery store. It’s pretty clear you’re not just hanging out as buddies. That would probably be bad enough, but it shows you, like… kissing and holding hands. People are understandably losing their minds.” 

Shane felt the blood drain from his face, sweat beading along his hairline as his heart started to gallop. “I - I have to go.” Ending the call despite Hayden’s protests, Shane opened the stupid social media apps he usually ignored unless he had to promote something, the world spinning as he scrolled through post after post about him and Ilya. “People are… they’re making jokes about us,” he whispered, tossing his phone away, not able to stand one more stupid edited video or meme mocking the most intimate, precious part of his life. 

“Shane, it’s ok, we can - ah, shit, my manager is calling me,” Ilya said, looking at his own phone. “I should probably take this. Just breathe, solnyshko.” He rubbed a hand across Shane’s back before walking away to take the call, speaking rapidly to the person on the other end. 

Shane couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. It felt like the world was collapsing around him. How could they have been so careless? How could he have failed to protect this precarious connection between them, how would Ilya ever forgive him? His own phone started to ring again and he saw his mother’s contact flash across the screen. 

“Mum?” His voice shook as he spoke, feeling seconds away from crumbling. 

“I’m working on getting the video taken down and I’ve got the legal people on standby, in case anyone tries to threaten your contracts over this. There’s no way I’m letting anyone discriminate against you for this, we’ll sue them into the ground.” 

“Mum, I - ” 

“We should get in contact with Scott Hunter and his team, they’ll have some advice on how to navigate this. You’ll need to release a statement, Ilya too. I don’t know how serious things are between you guys, but you can make a joint announcement if you’re comfortable. It’s important we get ahead of this.” 

“Mum!” Shane shouted, the word ripped from him, needing her to listen. “You’re not - you and dad aren’t mad at me?” 

Yuna was quiet on the other end for a moment, though Shane could hear her releasing a long breath. “Shane, we would never be mad at you for who you choose to love. I wish you’d told us so we could have helped you announce this a bit more elegantly, but I’ll make it work. I will make this ok for you.” 

Shane felt tears prick his eyes, blinking them away as he watched Ilya set down his phone on the counter and drop his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, mum. I should have told you sooner, but this whole thing has happened so quickly - I have to go, I’ll ring you soon.” Rushing forward, he hovered over Ilya, afraid to touch him. “What did they say?” 

Ilya looked up at him. “The Commissioner rang not long ago, wanting an explanation for this. I am sure he will call your team soon asking same thing. Bears management wants to meet with me… fuck, what if they - I could lose visa.” 

“We won’t let them do that to you.” Shane still didn’t touch him, though he ached to take him into his arms and let the rest of the world disappear. 

He had been so naive, so caught up in trying to save his life, then the unexpected joy of being with him, that he’d forgotten all the reasons that had always held him back from this. They were a joke to everyone, that was already happening. And his mum wanted to reach out to Scott Hunter, to what? Make Shane some kind of advocate like Scott was, as if he could ever navigate that space in the right way. He’d never fit into any space properly, except on the ice and in Ilya’s arms, and now he might lose all of that. 

Ilya dropped his eyes, avoiding his gaze. “My team says we could tell everyone it was a joke, some fake video friends made to mess with us.” 

Shane felt himself nodding, trying to grasp at anything that would protect him, even if it broke his heart. “If you think that would be a good idea, I’ll go along with it,” he choked out, trying not to let his voice tremble. 

“I have good friend, Svetlana, she would - I could marry her.” 

The words cut through him like a knife. “Oh.” 

“It would just be for visa, we could still be together, just… secret. It would make things easier.” 

“I’ll do anything you want,” he whispered. 

They stood together in defeated silence. Shane was so unsure of the right thing to do, when all he wanted was to throw himself against him, beg him not to go. But would that be fair, if there was an easier option for them both? Surely Irina hadn’t sent him back to live his life under the weight of more secrets, but Shane couldn’t see another way out. 

“I have to go back to Boston for the meeting. There is a flight leaving tonight.” 

They drove to the airport in near silence, so different from the endless chatter that existed between them in the month they had just spent together. Maybe it really had been a dream, Shane thought, and now they were waking up. Idling in the small queue that led to the departure terminal, Ilya turned to look at him, his eyes hidden beneath dark sunglasses, making it even more impossible than usual for Shane to tell what he was feeling. 

“I am so sorry this happened, Shane. I know how much hockey means to you, I won’t let them take it away from you.”  

Shane wanted to scream that he was wrong, that he had already lived an entire life where hockey was the most important thing to him and it had made him so fucking lonely he’d given it all up for the chance to see him one more time. That he loved hockey, but he loved Ilya more, that his career was important but Ilya was everything. But all he could think about was Ilya’s worried face when he spoke about his visa, about what would happen to him if he had to go back to Russia, about how unfair it was to ask him to risk his whole life on a relationship that had barely even begun, and the words stuck in his throat. 

“I won’t let them take anything from you either,” he managed to gasp out. He guided the car to a stop at the curb, suddenly distraught that he couldn’t even get out and help Ilya with his bags. 

“I will text you when we board, will be a couple of hours. Doesn’t look like good weather for flying,” he said, looking through the windscreen at the grey sky above. He leaned over as if he was going to kiss him, but Shane couldn’t stop himself from flinching away, so scared someone would see and cause further damage. 

“Text me, and call me when you land,” Shane said quickly, trying to cover the awkward silence. “I’ll… I - thank you. For coming to stay with me.” 

“Was the best month of my life,” Ilya said, so quietly Shane almost didn’t hear, exiting the car before Shane had a chance to reply. 

-

The summer storm crackled overhead as he took the long, winding road to his parent’s house, unsure of where else to go. Leaves swept along his car, battered along by the restless wind, an eerie green tinge to the sky as it opened to release a torrential downpour. Shane tried to outrun it as he got out of the car and headed for the door, but by the time he got inside he was soaked. 

“Shane?” His dad jumped to his feet from where he had been sitting in the living room. “Oh honey, you’re drenched. Come on, I’ll get you a towel.” 

Shane followed him to the linen press, let him wrap the towel around him, tried so hard to keep it all together before he just couldn’t anymore, collapsing against his dad and sobbing into his shoulder. They made their way to the couch, David guiding him down with restless hands, clearly unsure of what to do. Shane just clutched onto him like he was a child again, afraid if he let go that he would fall completely to pieces. 

“Your mother went out to meet with some people, just wait, I’ll call her and - ”

“Just stay with me for a minute,” Shane gasped out. 

“She always knows what to do,” David muttered, awkwardly patting him on the back. 

Shane let out a watery chuckle, the action so like his dad he couldn’t help but laugh even in the middle of his misery. “I’m alright, I just need a second.” Letting his head sink forward, Shane wrapped his arms around himself and tried to breathe. 

“This is about what happened with Ilya?” 

“Oh no, that’s totally fine. This is about something completely different,” Shane said, voice caustically sarcastic. “Sorry, I’m just - this could affect his whole life, and he said would marry someone else but that’s so - it’s so wrong, because I - I - ”

“You love him.” 

Panic crept up his chest, tightening his diaphragm, finally releasing when Shane just nodded, finally acknowledging the terrible, wonderful truth. “I do. I love him so much.” 

David swiped at his eyes, clearing his throat before speaking. “I knew that first time we went out to dinner. Shane, I never thought I would see you look at anyone like that. It was so - you were so happy, so yourself.” 

“It’s crazy, we’ve been together for less than a month, and even then every second has been some misunderstanding or something going wrong. I can’t - and he could never… feel that way. He didn’t say he did.”

“I knew after five minutes with your mother that she was the one for me. Maybe it’s just genetic, our intensity.” He looked over at Shane, his eyes tracing his face. “And for the record, I think you’re wrong. That kid loves you, it’s clear for anyone to see.” 

“Even if he does, it doesn’t change anything. I can’t ask him to - how is it love if we have to give up our careers, our privacy, everything to keep it?” David was quiet for a long moment, his face creased in thought, an expression Shane had seen countless times before. His careful, kind dad, trying so hard to think of the right thing to say, nearly brought him undone again. “I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth about who I am a long time ago.” Fifty years and a million mistakes ago, Shane thought to himself. 

David shook his head. “I know exactly who you are, Shane. You’re determined and brave, and so much stronger than you think. I wish you could see yourself the way I do.” 

“I just knew if this got out that it would take over everything, the same way everyone talks about me being the first Asian player on the Metros. I never wanted any of that burden, I just wanted to - ”

“Play hockey?” 

It slammed into him like he’d been thrown against the boards: his whole life, both his lives, he had thought that all he wanted was to play hockey, that everything else was an unfair distraction from his talent, his achievements. But where he came from, who he loved, they weren’t some incidental footnotes in his life, they were his life. Hockey was important, but it didn’t define him, didn’t taste as good as his mother’s freshly brewed tea, or feel as good as Ilya’s arms around him, didn’t sustain him or keep him alive. It was a job, a consuming, thrilling job, but it wasn’t who he was. It never had been. 

“I know you’ve worked so hard for the career you’ve had, but you can’t let it keep love from your life. Love is - do you know how many twists of fate, how many mistakes and decisions you have to make to find someone who loves you the same way you love them? It’s magic, the only real magic we have in our ordinary lives. But you can’t have magic without paying some sort of price.” David reached up to pat his face, stroking across his hair. “Compromise, pain, that’s the price you have to pay sometimes. I’m so sorry, honey, I’d change it for you if I could, but no love can exist without some hard choices, some sleepless nights or heartache. But after my years with you and your mother, watching you grow into the man you are… I’d take the pain a million times for even another second of time with you both. I know choosing a life with Ilya won’t be easy, but I think it would be worth it, don’t you?” 

Shane just stared at him, blinking back tears, the truth of the words taking his breath away. “I didn’t - I didn’t know you felt all that. That you could know how to say that.” What a privilege it was, to discover that he didn’t know everything about his dad, after all. This second chance had revealed so much Shane had taken for granted, so many things he had missed out on the first time. 

“I may have some hidden, romantic depths,” David said with a self deprecating grin. “But you’re my son, so you probably do too.” 

“I need to - I have to make a call.” 

David patted him on the back. “Just tell him what’s in your heart, you boys can figure out the rest. Love is the most important thing anyway. Everything else is just background noise.” 

Shane fumbled for his phone, dismissing the thousands of notifications, and tried to ring the only person that mattered. He grunted in frustration when it went straight to voicemail, checking the time and realising his flight had probably already left. Going to message him, he immediately shot that idea down, knowing he wouldn’t receive the messages until he landed. Shane needed him to know how he felt right now, he couldn’t stand another second of distance between them. A genius idea struck him: planes had wifi, he remembered that technology being used years before this point in his life. Opening Instagram he saw Ilya was online and started to type, trying desperately to translate what was in his heart into words. 

Ilya didn’t reply, the little green circle indicating he was online disappearing after thirty minutes of Shane frantically rechecking the messages, making sure they were delivered. His mother got home in a bustle of updates and outrage, distracting Shane for about ten seconds before he went back to staring at the little screen that would determine the course of his life. If only Ilya would answer, even to reject him, at least Shane could be put out of his misery. He bundled up on his parent’s couch, letting them fuss over him as they covered him in blankets and made him tea, ignoring all their attempts at conversation. Eventually they gave up, going to make dinner, occasionally calling out to Shane to ask how he was doing. 

“He’ll message back, honey. He probably just hasn’t seen them yet, signal can be spotty on planes,” his mother reassured him. 

“Especially with this storm, I doubt anything’s getting through.” David peered out the windows before drawing the blinds, shutting out the flashing lightning splitting across the sky. 

Shane just grunted in reply, hitting refresh on his Instagram again, wincing when he saw there was still no new messages. They turned the television on, the news flickering in the background as his parents chattered between themselves. Shane looked up when they suddenly went quiet, his eyes darting between them. 

“What is it?” he asked irritably, sick of them tiptoeing around him. 

“Shane, do you know Ilya’s flight number?” David asked, his eyes fixed to the screen in front of them. 

Shane’s eyes darted to read the headline. Flight MLX1410 Ottawa to Boston Missing in Action: serious concerns for all passengers and crew aboard as flight disappears from the airwaves amidst unexpected electrical storm. 

“I don’t - I think that was his flight. Fuck, he’s not - he can’t be - ” Shane had heard a song or a line from a movie, he couldn’t remember now, that the real problems in your life will never cross your worried mind, some stupid platitude to warn people against worrying too much about the future. But Shane had seen the future, he’d seen the past, and he still hadn’t seen this coming. And now… “Oh god, I’ve lost him again.” 

Chapter End Notes

I do wholeheartedly believe Shane is at least demisexual, if not completely Ilya-sexual, that man entered the love map in his mind and never left.
and I will again reiterate that there are no permanent character deaths, I just like to make myself and others cry!!

chapter title comes from Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls, one of my absolute favourites. I would call my future (imaginary) daughter Iris but it sounds a lot less poetic in an Aussie accent to my eternal regret.

Chapter 5: you didn't see me as a curse

Chapter Notes

And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll go somewhere new. And you’ll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade. 

💫The Holiday

Ilya had never seen Shane Hollander coming. Not when Ilya was seventeen, outside a rink in Saskatchewan, when freckles and that shy smile made him embarrassingly weak at the knees, though he would have rather died than admit that to anyone. And not when Ilya was twenty-nine, at the end of his tether and burnt out from a lifetime of keeping everyone at arm’s length, when Hollander had said his first name for the first time and brought him to his knees completely. 

And even as he told himself it was a bad idea, that this road could lead only to ruin and despair, Ilya was helpless to resist, incapable of refusing him anything. The whole affair had felt inevitable, really, like it was written in the goddamn stars or prophesied in those goddamn freckles. Little marks, uneven shapes, distributed across that infuriatingly perfect nose and cheeks so adorably prone to turning pink. There had been fourteen there, the first time he’d counted them, inches from him in an excruciating face off when Ilya was nineteen and in furious denial of his feelings. That summer, under the full light of the sun, on a dock that felt like floating on the surface of heaven, Ilya had counted twenty-three and resolved to start some sort of Excel spreadsheet to track the waxing and waning of them, like quantifying Hollander’s beauty could somehow take the sting out of it. But there was no human logic, no data set or graph that could explain the irrefutable truth: if some surgeon one day decided to carve into his chest, to save his life or harvest his no doubt smoke withered organs, they would see the pattern of those freckles tattooed onto his weak, hungry heart. 

Ilya had taken the coward’s way out and confessed in his native tongue when the feelings overwhelmed him, needing him to know how he felt on some level, even if it wasn’t spelled out as clearly as he deserved. There was just no accounting for this sudden reciprocated interest, and what Ilya couldn’t understand he most certainly could not trust, a lesson he’d learned quickly in childhood. He didn’t understand his father’s push pull of approval and dislike, one day screaming an inch from his face that he would never amount to anything, the next asking when he would be arriving home with bread so they could have toast together. He certainly didn’t understand why he hadn’t been enough for his mother to stay, so he had resolved to never give anyone the opportunity to leave him again. And it had been going so well, especially since his father’s death, Ilya feeling owned by no one and that he didn’t owe anyone a single thing, for the first time in his life. Then Shane had marched up and collared him, making Ilya his before he even realised what was happening. 

It was the way he skated, his talent some sort of miracle that defied the limits of humanity, like a neurosurgeon knitting a brain back together, or a sculptor carving flesh from cold marble. It was how he seemed to trust Ilya, when Ilya had always thought of himself as an unstable, unreliable shell of a man, his foundations far too shaky to build anything of value on. It was that bratty pout that told Ilya he had never been denied anything as a child, which was only right, because how could anyone say no to that face? It was that face, so beautiful Ilya had to actively stop himself from staring at it, so beautiful it distracted him even with a line of two hundred pound hockey players trying to mow him down. It was the way he looked when Ilya brought him undone, a shy siren, so tightly wound that he unfurled like a rosebud the second he was touched, intoxicating and so unfairly sexy. Ilya had never stood a chance. 

So Ilya had crossed the line he’d been toeing for years and fallen in love, like the idiot he was. And his prediction had proven correct, as he dragged his ruined heart onto a flight that would take him away from the only person in the world who he would have risked everything for. But it was his life, his career, that he was willing to risk, never Shane’s. The exposure had threatened the thing Ilya knew he loved more than anything, the reason he lived and breathed, and that was unacceptable. So he had left quietly, made proposals and plans that would make their lives easier, not the proposal he really wanted to make, the insane, ruinous proposal that would uproot every inch of Shane Hollander’s perfect life. Stay with me, Hollander, and fuck the rest of them. Kiss me in the supermarket and at our cottage and before we destroy each other on the ice. Cross any line, fight every fight, beg, cheat, steal, anything to keep this, to protect the best thing that has ever happened to me. 

“Can I get you a drink, Mr Rozanov?” The flight attendant asked, distracting him from running over the speech that he could never give. 

“Double vodka, no ice, please.” Ilya took the drink gratefully, knocking back half of it in one swallow. “Thank you.” 

The seatbelt sign lit up again and Ilya began to reluctantly clip his back on. “Rough skies, tonight,” the attendant said with a rueful smile. 

But Ilya was more focused on the turbulence within his chest. His eyes flicked restlessly out the window, numbly watching a crooked spike of lightning miss the wing of the plane by inches. Pulling out his phone, he opened the video he had filmed at the cottage, when Hollander called him honey like they were an old married couple. Their happy faces beaming into the camera, Shane’s dark eyes so pretty they made Ilya’s heart ache. The way he looked at Ilya was breathtaking, so close to the dreams that Ilya wouldn’t have believed it was real without the evidence in front of him. 

Another thing he had been too cowardly to tell Shane, that he had dreamed of him for years as well. Not just sex dreams, though Ilya savoured those whenever he was lucky enough to get them, doing things to Hollander that made him blush - actually blush! - in the light of day. But there had been other dreams, heartbreaking ones, where they had a family together, a small line of beautiful children with Shane’s eyes and freckles and stubbornness, and he’d wake up crying, because he knew that it could never be real. People like Ilya, with cruel fathers and dead mothers and enough baggage to fill the Arctic Ocean, didn’t get to have families with people like Shane Hollander, they only got to hit on him in desperate moments and hope he was feeling rebellious enough to take the offer up. 

But that had been the worst thing about all of this. Shane had been furious whenever Ilya tried to give him an easy way out of their entanglement, he’d raged and that adorable face had turned pinker and pinker, as he tightened the collar around Ilya’s neck, drawing him to heel, insisting that this thing between them was serious. Ilya had gone to dinner with his parents, taken him home from the hospital, shared meals with him, all with his fingers crossed behind his back, trying not to jinx it, trying his best to be what he needed for as long as he needed it. 

Shane had thrown out the word boyfriend so casually, clearly not realising that it completely shattered Ilya’s world, the broken pieces forged into something else, something with Shane at the centre, never to be replaced. Ilya was a stray dog at heart, snapping at hands even as he longed to be touched, finally giving in to someone who didn’t seem the least bit scared of his teeth, blithely sweeping him into their life with promises of warm beds and affection, until his loyalty and love was so strong he would die before being separated from them, would go off food and howl at the moon until they were reunited. 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Just a warning that we are approaching an unexpected storm cell and things may get a little rough. Please secure any loose items and follow instructions from the cabin crew.” 

Ilya barely registered the words as he continued to scroll through his camera roll, secret picture after secret picture appearing. Shane on the dock, sunlight blaring into his face, eyes blinking open to tell Ilya off for taking his picture. Shane in the kitchen, trying to chop every ingredient into symmetrical pieces, his expression endearingly serious, looking up to tell Ilya to get back to the task Shane had assigned him. Shane in a dark room, barely visible except for the strip of light from the moon, gilding that perfect face in silver, moments away from muttering Ilya’s name in his sleep, giving Ilya no choice but to drop the phone and hold him close. 

Then further back, to the photos he had kept for years from that stupid award show, he and Shane forced together like they always were, Ilya twenty-three and ten feet tall after winning the Cup, winded like he’d been punched in the gut when he saw him for the first time in months backstage. Shane had been so prickly, telling Ilya off for being late and questioning who he was with, Ilya instantly high off the idea that he could be jealous, sure that it would be the night he could finally get Shane to give him a chance. Instead he pushed him away like usual, though Ilya had never forgotten the feel of his back, so unyielding through the fabric of his suit, unable to resist running his hand down it, savouring the opportunity to touch him without twenty pounds of gear between them. That stupid joke they had been forced to play along with made Ilya eternally grateful, because it gave him the only photos he had of his arm around Shane, almost able to pretend they were some kind of couple, the thrill of that idea sustaining him for years like a lovesick idiot. But he’d always been an idiot when it came to Shane, that was the enduring problem. 

The plane jolted, stuttering over pockets of air, making Ilya clutch his armrest with one hand and his phone with the other as a notification popped up on the screen. You have a direct message from ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer. Ilya didn’t even realise Shane had Instagram, he was such a sweet little grandpa of a man, in a ridiculously hot younger man’s body. Opening the message immediately, his eyes flicked over the words, not quite believing what he was reading. 

Shane: I’ve loved you since we were seventeen. You annoy me and challenge me and make me laugh and turn me on so much, I’d spend every minute kissing you if I could. 

You say I’m perfect, but the truth is you’re the only person in the world who makes me feel like I don’t have to be. I have so much love for you, there isn’t any room left for shame. 

The dreams I told you about, they weren’t just sex. My favourite was the one where we had a family and a life together. 

My life without you was easy and uncomplicated, but so fucking empty. I wasn’t really living at all. So I’m sorry, but I think we have to do things the hard way. 

Don’t marry Svetlana. Maybe it’s selfish but I don’t want you to marry anyone unless it’s me. I don’t want us to be a secret, I want to tell everyone you’re mine. And I’m yours, Ilya. I always have been. 

Goddamn Shane Hollander bringing Ilya to his knees again so casually, through a fucking Instagram DM like they were still teenagers. Ilya’s fingers shook as he tried to type a reply, tried to somehow translate from heart words, to Russian thoughts, to English text, as the plane shuddered around him. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered except telling Shane that he loved him too, that he would do anything to be with him, that it wasn’t the hard choice but the easiest one he had ever made. Then the plane dropped what felt like a considerable distance, the in-flight wifi cut out and Ilya looked up for the first time in some minutes to see a scene of complete chaos around him. 

“Everyone please stay calm.” One of the attendants was at the front of the aisle, trying to calm down the hysterical passengers. 

Ilya was furious as he stuffed his phone in the seat pocket. Of course the universe, the cruel universe that had never given him one fucking break in his entire life, was doing this to him now. Six weeks ago Ilya wouldn’t have been so concerned about some stupid plane crash, though he would be sorry for the people around him with families, and sorry for himself that he never got a chance to kiss Hollander senseless. But he knew what it was like to kiss him now, and that Shane loved him back, so the idea of dying in this stupid hunk of sky metal was completely unacceptable. 

Oxygen masks dropped from the roof and Ilya helped the lady to his right with hers before fastening his own on, letting her grip his hand tightly across the aisle. Her hair was blonde and curled prettily, reminding him of his mother. 

“Will be ok,” he said, trying to give her a reassuring smile. 

“It has to be,” she replied with her own tremulous smile. “I’ve got a family to get back to.” 

And for the first time in his life, Ilya could wholeheartedly say, “Me too.” 

The lights in the cabin flickered, then cut out, people starting to scream in panic as the plane seemed to tip forward. Ilya closed his eyes and prayed, not to any God, but to his mother. Please, mama, if you’re listening, I’m not ready to leave. I’m so sorry you had to, so so sorry that you got so low you felt like it was your only way out, but I don’t feel the same way, not anymore. Not since him. The captain’s voice crackled over the speaker, the words broken, something about bracing for impact. People around him started to cry or pray or whisper things to each other, words of love, the only thing that really mattered in the end. 

Ilya wanted his last thoughts to be of Shane, so he closed his eyes and thought of those freckles, that shy smile, all the things he had gotten to do with him and all the things he was going to miss out on. It struck him that the last weeks with him were probably always just borrowed time, stolen from the greedy hands of fate, not meant to last for someone like him, someone who was always alone, someone who was more comfortable that way. But god, it was unfair. And he couldn’t help thinking of Shane alone, his brave Shane, unable to imagine him ever opening his carefully guarded heart for anyone else. The man was careful, and deliberate, and so shy it would be a miracle for him to love again once Ilya was dead. 

“Fuck this,” Ilya muttered, gently releasing the hand of the stranger across from him to clutch at his mother’s necklace, the points of the cross digging into his palms as he started to pray again. No one can love him like I can. I won’t ever be good enough, but no one in this whole fucking world will ever try harder to make him happy. Please, mama, anyone, anyone who is listening, you can’t let me die, you can’t tear us from each other. We’re soulmates, lovers, bound together by dreams and fate and goddamn hockey, surely it violates every law of the universe to separate two people who are meant to be together this much. 

Gravity and time seemed suspended as they dropped lower, Ilya’s body weightless, like he was floating, as he closed his eyes and fell. 

Chapter End Notes

alright please don't murder me for extending the chapter count, I have only one longer one planned, I just wanted to include this little snippet from Ilya's POV and an epilogue I thought up.
I love the different interpretations of what Shane's messages to Ilya would be if the events of TLG were shuffled. I don't think he's as poetic as Ilya lol but I really enjoyed coming up with them.

chapter title comes from A Few of Your Own by Noah Kahan, the most Ilya song of all time.

Chapter 6: undo the destiny

Chapter Notes

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

💫Mary Oliver

The plane crash was inevitable. There was never any stopping it, no matter what he did. It was his punishment for being a coward. Shane couldn’t escape the hateful thoughts as he rocked back and forth on the couch, clutching at himself, almost inhuman noises being ripped from his chest. His parents tried to calm him down with little success, every platitude or reassurance just making him sob harder. 

“Honey, try to breathe. We don’t know the full story yet, everything will be ok.” Yuna wrapped her arms around Shane and tried to hold him tight. 

“It’s not - h-he’s gone, I’ve lost him - ” Shane wrenched away from her to curl into a ball, despair slamming into him so viscerally his entire body felt like it would collapse unless he physically held it together. “Please just leave me alone - I want to be alone.” 

But out of love or fear of the state he was in, his parents wouldn’t leave him. They covered him with a heavy blanket, got out his old white noise machine to block the sound of the storm, eventually forcing him to take a sleeping pill, though he nearly vomited it back up, even the taste of water making him want to be sick. His mother sat against his curled up legs and stroked across his back, leaning across to kiss his shoulder. Shane numbly watched his dad make frantic calls to the airport in Ottawa, to friends he had from his job in the government, pacing back and forth as he tried to get some sort of information about what was happening. 

Shane’s whole body was shivering, making his teeth click together and he couldn’t stop pinching at himself or tugging his hair, the emotions completely overwhelming him. The last time this had happened, the first time, Shane had been devastated, but it was a different kind of grief, one he didn’t entirely understand at the time. It was grief for what could have been, for missed chances and an uncertain future. But this was something else entirely. Because he really knew Ilya now, knew what he looked like in sleep, knew his mother’s name and his favourite foods and the secret current of sweetness running underneath the sarcastic exterior. He knew he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life teasing that sweetness out, making Ilya feel safe enough to be himself. Instead his own fear and that familiar self doubt would be the reason he would never get the chance. 

“From what I can find out, there hasn’t been any confirmed crash. Nothing to indicate that this isn’t some terrible mix-up,” David said, coming to sit on the arm of the couch next to Shane’s head, brushing a hand across his hair. “Just try to stay calm. I’m sure Ilya is fine.” 

“You don’t understand,” Shane slurred, the medication starting to kick in, making everything around him out of focus. “This happened before - he’s dead. And I will be too. I won’t live without him again… I just can’t.” Sleep started to overtake him as he heard his parents whispering to each other.

“This just isn’t normal, David. Shane’s hated Rozanov for years, now suddenly they’re in love? He never even told us he was gay.” 

“Ilya, dear. And you’ve seen them together, it’s clearly something else. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but does it really have to? Our boy is in love, I think for the first time. I’m just so glad he found that, he’s been so alone his whole life.” 

Yuna sighed. “You’re right. Oh god, I just hope - what if Shane’s right? He’ll be heartbroken.” 

“That kid loves him so much, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes, and he’s just as determined as our Shane, you can tell from the way he plays. I doubt he’d let a plane crash keep them apart.” 

“I hope you’re right.” 

Shane wanted to rage at them for talking about him like he wasn’t there, but his mind was starting to drift, images from the last weeks floating across it. Cornering Ilya outside the game, finally goading him into kissing him, finally knowing what it was like. Then further back, into the past and the future, to his last day alive. The idea of it made him want to weep, thinking of ending up like that again, so full of regret, dreams the only thing to keep him company in the long, empty years ahead. All he could do was pray, something he’d never done before, because nothing had ever mattered as much. He prayed that Ilya had seen those messages, that he knew how much Shane loved him before it was too late. 

“And who said it was too late?” 

Shane sat up, no longer weighed down by the sleeping tablet, and no longer at his parent’s cottage in the middle of a terrible storm. It was daylight now, warm and calm, and he was back at the place that was his cottage but also not his cottage. Looking in the direction of the voice who had just asked him the strange question, he saw a familiar figure standing in the doorway. They didn’t speak while Shane got up to follow her as she headed outside. They sat on the shore of the lake again, pink light shimmering across the fractious surface as sunlight broke through the skyline ahead. 

“Is this a dream?” Shane asked. “Or am I dead again?” 

Irina smiled over at him, her mouth curling up crookedly just like Ilya’s did. “Hm, I am not sure. Perhaps a bit of both.” 

“You didn’t say you were his mother.” 

“Would that have changed things for you?” 

“No!” Shane shook his head. “I just wish - I would have been… more polite, I guess,” he said lamely, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Thinking back to how he had snapped at her, the mother of the man he loved, made him feel deeply uncomfortable. His parents had raised him to be more respectful. 

“Oh, no,” Irina crooned, reaching over to clasp his hand. “I liked you very much, silly boy. You are perfect for him.” 

“I’m not.” Shane couldn’t help the sob that escaped him, even as he reached his free hand up to cover his mouth. “I let him down again, and now he - he’s…” 

“Do you have any regrets, Shane?” 

“I…” But the words died in his throat as he thought back on his short second life. About all the things he had done: crazy, wonderful things. Telling Rose the real reason he couldn’t love her the way she deserved, demanding Hayden see who he really was and to respect him for it, showing his parents that he loved someone the way they loved each other. Going after Ilya and every precious moment that decision had led to. There was just one thing this time around. “I didn’t say I loved him when I should have.” 

“I didn’t either,” Irina replied, her face now looking heartbreakingly sad. 

“You don’t understand. I let him down, just like you said everyone had before.”

“And you believe I exclude myself from that list of people?” 

Shane’s eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. “No way. He loves you so much, he thinks you were perfect. You never let him down. I’m sure of it.” 

“Thank you for saying that.” Irina tilted her head, squeezing her eyes closed like she was savouring the words. “But it is just not true. I took my own life, Shane. And I had to look down as my twelve year old son, my sweet baby, found me. Any way you think you have let him down, I have done a thousand times worse than that. And I am very far from perfect.” 

“He never told me that,” Shane said quietly, remembering every word Ilya had said about his mother, about everything. The idea of him finding his mother like that was unspeakably painful to Shane, twisting his heart into knots. 

“Did he tell you that I was quite close minded, even a little judgmental? That I covered my true feelings with sarcasm? Did he tell you I used to sleep for days, using medicine to numb myself? That I missed so many of his games, so many moments with him, because I could not make myself get out of bed? That I was a weak person, too small and afraid to leave his father, even as I began to realise staying would be the death of me?” 

“Stop,” Shane pleaded. “He wouldn’t want you to say those things about yourself.” 

Irina seemed to calm then, reaching over to pat his shoulder. “He would not want you to be so hard on yourself, either. My Ilyusha, such a beautiful man now. So much stronger than I ever was.” 

“He is beautiful, Irina. He’s… everything. I love him so much. I can’t believe that he’s mine, even if it was just for a little while.” Shane couldn’t help the tremble in his voice or the tears that appeared in his eyes from saying those words.  

“Well, I cannot say you were who I was picturing my boy ending up with.” 

“I think you and the rest of the world have that in common,” Shane replied with a wry smile. Irina was somehow able to make him smile even in the worst moments, just like her son could. 

“Before I died, before I saw this world for what it was underneath all the trappings, I was as I said. Close minded. I was raised in a faith that taught love between anyone other than a man and woman must be a sin. Imagine my distress when I learned my son was destined to fall in love with another man.” 

Looking out across the lake, Shane sat with the feelings that the words conjured. Anger, outrage, disgust. But then he remembered that he’d never even had religion as an excuse for his shame, managing to make that all on his own. He didn’t fear eternal damnation, because he didn’t really believe in heaven or hell, but he had let the fear of judgement dictate his entire life, as surely as some other people let their belief in some omniscient being control theirs. “I guess I can’t judge you too harshly for that.” 

“Very diplomatic of you,” she said, grinning. “But I do not want your absolution, just your understanding. I need you to know that after seeing you together, seeing the way he looks at you, I saw that no matter what I was taught, there was no sin in that kind of love. There could be no God that objected to it, once they saw how right it was. No explanation for the way your edges fit so perfectly with his without some sort of divine plan to make it so.” 

“You really think so?” 

“Enough to be here, to convince some higher power to help me make things right.” 

Shane looked ahead at the horizon and tried to blink away his tears. “I’m sorry I messed up your plan.” 

“No,” Irina said, pulling at his shoulders to turn him to face her. “There was never really any plan, solnyshko. Just a wild hope that things could be made right in this pocket of the universe, like they are in other places. And you have done beautifully, Shane, you have been so brave. Oh, I have loved watching you chase after my boy, the most fun I’ve had in such a long time.” 

Another blush crept up his cheeks. “I really hope you didn’t watch the whole thing.” 

Irina laughed, sounding so much like Ilya that Shane felt a wrench in his chest. “Don’t worry, I know when to step away.” Releasing his shoulders, she wrapped an arm around around him, this time guiding him to look back at the lake. “Such a beautiful place.”

Shane dropped his head onto her shoulder. “If he’s… I can never come back here without him, not now. This place belongs to him, as much as I do.” 

“Listen to me,” she said, jostling him with a little shake. “This was never about you being perfect or doing everything right. If anything, it was the opposite. You have made so many lovely mistakes, just like we are all meant to do. And you did what I helped send you back to do, you were honest with him, and kind, and did not repeat those same regrets that made you so sad the first time. That will not count for nothing, not to Ilya, or to fate.” 

“But wasn’t I meant to save him?” 

“Are you so sure you haven’t? I told you at the very beginning, some things are always meant to happen.”

Shane shook his head. “So this was all for nothing?” 

“The plane was always going to be a turning point for you, in every universe. Ilya just needed to have faith in something - in you - enough to ask for help. Help that fate is actually very happy to give him. To give you both.” Irina leaned forward in that familiar conspiratorial way. “I told you she is a romantic.” 

“Are you saying he’s - ?” The question hung between them as the sky started to bend and twist, the storm from the real world starting to creep through. There was a hint of green to that storm, just like the hint of green in Ilya’s eyes. Shane chose to take that as a good omen, putting his own faith into something intangible for once. 

“This you will have to find out for yourself. Time is up, silly boy. Step into the water again, but this time I think you will know exactly where you need to be.” 

Rising up, Shane dipped his toes into the now greenish water, surprised to feel how warm it was. Something stopped him before he went any further, making him turn back for a last look at the woman watching him from shoreline. “I wish things could be different for you too.” 

Irina wrapped her arms around her knees and tilted back to look up at the approaching storm. “Some things are always meant to happen. And I am exactly where I was always meant to be. But I am sorry I had to leave him, so sorry to have caused him such pain.” 

Shane felt the water lapping at his legs, drawing him inexorably forward. “Someone really smart told me that pain is the price we pay for love. For the record, I don’t think you let Ilya down. He loves you, even if it hurt to lose you. I know he wouldn’t trade his memories with you to take even a bit of that pain away.” 

There were tears in her eyes as she waved him away. “Do not waste anymore time, you have so much love waiting for you. Go, grab onto it and never let him go.” 

“Bye, Irina,” Shane said with a small smile over his shoulder. “Thank you for giving me a second chance, and trusting me to love him. I promise I won’t waste it.” The water raised higher and higher, slipping over his head, pulling him into the depths, sweeping him along the current of time until he was made and unmade all over again. The only thing that stayed constant through the unraveling was his love for Ilya. 

-

The first thing he noticed was that the storm seemed to have passed. Sunlight was just starting to peak over the horizon, glinting into his eyes as he blinked them open to see the new day starting through the windows of the living room. Shane looked over to see his dad asleep in the recliner to his right, phone still clutched in his hand. His body felt stiff and heavy, slow to react as he tried to sit up. Grabbing for his own phone, his heart twisted when he saw no new notifications from Ilya. 

His mother appeared in front of him. “Tea,” she said, pushing a warm cup into his hand before sitting next to him. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she looked at him, her face almost aphrensive. “Shane, I… I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me about this… well, your relationship with Ilya. I know I can be singleminded - to say the least - but I have never wanted you to give up your happiness for hockey. I just thought it was what made you happy.” 

Shane stared down at the curling steam rising from the mug, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent. “It does make me happy. I love it, so much I thought it was the only thing I had room for. But with Ilya, everything is different. It’s like all my priorities shifted when we got together, and he… if he is ok, he’s gonna be the most important thing in my life now.” 

Yuna blinked rapidly, like she was trying to dispel tears. The sight nearly made Shane cry himself. Yuna rarely cried, only on memorable occasions like when he got drafted or won the Cup for the first time. “I always thought you were like me,” she said, gently brushing a hand across his cheek. “But you sounded like your dad, just then.” 

“I’m like both of you,” Shane said with a soft smile. His mother had taught him to go after what he wanted, that single-mindedness coming in handy when he zeroed it in on Ilya, who was certainly not easy to win over. And his father had taught him how to hold that trust, how to take care of it when Ilya had finally given in. Both his parents had taught him how to be loved, but Ilya was really the one who showed him what it was to love, wholeheartedly and without restraint. “I need to find out if he’s ok.” 

“We will,” Yuna said, her voice determined. “I meant what I said. I will make this right for you.” 

The idea of having Yuna Hollander on their side was certainly an encouraging one. Shane let out a long breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding, collapsing against her shoulder and letting her rock him like he was a child again. Their quiet moment was interrupted by David gasping loudly from his chair. 

“Bad timing, David,” Yuna chastised, glaring over at him. 

“Forgive me, honey. But I have some good news.” Moving to sit on Shane’s other side, he brandished his phone triumphantly. “Ilya’s flight got caught in the storm, but they were able to make an emergency landing in Montreal. My buddy in the transport office heard all about it this morning and finally gave me an update. Everyone on the flight is alive, just waiting to be checked out for injuries.” 

Shane was on his feet instantly, trying to call Ilya. He groaned in frustration when it went straight to voicemail. “His phone must be dead. I have to… where are my keys?” 

“Shane, you’re in no state to drive,” Yuna protested. 

“What? I’m fine. I need to get to him, he doesn’t have anyone else.” 

David clapped a hand to Shane’s shoulder. “That’s just not true.” Giving Yuna a significant look, she sprang up and clasped his hand. “If Ilya is the person you’ve chosen to love, then he’s a part of this family too.” 

“It’ll be faster if I drive anyway,” Yuna said, winking at them. “You boys care too much about silly things like speed limits.” 

- 

The drive to Montreal was an excruciating couple of hours, though Shane was grateful for his mother’s penchant for speeding as it was getting them there that much sooner. David made calls the entire way, eventually gleaning that most of the passengers were still at Montreal Airport, slowly being cleared by paramedics or transported for further care. Shane had no idea if Ilya would be among them, or what state he might be in by the time Shane got to him, but it didn’t matter. As long as he was alive, Shane would take care of him and they would figure the rest out together. 

The trees eventually blurred into city as he watched out the window, his mind drifting from the car into the past. He thought back to what Ilya had said about Shane saving him at that All Stars conference, when some obnoxious reporter asked a rambling question that would have barely made sense to someone fluent in English, let alone a kid who had been in the States for less than twelve months. Ilya had tapped his shoe against Shane’s after he swooped in to answer the question. That small brush of contact was just another domino in the inevitable collapse of all his defences. One piece after another, starting with their first handshake outside the rink in Saskatchewan, falling into every slam against the boards, the hand he brushed along his back at an awards show, the same hand he brushed along Shane’s cheek in a darkened hallway, each altering his life in some irrevocable way. Shane had resented those dominoes for so long, sure they would lead to his downfall. And maybe they had, but he was discovering that within the rubble of his previously well ordered life, there was something more precious to be found.  

Whatever may come from the fallout of deciding to be with him, Shane would take it, more than take it; he would relish every hard decision, if it meant being with him, being loved by him. Because the truth was Ilya had been saving him from the second they met, from boredom and mediocrity and loneliness. The world turned grey after he left, the first time and the day before when he got on that flight. Shane resolved to live in the spark of those green-gold eyes forever, until their colour spread over every inch of his life. 

Finally his mother was pulling into the airport carpark, finding a space before they frantically made their way inside. At the information desk, they pleaded with an agent to let them through but they were refused pointblank, told that only immediate family was being let through to see the passengers. 

“You don’t understand, my son’s partner was on that flight. We are his family.” 

Shane pushed through the wall of his parents and tried to affect the charming face that seemed to satisfy directors in his stupid ad campaigns. “Please, surely we can work something out?”

“Wow, you’re Shane Hollander!” The agent gasped, looking starstruck. “But Cosmo said you were single.” 

Shane tried not to roll his eyes as he remembered that embarrassing article, instead giving the agent a winning smile. “Not anymore. My boyfriend - actually, my fiancé - will be so freaked out, and I can’t get through to his phone. Please, I need to make sure he’s ok.” Figuring there was no harm in embellishing their relationship on the vague chance it might help him get his way, Shane decided to add a more official title.

“Wait, you’re gay?” 

Yuna stepped forward again. “Might I remind you that this country legally recognises same-sex relationships as equal to straight ones. My son has every right to see his partner.” 

Shane almost laughed at the way the agent turned red and started to splutter out an apology. His mother’s determination paid off as they were promptly escorted through security and to a gate that had been sectioned off. Time seemed to slow as they approached the small crowd of people, though Shane’s heart was beating faster than it ever had before, making his hands shake and his throat thicken. His dad patted his back and gave him an encouraging smile as they began to search for him. People milled around, crying into their phones or in their loved one’s arm, paramedics shining torches into eyes and bandaging cuts. 

Shane separated from his parents as he pushed impatiently into the crowd, his eyes desperately scanning for a glimpse of that familiar, beloved face. His heart stopped beating altogether when he saw the dark gold curls, those strong shoulders bowed over as he sat with his head in his hands. The sight of him brought Shane to his knees before him, helplessly dropping his head onto Ilya’s thigh as he clutched as his arms, his waist, anywhere he could reach. 

“Shane?” His voice sounded croaky as he covered Shane’s hands with his own, drawing them up to his cheek. “What are you doing here?”

Shane lifted up to wrap his arms around his neck, so tight he was probably cutting off his air supply but unable to loosen his hold, needing to feel the rise and fall of his chest, the solid mass of his body. “Are you ok?” Drawing back just a few inches, his eyes raked over him, scanning for any obvious injuries. “Have they looked at you yet? Does it hurt anywhere, baby? Let me see.” Shane tried to tug up his hoodie to check for cuts or bruises, but Ilya gently pried his hands away. 

“I am fine, really. You need to… people will see.” 

“I don’t care.” Shane kissed him then, unable to resist, so grateful that he had the chance. The feel  of his lips curving beneath his own was the greatest relief Shane had ever felt. “I don’t give a fuck who sees or what anyone has to say. I - I love you, Ilya. So much. Nothing is more important than that.” 

The words seemed to slice through Ilya’s control as he collapsed against Shane, his whole body curling around him as he sobbed into his neck. “Saw messages. God, I think you kept me alive with them. All I could think was I needed to get back to you, couldn’t let that be the way we ended things, that I would never - ” 

“I meant every word. Every word. I love you, I want to have a family with you. And I won’t let this stupid league keep us apart or let anyone take you away from me. I’ll fight with everything I have.” 

Ilya clutched at his back, pressing wet kisses to his throat, down to the juncture of his shoulder. “I love you, my Shane, always. More than you know. I dreamed about you too, was just afraid to say. When I thought - when the plane was… would have given anything to tell you that I have dreamed of a family with you for years, even when I thought you hated me. Children with your beautiful face, together in your cottage for summers and birthdays and for everything. Don’t care if it sounds crazy, I want everything with you. I should have said this from the start, outside that stupid rink. Should have begged you for a chance. I have wasted so much time.” 

“No one knows about wasted time more than me,” Shane replied, kissing the top of his head, burrowing into the curls. “God, I’m just so glad I haven’t lost you. I don’t know what I would have done.” 

Ilya smiled against his neck. “All I could think was how unfair it was for this to happen now. Only a couple of months ago I was so - told myself I was happy, better off alone, but the loneliness was… I would have only been sorry not to kiss you, to never know what it was like.” He lifted his head to hold Shane’s face in his hands. “Without you, there is nothing for me in the world.”

Shane shook his head, reaching up to clutch at his hands. “Don’t say that.” Turning, he pressed a kiss to his palm. “You have no idea how loved you are. I wish I could tell you…” Shane gave him a wry little smile. “I’m not good with words like you. But you are so loved, I need you to know that.” 

As if to prove his point, his parents descended on them, wrapping them both in an embrace. His mother patted Ilya’s back the way she had at the hospital, like she’d done it a million times before, and his dad looked like he was about to cry as he looked between Ilya and Shane. 

“Thank goodness you’re ok,” Yuna said. “We were so worried.” 

David squeezed his shoulder. “You gave our boy quite a fright, kid.” 

“I - I am sorry,” Ilya replied, staring at them with wide eyes before turning to Shane with an incredulous expression. 

Shane just laughed, feeling so happy he couldn’t quite believe it. This was what he had been sent back for, more than that, this was the reason his life existed at all, to be here in this overcrowded airport, encircled by the people he loved the most. “I told you,” he whispered to Ilya. “Loved.” 

- 

After this latest scare Shane essentially grounded Ilya, forbidding him from getting onto another flight until Shane’s nervous system could recover. They went to his Montreal apartment, his parents heading home to give them some privacy, with plans to return and strategise with Shane’s agent and management team about how to move forward the next day. It shocked Shane to realise just how little he had considered the implications behind his decision to pursue Ilya when he returned to the past, but he had been a man possessed. Without panic and sheer terror clouding every move he made, Shane felt his mind start to clear, allowing him to begin formulating a plan. 

“We need to lay out the timeline of our relationship, with supporting evidence to show there was never any collusion. I bet that will be the first thing they’ll try and throw at us.” 

Ilya grumbled and snuggled closer into Shane’s chest, arms tightening around him as they lay together on the couch. “As if you would ever let me win.” 

“We know that.” Shane gave him a teasing little pinch on the arm. “But we’ll have to prove it.” 

“Will be fun to read your sexts out to the Board. They will see what a bad boy you really are.” 

Shane ignored that comment, his mind still whirring. “But the most important thing is to make sure you can’t get deported. Have you ever spoken to an immigration lawyer?” 

“We should just get married.” 

“I’m sure my dad will know someone.” 

“Won’t even get - how do you say in English? - prenuptial? You can have all my money. You will probably spend it better.” 

“I don’t know why the Bears haven’t gotten you citizenship in the first place, after everything you’ve done for the team. We can discuss that with them at the meeting if you want.” 

“I will be very good husband, much better than stupid Hayden Pike. Will even iron your socks, I bet you do that.” 

“I’m sorry it won’t be in person but I’m just too scared about you flying. I guess I’ll have to get over that eventually. Do you think it would be too much to bring a lawyer when we talk to the Commissioner?” 

“Never even asked if you want kids. But it does not matter, we will have ten or eleven. Think I will like being surrounded by tiny Shane Hollanders, they will be very cute and bossy.” 

“If he tries to threaten our careers I’m seriously going to lose my shit. We’ve given everything to this league. I almost lost you because of it. But surely there’s some sort of legal protection we can rely on. If not I’ll get some made, somehow. It’s so fucked up that players are still scared to come out, even after what Scott Hunter did.” 

“Uh, boring old Hunter. Anyways, we should move back to the cottage, it is my favourite place. This apartment sucks. And not enough room for the kids.”

Shane blinked, finally emerging from his spiralling thoughts to realise what he was saying. “Ilya, honey, could you be serious for like ten minutes?” 

“I am being serious,” he said, looking up at him with a grin before kissing the tip of his nose. “Boston is too far away, especially if you won’t let me get back on a plane. I am a free agent again soon, only signed for another three years when contract was renewed.” 

“You would leave Boston?” The unsaid for me hung in the air as he looked at him in wonder. 

“Of course. Might even retire. I would be very sexy WAG, don’t you think?” 

Shane sat up, forcing Ilya to as well. Gripping onto his shoulders, Shane gave them a little squeeze. “I really want to say that you don’t have to do that.” 

“But you are very greedy, yes?” Ilya clasped his chin, licking into his mouth without preamble, pulling back when Shane was gasping and trying to pull him closer. “Tell me what to do, Hollander.” 

Shane nipped at his bottom lip. “Sign with a Canadian team.” He wrapped Ilya’s chain around his fingers, pulling it tight, using it to drag him forward. “Get citizenship here so you’ll be safe.” He dotted kisses to the corners of his mouth, nuzzling his lips over the upturned grin. “Turn your life upside down.” 

“Why?” 

“For me. Because I love you. I’m gonna love you more than anyone has ever loved anyone.” 

Ilya pressed his grin against Shane’s cheek. “Sorry, but I will love you more.” 

“How about we call it a tie?” 

Ilya pushed him back, using his entire weight to pin Shane to the bed, gripping his hair to expose his throat and sucking a kiss to the vulnerable curve. “Mmm, don’t think so. Wouldn’t look good to let you start winning now.” 

-

The streets of New York bustled past as they stepped outside NHL headquarters. Their ridiculously large entourage including two attorney, both of their management teams and Shane’s parents stepped aside to passionately dissect the events of the meeting that had just taken place. Shane and Ilya took advantage of their distraction, ducking around a corner for a moment of privacy. Ilya clutched at Shane’s arms, pressing their foreheads close as they took a deep breath together. 

“Did we really just get away with that?” Ilya whispered, his conspiratorial expression reminding Shane of Irina, the comparison making his heart pang almost painfully. 

“I think we did,” Shane replied. 

The Board of Governors and an independent ethics committee had absolutely put them through the wringer over the last few days, questioning every aspect of their relationship from start to finish. Shane had been tempted at various points to scream that he was actually over eighty years old and had been through enough shit for two lifetimes, far more than anyone should ever have to bear, and that none of this mattered in the grand scheme of things. The universe could peel back and shift at any moment and the stupid rules humans made to control themselves ultimately counted for nothing. But something strange had been happening since the almost plane crash. Shane’s memories of his past life and the glimpse he had gotten behind the curtain were starting to fade, until every day he felt more and more like the young man he was on the outside. It was scary to lose the assurance of age, but it felt exciting, too, knowing he could experience things for the first time again. Little things still reminded him of his guide through the universe, though, probably because her son had barely left his side for the entire summer. 

“I cannot believe that asshole actually told us to pretend it was prank. We were holding hands right in front of him,” Ilya grumbled. “Should have made out and really given him a show.” 

“Crowell is on his way out. Well, that’s what mum says and she’s never wrong. I wouldn’t be too worried about what he thinks.” 

“And we have a million fans on our side, anyway.” 

In an odd way the exposure had afforded them some protection, as everything was conducted on such a public stage the league had no choice but to act at least somewhat respectfully. Even here on a crowded New York street where usually no one blinked an eye at their surroundings, Shane and Ilya were getting looks, some people even not so discreetly snapping photos. Shane was tempted to pose for them so everyone would know that yes, Ilya Rozanov was in a committed relationship, that he belonged to Shane, and that anyone who wanted to even look at him for too long would do so at their peril. The jealousy was objectively ridiculous because Ilya was equally obsessed with him, to Shane’s eternal shock and delight, but he’d never been particularly rational when it came to his now boyfriend. 

“Probably less when everyone finds out you’re signing to Ottawa,” Shane murmured, low enough so any onlookers wouldn’t hear. He wanted Ilya to be able to make the announcement on his terms. 

“Oh, I am not worried.” 

“And why is that?” Shane asked, wriggling his cold hands into Ilya’s coat pockets. 

“I will just say my very mean boyfriend is making me leave. Boston hates you anyway, they will believe me.” 

“I hate that you’re right,” Shane replied, moving closer to rest his head against Ilya’s shoulder. “This is really happening. I mean, we’re really doing this.” 

“You are scared?” Ilya asked, moving a hand up to brush over Shane’s cheek, his thumb lingering beneath the corner of his eye before moving to his lips, ghosting across the surface with the back of his knuckles. 

“No! Just… ok, yes. Terrified.” Shane kissed his hand before snuggling back against him. “I’ve never done this before, you know.” 

Ilya snaked his hands around Shane’s waist, drawing soothing circles across his back. “Done what?” 

“Been someone’s boyfriend. I mean, I tried - but never with someone I love. I love you so much, I don’t want to screw this up.” 

“Then you are lucky I have never been someone’s boyfriend either. We both have no idea what we are doing, so will be hard to tell if we do something wrong.” 

Shane sighed against his chest, some of his anxiety easing. Ilya had a way of doing that, teasing out his worst fears, coaxing Shane to verbalise why he was upset, then totally disarming him with some teasing remark that instantly cut the scary thought off at the knees, taking away the power of it until the fear collapsed. “You won’t do anything wrong.” 

“Definitely will. But you will forgive me.” 

“As long as you’ll forgive me.” Shane looked up at him then, into those eyes that had haunted him for years, so clear and true in the late morning light of the city. “I can be such a stubborn idiot, you have no idea.” 

“My Shane,” Ilya whispered. “You really don’t know this is why I love you? Your stubborn little face when you shook my hand twice outside that rink when we first met. Maybe it took my head a long time to catch up, but my heart always loved you for exactly who you are.” 

The words totally disarmed him, as his words often did. “I never would have guessed you’d be such a romantic.” Every difference facet of his personality Shane uncovered was such a joy, something new each day, challenging him as much as he ever had on the ice. 

“I have hidden depths, Hollander.” Ilya gave him that crooked grin. “Come on, take me home.” 

-

“Can you believe that flight agent leaked this?” Shane asked irritably, unceremoniously shoving the phone Ilya was scrolling on out of the way to show him the article. 

“No sweetheart, I wasn’t doing anything on phone,” Ilya grumbled, but he did look at the screen, letting out bark of laughter as he read the quote. “You called me your fiancé? So cute.”

“I was worried they wouldn’t let me see you!” Shane protested, feeling a blush creep up his face. 

Ilya rolled on top of him, slapping his hands away when Shane tried to take off his glasses. “Leave them on. And you do not have to make up excuses to call me this.” 

“I wasn’t - it was just to - ” Shane saw the teasing light in his eyes and pinched his shoulder. “Fuck you. And so what if I did? I’m not one of your little hookups, I’ll call you whatever I want.” 

“Oh, really?” 

Pushing him back until Shane was now straddling him, he grabbed at his arms and pinned them down. “I own you, Rozanov.” 

Ilya’s eyes had glazed over as he looked up at him, clearly entranced by Shane’s attitude. “Show me,” he whispered. 

Shane held his eyes as he took his nipple between his teeth, enjoying the way he hissed at the pinch. Relenting, he dragged his lips down his stomach, nipping at his hip points, lingering perilously close to his already hard dick, smiling up at him innocently when he thrust it toward Shane’s mouth with a ragged whimper. Moving up again, he sucked a kiss into his neck, hard enough to leave a mark, as he brushed his hand across his groin in light strokes. Biting at the spot he had just kissed before licking over the sensitised skin, Shane let his hand drift lower to circle around his tight hole. 

“No one’s touched you here, have they?” Shane panted against his ear, so turned on at the thought that his glasses fogged up from his suddenly laboured breathing.  

“Fucking hell, Shane,” he moaned, pressing up against his fingers even as he turned his head away, pressing it into the pillow, almost like he was… embarrassed? 

“Are you - you’ve been nothing but a complete sexual torment to me for years, and now you’re shy?” 

“Shut up,” Ilya muttered, still turned away. “Feels weird.” 

“Well, I can always stop.” Shane pulled his hand away, grinning when Ilya snatched at it to hold him in place. 

“You said before that I could do whatever I wanted to you, that you belong to me.” Ilya was looking at him seriously now, stroking his thumb across Shane’s hand as he held it against himself. “I feel the same way. Every part of me belongs to you.” 

“Only you would find a way to say something sweet when I’m touching your ass,” Shane said, nuzzling their noses together affectionately. “I haven’t done this for someone else before, just tell me if I hurt you or anything.” 

Ilya rocked up against him. “Bet you can’t make me come.” 

The challenge was irresistible to Shane. The man really knew him so well, it was astounding. “Oh, it’s on.” Shane rolled away for a second to rifle through his drawer for the lube, warming it between his fingers before returning them to Ilya. “Did I ever tell you what I was thinking about, the first time we played on the same team at All Stars?” 

“You did not.” Ilya’s eyes were alert, sharply green as they flicked between Shane’s face and what his hand was doing. 

Starting to circle around the hole, Shane dotted little kisses to the shell of his ear. “You kissed me on the helmet after I scored a goal off your assist.” 

“Wanted to kiss you everywhere.” 

“I wanted to tackle you to the fucking ground and make you fuck me, right there on the ice.” Feeling him start to loosen up a tiny amount, Shane let just the tip of his index finger dip inside, letting Ilya’s cautious upward thrusts pull him deeper. “That’s it.” 

“God, why didn’t you just tell me?” Ilya whined, clutching at Shane’s shoulders with shaking hands. “Would have given you anything you wanted, anything at all.” 

Shane stroked across his face with his free hand, tracing the line of his nose, the soft edges of his lips. “Why do you think I got so drunk? I was trying to work up the nerve to ask.” 

Burying his face against Shane’s neck, Ilya circled his wrist and slowly pushed him forward, guiding his finger against the small bundle of nerves inside. “You giggled in my ear. I have never been so hard in my fucking life.” 

“Does it feel ok?” Shane asked, studying every minute movement of his face, determined to show Ilya the same amount of care he always showed him. 

Arching up, Ilya kissed him as he kept rocking Shane’s hand back and forth, right against a spot that made him start to shake. Finally he released his hand and let Shane take over, surrendering to his discretion as he gasped into his mouth. Shane tried to mimic what Ilya always did to him, crooking his finger in a relentless motion, feeling his own dick start to get impossibly hard at the whimpers Ilya was making, unable to help grinding against his hip. 

“It is… intense.” 

“You’ve really never let anyone do this to you?” The idea that he could give Ilya Rozanov of all people a novel sexual experience was staggering. 

“Never - ah! - trusted anyone that way. I still don’t know why you…” Ilya returned his face to the curve of Shane’s neck, nuzzling into the space like he was trying to burrow under his skin.

And suddenly Shane wanted to give him everything. “After you left me in my room, when I made you go away, I tried to touch myself like this. It didn’t feel right, it wasn’t what I needed. I got so mad I cried.” 

“Was probably six feet away, dying to give you that. I… Shane, I waited outside your door for a very long time. Couldn’t make myself move.” 

“I know,” Shane said before he could stop himself, remembering the forbidden glimpse he’d gotten of that moment. The image of Ilya standing on the other side of that door, fist clenched against the wood, was burned into his mind. More than anything, that knowledge had given him the courage to try this with him, to believe that maybe his longing wasn’t entirely one-sided. 

“You knew?” 

“I mean, I hoped. Or I wanted - I don’t know. Impossible things, or things I thought were impossible.” 

Ilya worried a kiss against his jawline, moving up to his cheek. “You asked me inside and I just couldn’t. You were drunk and I was so - had always wanted you, but not like that. Knew you would hate me in the morning if it happened that way. And couldn’t risk you hating me even more than I thought you did. But I was stuck at that fucking door, sure I would never… that you would never ask again.” 

“So sorry.” Shane made a small sound of distress, cupping his cheek as he kissed his forehead. “I’m gonna make you come now, baby.” Moving down Ilya’s body, he licked at the fine sheen of sweat covering every inch, the salt making his mouth water. The teasing way he’d made this same path earlier couldn’t have been more different this time, each kiss now tender, reverent, Shane determined to worship him. Finally he got to his dick, rubbing his face against it lovingly. Ilya was too enraptured to protest so Shane tossed his glasses aside, needing to remove any distractions from his task. As he took the swollen head into his mouth, Ilya relaxed enough for him to add a second finger, gently stretching out the tight rim as he pushed further inside. “That isn’t too much?” 

Ilya was almost incoherent, his accent thick as he replied. “Fuck, that is - such a good boy. How are you so good at everything?” His hips bucked up as he fucked into Shane’s mouth, clearly past the point of holding back. 

Looking up at him from underneath his lashes, Shane released him to lick primly around his slit, down to the base of the head. “I have a good teacher.” Taking him deep again, Shane savoured the way Ilya gripped his hair to control his rhythm, even as he squirmed alternatively away from and against his fingers, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted more. 

“Best - oh, fuck - student ever. Gold stars.” 

“Star,” Shane corrected. 

Ilya pushed his dick back into his mouth almost roughly. “No, all the stars. Every fucking one.” 

Shane pulled off, letting his dick just rest against his tongue, relentlessly stroking over his prostate as Ilya arched up, his throat bared as he let out a long, loud groan, endless ropes of cum shooting out over Shane’s mouth, dripping down his chin. Moving back up to his face, Shane was heedless of the sticky mess as he started raining kisses all over his face, thrusting against him in a mindless search for stimulation. Ilya wrapped a hand across his lower back, fingers digging in to his muscles, urging him speed up. 

“Use me, moy lyubimyy. Want you to feel good, love you.” 

“Oh god, Ilya I’m - ” Shane ground against him as he found his own release, the slick glide between their bodies just the right amount of friction to make him explode, coming all over Ilya’s stomach, his hips stuttering in little thrusts as he worked through the aftershocks. Collapsing over him, they lay together until their rapid breathing slowed and Shane could once again form a rational thought. “That was so fucking hot,” he said, pressing a kiss to Ilya’s forehead, deciding that was his favourite part of his body to kiss. Except his lips. And maybe his dick. Ok, his third favourite part. 

Ilya wrapped his arms around his waist, pushing his head against Shane’s chest. “I love you so much. Please never close the door again.” 

Shane held him close, dropping kisses into his hair. “Love you too. More than anything. I won’t ever shut you out again, I promise.” 

“Good, because I will kick it down this time,” Ilya muttered, lips brushing over Shane’s heart. “Now I know what is waiting on the other side.”

-

The other side of the bed was empty, pale gold sunlight streaming over the space. Shane was relieved that the sheets still felt warm under his hand, assuring him that Ilya couldn’t be too far away. He went to find him, absently pulling a blanket off the edge of the bed to wrap around his shoulders. Ilya wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room and Shane was just starting to panic when he spotted his familiar outline through the glass doors. 

Shane hurried to where he was sitting on the edge of the lake, draping the blanket over both of them as he sat down, huddling close and tutting in displeasure as he felt the chill of his skin. “You’re freezing.” 

“Wanted a cigarette,” he replied with a shrug. Moving closer, he shuffled them around until Shane was pressed against his chest, caged between his legs. 

Shane sighed happily at the closeness, then looked around curiously. “I don’t see any cigarettes.” 

“My boyfriend told me I have to quit.” Ilya rested his chin on Shane’s shoulder, rubbing a hand across his bare chest. 

“He sounds annoying.” 

“Yes.” Shane felt Ilya’s grin against his shoulder as he halfheartedly pretended to squirm away from him. “But he loves me, so…” 

“Yeah, he does.”

A half-moon of liquid sun was just starting to rise over the purple horizon, the colours blending together and dancing across the lake in yellow and pink sparkles. They sat in contemplative silence for a long time, their breathing mingling with the sound of gentle birdsong and lapping water. The memories of his previous life were fading, but the heavy sadness of them still lingered sometimes, and it wasn’t easy to shake off the intense fear that had plagued the beginning of this life either. But here, in this moment, he could take a deep breath, expanding every inch of his lungs with icy, life affirming air, then exhale steadily, feeling the brush of Ilya behind him with each movement. Shane was alive, truly alive, rooted in his body and anchored to his place in the world, for the first time in his life. It was possibly the most at peace he had ever felt. 

“This place is very beautiful. Special.” Ilya feathered little kisses along the line of his shoulder. “We should stay forever, I think.” 

Shane murmured in agreement, smiling as Ilya nuzzled into his neck. “It would be nice. But pre-season training will start soon. And we’ll have to find you somewhere to live in Ottawa before too long.” 

“Still think I should just retire. Or maybe you sign to Ottawa as well, then we can be together all the time.” 

Freezing at the unexpected suggestion, Shane forced himself to relax, turning back to look at him. “You really think that would be possible?” In the past, leaving Montreal would have been unthinkable, a complete betrayal. But the lectures and judgement from the management staff and his coaches following the reveal of their relationship was already starting to make Shane uneasy, sure his return for the next season would not be without difficulty. He would choose it a million times if it meant he had Ilya, but that didn’t mean he could never consider other options.

Ilya shrugged in that nonchalant way that Shane was beginning to understand meant he cared very much about what he was going to say next. “Ottawa is shitty team. They would go crazy at the idea of having both of us, even if we love having gay sex with each other.” 

“Don’t be gross,” Shane said, nudging him with his shoulder. “I won’t be a free agent again until next year, but maybe then we could start looking into it. Playing together would be… well, another impossible dream coming true, right?” 

Ilya guided his face back to kiss him, unexpectedly passionate in the way he tugged at Shane’s lips, sucking at the top and bottom in quick succession, giving him a teasing lick with his tongue before pulling back. “Shane, I was… would never expect you to leave the Metros. I know how much you love your team.”

“I mean, yeah, but I definitely love you more. And to have a real future, we’re gonna have to make our crazy schedules align somehow. I’ll do whatever I have to for this to work.” 

“I will too.” 

Shane felt his hand snake between their bodies, coming up to hold his cross pendant, the warm metal pressing against his back. Along with everything else, the image of Irina was disappearing more every day, until Shane would have barely remembered what she looked like, if he didn’t have a living reminder pressed against him. They were so alike, both so beautiful, charming, captivating in an effortless way that someone could try for a million years to replicate and never manage. Shane sometimes sensed an undercurrent of sadness in Ilya that echoed his mother’s, but he took comfort in the fact that he had somehow been gifted with an innate ability to keep Ilya Rozanov alive and in the same universe as he was. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” Shane replied. Ilya could ask him for the moon and he’d find a way to get it for him. 

“How did you know that something would happen to me on a plane? Didn’t put it together until everything was settled, but since you… since we have been together, it is like you were always warning me.” 

His mind almost ached as he searched for an answer, unable to come up with anything concrete. “I’m honestly not sure. Just a - a feeling, I guess. Maybe someone was looking out for you, out there in the universe.”

Ilya was silent for a long beat before speaking, his voice unusually cautious. “You really think so?” 

“Yes. I don’t believe in heaven, really, but I believe that someone would love you enough to keep you safe from an unfair fate. Of course they would, how could anyone not love you?” Ilya tightened his arms around him. Shane whimpered unhappily when he felt the tears against his shoulder, not wanting him to ever be sad again. Maybe that wasn’t possible, but he would always try to make Ilya as happy as he made Shane. 

“What about soulmates, do you believe in those?” 

Reaching up, Shane brushed his fingertips through his hair, letting the curls loop around his fingers. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” 

“You are mine. Every part of you was made for me.” 

“That I can believe.” 

Far in the distance, birds in a large formation made their way across the sky, the black shapes of their bodies blotting out the sun for a quick moment. Shane was going to point out what kind they were, but figured that would just reveal what a giant dork he was. 

“Bet you know what kind of birds they are.” 

The infuriating, perfect man really did know him, even the parts Shane had tried to hide. “Loons. Probably migrating now summer is nearly over.” 

“Mm, tell me more, Hollander,” Ilya said, his voice low and oddly hoarse. 

“You really want to know?” Shane asked doubtfully. 

Ilya nodded against his neck, the motion dragging his lips across Shane’s skin. “Your bird facts are very sexy.” 

Shane grabbed at his hand, bringing it up to kiss the palm, completely unable to believe his luck. Maybe he really did believe in soulmates, after all. There could be no other explanation for this strange alchemy between them, the way all of his awkward or embarrassing parts never seemed to push Ilya away, only draw him impossibly closer. “Loons mate for life. When they find the right partner, they stay together forever.” 

“Smart birds.” 

They watched them rising and falling with the wind, until they disappeared into the distant horizon, on their way home to brave out the winter chill together. 

Chapter End Notes

nearly the last chapter!! I enjoy reading all your theories but this is the ending I always planned, to me as I said the plane will always be a turning point for them, but like in TLG Ilya just had to really have something to live for, y'know?
that being said I never liked that Shane didn't go and see him after the plane in TLG, maybe it's more 'realistic' but I'm here for romance not realism lol.
most loons do not actually mate for life, but it is a commonly held misconception about them, so I ask you to graciously suspend your disbelief. also Shane is a hockey player not an ornithologist so maybe he's just wrong idk. and also if Shane and Ilya were loons they obviously would.
I hope you enjoyed!

chapter title from But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift, David actually loves Ilya but in this case I think the daddy is the metros and homophobic hockey world at large haha.

Chapter 7: I wouldn't mind right here

Chapter Notes

And when I die, I will live in that moment so much I won’t be able to remember if it was real, or I just dreamt it. And it won’t matter. None of it mattered, and all of it mattered. And the big ship sails on. 

💫A comment on a YouTube video by user Morrisey35 that has profoundly affected this author 

David Hollander died six years after that fateful playoff round, six years after Shane and Ilya fell in love. There was a whisper of memory in Shane’s mind suggesting that he had experienced this before, but it didn’t make the pain any less visceral. Those six years had all but erased his previous life, until Shane could have only said it existed, that it had happened, but he couldn’t recall anything specific from that time. Just a vast, aching loneliness whenever he thought about it too hard. Guilt plagued him when his father was dying, sure that if he had been able to face that despair he could have remembered how to save David from his fate. Somehow his dad had known exactly what to say to make him feel better, Shane discovering that as he had shown David more of himself, he also discovered more about the man who raised him, until they didn’t struggle at all to communicate as they had in the past. 

“Some things are meant to happen, kid. Maybe this is just my fate. But god am I glad for the time I got. I wish I could have more, but that only speaks to how spectacular my life has been. Being with your mother, with you, and Ilya. And now seeing you with your own family. My beautiful sons, I’m so proud of how brave you’ve both been.” Those had been his words, in the last proper conversation Shane ever had with him. The beauty and precious truth of them sustained him in the dark days ahead. 

The funeral was held at the lake by his childhood home, David’s last remains sprinkled across a surface so calm it looked like a mirror, reflecting the clear blue of the sky above. The ashes were a trail of silvery dust, slowly spreading until they merged with the water, going wherever they needed to go for David to be at peace and free from earthly concerns. Shane hoped it was nice, wherever he was. 

Everyone had moved back inside after that, to eat and drink and say useless, kind things to each other. Shane knew he should be in there with them, supporting his mother, doing the right thing. But instead he sat on the shore of the lake with his daughter and showed her how to make wishes on dandelions. The baby had swept into their lives like a tiny hurricane just over a year ago and now Shane clutched her against his chest, so incredibly grateful for her, especially on a day like today, and so glad that she had gotten to spend time with her grandad before they lost him. 

“See, Rina, you blow like this and off they go to grant your wish,” Shane explained, helping her hold the green stem in her tiny hands. Leaning down, he pressed kisses to her dark hair, trying to hide his tears because he knew it would upset her. “Dad will make sure they all come true.” 

“You should believe him, solynshko. Your dad is very determined.” Ilya sat next to him on the grass and it was all Shane could do not to collapse against him. 

“I’m sorry, I know I should - ”

“No,” Ilya said instantly, wrapping his arms around Shane and the baby, sheltering them with his entire body. “There is no should in this situation, sweetheart.” 

Shane felt his chin start to tremble as he held back the sob trying to rip through his chest. Burying his head against Ilya’s shoulder, he felt the tears start to escape, unable to conceal his grief from the person he was closest to in the world. “I’m actually like, completely not okay. Just so you know,” he mumbled. 

“I will take you home. You need to rest.” 

“I can’t, my mum needs me.” 

Ilya stroked a gentle hand down his cheek, then kissed his temple. “You have been so strong for everyone all day, and all the days before. The funeral and the eulogy were all perfect because of you. I spoke to your mum and she agrees, you need some time for yourself. She has rest of your family for today, they will take care of her. Let me take care of you.” 

Holding her closer, Shane rubbed circles across his daughter’s back. “Everyone will want to see the baby.” 

Ilya smiled down at her as she wrapped her hand around his outstretched finger. It was his left hand and seeing the gold band around his ring finger still gave Shane a deep sense of satisfaction, even years after he put it there. “She is our daughter. Rina belongs to us, not anyone else. You can be a little selfish with her today, ok?” 

The permission, granted in that beloved voice, felt like a weight had been lifted from Shane’s chest. Ilya always gave him the most wonderful freedom to be imperfect, to not do the right thing every second of his life. The tears began to fall in earnest as he collapsed into Ilya’s chest, sobbing as he finally let himself ask for what he wanted. 

“Please take me home, Ilya. I’m so tired.” 

Despite the aching misery of the day, their cottage was still so warm, bathed in the golden light of a summer afternoon, making every surface gleam like the place was welcoming them back. Ilya took over everything, carrying Rina inside, getting the bags, finding the front door key and tutting when Shane tried to do anything to help. Once they were inside, he guided Shane to his favourite spot, a soft couch next to a large window that overlooked the lake. Shane almost protested, wanting to be somewhere as dark as he felt, but there was an unexpected comfort in the gentle sunlight brushing over his face as Ilya wrapped him in soft blankets and murmured for him to rest. 

Everything felt slow and hazy as Shane watched the small whirl of chaos Ilya brought wherever he went, the entire household circling around him like it usually did. Their baby wanting his attention, squealing in delight as he played with her, their two dogs yipping at his feet, wanting to feel the love as well. The quiet hum of music and gentle rustling of Ilya in the kitchen were the last things Shane heard before he slipped into deep, dreamless sleep. 

Shane didn’t dream much anymore, and if he did it was about mundane things, like getting lost on the way to the rink or missing the bus for school. And he never woke up crying and reaching out for Ilya, because he was nearly always right next to him, and if he wasn’t, Shane knew that they wouldn’t be separated for long. Since admitting their feelings for each other, it was like they became two halves of one soul, a complete sentence, Shane and Ilya, Ilya and Shane. It was hard to believe Shane had once resented their names constantly being mentioned in the same breath, but now the association seemed as natural as breathing. 

It was as though the world turned upside down all those years ago and now whenever Shane woke, it was closer to a dream than real life. His least favourite dream, the one where his deepest, most secret longing for a family was played out like a movie reel. But now, even in the middle of the nightmare of losing his dad, it had become his favourite. Because it wasn’t a dream, not anymore. It had really happened. Shane had been brave enough to reach for what he wanted. Shane and Ilya had a family together. Shane never had to wake up and lose him ever again. 

“Moy lyubimyy, you should keep resting.” Ilya was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, feet pressed against Shane’s, the point of contact making him feel reassuringly tethered when his grief was pulling him apart. 

Shane looked across at him, studying the familiar lines of his face. There were a few extra creases around his eyes and he wore his hair a little longer now, the curls soft and perfect with the sunset behind them. From one long, considered glance, Shane could tell exactly what he was feeling. Pain, both for Shane, and for his own loss, because David had become his father too. Concern for his comfort, and a certain set to his jaw that told Shane he would soon be nagging him to eat something. And love. So much love, it still took Shane’s breath away, years after he had learned how to spot it. 

Rina was draped across Ilya’s chest, absentmindedly playing with his gold chain as she slowly blinked her doe eyes, clearly close to falling asleep. “I missed you,” Shane said quietly. 

“Baby missed you too, she does not like when I read her bedtime story.” 

“She likes everything you do.” Shane leaned forward to stroke the back of his fingers down her arm, inhaling deeply to catch the powdery scent of her skin after a bath. 

Ilya snatched at his fingers, bringing them to his lips. “Tell me when her freckles will show up again.” 

Shane smiled, shaking his head at the question. His dad had told Ilya about little Shane’s worry over not having freckles like Yuna, and the silly story he had come up with to reassure him. Ilya loved it so much he made David tell it repeatedly, at every family gathering or event, even their wedding. Shane felt a wrench in his chest as he realised it fell to him to tell the story now. “Mine didn’t come until I was three or four.” 

“Why?” Ilya was grinning at him crookedly, making Shane want to burrow into him and never let go. 

“Dalmatian puppies don’t get their spots until they grow up, and neither do Hollander puppies.” 

Ilya laughed heartily, like he always did. “Your dad is very funny man.” 

Shane traced his smile with his fingertips, the curve now intimately known to him, so ingrained that he was sure he could map it from memory. “He’s your dad, too. He certainly passed his stupid sense of humour down to you.” 

“Ya tebya lyublyu, my Shane. Cannot ever tell you how much it means that you chose me, how much I love you for this family you have given me.” 

“I’d choose you a million times, in every universe.” 

“And people say you are not romantic.” 

Shane rolled his eyes, but the effect was probably ruined by the little sob he let out as Ilya nuzzled against his hand. They sat together for a long moment after that, both pretending not to notice the tears streaming down their faces. Eventually, Rina started to wriggle around, obviously restless for a proper sleep. Ilya stood and gently rocked her as he moved towards her bedroom, looking over at his shoulder at Shane expectantly.

Shane followed him. 

Chapter End Notes

so we come to the end. I have been both frustrated and very happy writing this weird little story. Like Ilya, I tend to deflect serious feelings with humour, but I really wanted to challenge myself to write something a bit more introspective and prose heavy, with a focus on character study, especially for Shane my beloved. some of my own feelings and contemplations about life and death definitely made it into the story!
As always thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to comment or even leave kudos, it is lovely to read theories and share my crazy feelings about this wonderful ship with you all, I will try to reply to comments as I can 💗

I hope you have enjoyed this, reader, and I hope you can be brave like Shane and go after what you want, without having to get sent back in time to do it!!

chapter title comes from Dan by Noah Kahan, probably the song that most inspired this story, though his whole latest album was on repeat while I was writing.