Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova, Shane Hollander & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Hayden Pike, Svetlana Vetrova, Brad Hammersmith, Victor St. Simon, Connors (Heated Rivalry)

Additional Tags:

Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Svetlana Vetrova Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Good Friend Svetlana Vetrova, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like A Dog, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Fluff and Smut, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Panic Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Teasing, Shane Hollander Speaks Russian, Bottom Shane Hollander/Top Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Competitive Shane Hollander, Sappy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov Relationship Timeline Reveal

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows

Collections:

Heather rivalary Fics

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-21 Words: 22,017 Chapters: 10/10

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Summary

What if Ilya has a panic attack in the locker room after getting the news of his father's death after the Winter 2017 Montreal @ Boston game and no one can figure out what is going on? What if, while scrambling for answers, Cliff Marleau has the brilliant idea to call Jane?

Or,

What if Shane and Ilya's deeper emotional connection begins just before Ilya leaves for his father's funeral in Russia instead of on a phone call while they are separated by oceans?

Notes

Update: There’s a new epub cover for this fic made by the talented Skargasm! You can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91651681

Title refers to the poem by E. E. Cummings "i carry your heart with me(i carry it in".

 

I have read a lot of fics where Shane is particularly submissive and sort of...delicate? in all of his interactions with Ilya and other hockey players. In my headcanon, Shane is a fellow jock and MLH captain who can hold his own with Ilya and with other MLH players. He's clever and funny when he can settle in and find his confidence. I tried to keep everyone in this story as canon-typical as possible, but my interpretations of my own headcanons will come through here. I also have written the boys as probably more emotionally intelligent and in tune with how they are feeling than they appear in the books and TV shows, just for fun, lol.

Chapter 1: One

The Boston Raiders filed back into their locker room after the second period of their game against the Montreal Metros. They were currently tied 3-3 with one period left to play. The guys were a bit raucous, hyped up to win this one after their captain’s impassioned speech earlier. Ilya Rozanov was in a buoyant mood. 

For the very first time, he had convinced Shane Hollander to meet up with him before a game, and he had managed to make him come twice in less than 2 hours, their stolen time together before this matchup. It was a home matchup for Ilya, and he fully intended on convincing Shane to come back to his house again after the game and spend the night. Neither of them had a game for two days, and the Metros didn’t fly out until almost 5:00pm tomorrow—nearly an entire free day in Boston. Ilya intended to take every minute of Shane’s free night and day that the Canadian would allow him. 

Ilya plopped down in his stall and wiped his sweaty face with a towel. He tore open a snickers bar with his teeth and was munching on it while listening to Cliff Marleau excitedly rave about a new Korean corn dog place that was put in near the Boston Arena. 

“Rozy, you have to try it! It’s a hot dog, dipped in corn bread batter, deep fried, rolled in potatoes, deep fried again, rolled in sugar, and then topped with spicy mayonnaise and shit!” Marleau waved his huge hands around while he talked. 

Ilya grimaced theatrically while he chewed. “Marly, you North Americans call that food?” 

“Come on, Roz, I know you would love it!” He clapped Ilya on the back. 

Privately, Ilya was intrigued. What would Shane think of it if I ordered one and got it delivered after the game when he comes back to my place? Ilya tried to picture the look of disgust on Shane’s face and the lecture he would give Ilya about not eating trash during the season. He made up his mind to order one tonight. 

Ilya smiled. “Maybe I will try it. But if it’s terrible I’m blaming you!”

Just then, Ilya’s phone buzzed in his stall. He picked it up to look at the screen. Alexei again. Ilya sighed and silenced the ringer.

What the hell could he want? 

He had called Ilya three times today, but never left a voicemail or sent a text. Ilya had silenced it and let it ring twice while he was with Shane this afternoon. He really did not want to talk to his brother, not today. Not when he finally had Shane starting to accept little tidbits of affection, toying with the possibility of…well, Ilya didn’t exactly know what. 

Ilya wanted more. Every time he tried to get Shane out of his system once and for all, instead of feeling sated, Ilya wanted more. He could never get enough, and each time he took more, he was no longer satisfied by whatever they had been doing previously. 

Which was why he was going to text Hollander after the game and invite him back again. And if he could get him to come over, he planned to ask him to stay the night. Ilya never begged anyone for anything, but he was starting to feel like he was not above begging Hollander for this, to stay, to be his for just one night. 

Intermission was nearly over. As Captain, Ilya needed to say a few more words to get the boys pumped up and ready to go out for the final period and play their hearts out. He needed this win. 

Ilya stood up. He pulled on his Captain Rozanov mask. “Oke everyone listen up!”

He got everyone pumped. They were rabid to get back out there and fuck some Metros up. They clamored out of the locker room back towards the ice, whooping and hollering. Ilya smirked, bringing up the rear. 

With the sounds of his teammates scrambling out the doors, he did not hear his phone start to ring again. 

After a brutal 20 minutes of play, the Raiders crashed back into the locker room, victorious. Hammersmith had scored the final goal off an assist from Rozanov, and they’d won at the very end of regulation, 4-3. 

They shouted, they celebrated, they made plans to go clubbing and drinking. Normally Ilya would be right there along with them, going out and partying until all hours, especially when they had a two day break after this game. But he had a very compelling reason to stay in tonight. He shouted and celebrated and clapped guys on the back, but carefully avoided committing to join his teammates anywhere to continue celebrating the win over their division rivals. 

He untied his skates, shrugged out of his jersey and started to pull off his pads. Ilya picked up his phone to text Shane and ask him to come over again. When he flipped it over he saw he had 3 more missed calls from Alexei. Cursing under his breath, he called Alexei back right there from the locker room. 

Alexei picked up on the 4th ring. 

<What the fuck do you want?> Ilya bit out in Russian. 

<Oh, he finally deigns to answer> Alexei sang back tauntingly. 

<Alexei—> Ilya started. He was so fucking tired of his brother’s games. 

<Papa is dead. Will you be here to bury him?> Alexei was still taunting, still expecting him to fail. 

<Da. I will come.> Ilya said woodenly. 

The line went dead. 

Ilya sat heavily in his stall, still half-dressed for the game he just played, his head hanging. His phone fell out of his hands and hit the floor, face down. He felt light-headed and his ears were ringing. He thought weakly about all the preparations he needed to do, calling his coach, Svetlana, and oh god, Shane. Shane knew his father was sick but had no idea it had been getting a lot worse lately and now Papa was dead and Ilya had to take care of everything. 

How the fuck was he going to explain this one? 

He couldn’t. So he couldn’t text Shane. He couldn’t have him for tonight. 

Ilya inwardly cursed his father. Papa would be so happy to hear that he was preventing Ilya from getting what he wanted. He would be glad to prevent Ilya from seeing a man, but also he relished in denying Ilya anything that would bring him pleasure, as a form of hardening him up. His father’s final “fuck you”, even in death. 

Ilya sat up and tried to stand. Colors of his teammates’ black and yellow jerseys and shorts and pads swam before his eyes. The ringing in his ears was getting louder. Next thing he knew, he was sitting down hard on the floor.

—————

The Metros entered the guest locker room at Boston relatively quietly, somber about their narrow defeat against the Raiders. They had played hard, and had gotten a bit of an unlucky bounce in the neutral zone that became a turnover that ended up on Rozanov’s stick, who passed to Hammersmith for the game-winning goal. 

Shane was frustrated by the loss, by his team’s sloppy puck possession in the third period, but it wasn’t like it had been a blowout. He thought of Ilya, and how he will probably gloat about correctly predicting his team’s win tonight. Shane smiled to himself that he was even having the thought of seeing Rozanov again tonight. 

He checked his phone as soon as he got to his stall. Nothing from “Lily” yet. He was probably celebrating with the team. He set the phone face down again and started efficiently stripping out of his gear. When there was still no text after he’d piled everything neatly to be cleaned by the support staff, he hurried to go take a shower. 

Shane made quick work of his normal shower routine. Was he going to shower four times today? Once after his morning workout, once after the game, and twice in one day with Rozanov? 

Shit. 

Shane forced down thoughts of his shower with Rozanov at his house earlier to avoid getting hard in the locker room. He recited hockey stats in his head—Stanley Cup-winning teams in reverse order from most recent to decades ago—to center himself and calm his mind. 

By the time Shane was done with his shower and getting dressed, Ilya still hadn’t messaged him. That was sorta weird. He’d said he wanted to see Shane again tonight when they had met up earlier in the afternoon. It was only 7:00pm right now because they’d played an afternoon game, so there would be plenty of time to see each other. 

Shane was briefly annoyed by Rozanov’s flakiness, then he stopped himself. Ilya didn’t make a lot of promises, and was often pretty coy about meetups. But he also followed through when he said he was going to. Shane had been thrown off when Rozanov invited him over before a game, and even more thrown off when he had offered him a cold ginger ale from his own fridge. They had lingered when Shane really had to go get back to the hotel. Shane had skipped a lot of his pre-game rituals to spend this time with Rozanov, which the other man had acknowledged and thanked him for. It might’ve been a little in jest, but Shane was feeling like this was a departure from their usual meetups. He wondered if it was also killing Rozanov, the weeks and months they spent apart between meetups. He wondered if maybe Ilya also wanted more. 

He’s probably busy with his team. There’s still time. Shane told himself.

When there was still no text from Ilya as Shane was grabbing his bag to head back to the team bus that would take them to the hotel, he caved. 

Congrats on the win 

He typed it out, then sent it to “Lily” before he could second-guess himself. Shane blew out a breath and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“You okay?” Shane’s best friend Hayden Pike was packing his bag haphazardly in the stall next to Shane’s. 

“Uh yeah, I’m fine. A little frustrated,” Shane gave Hayden a tight smile.

“Saaaaame dude. Did you see the shit-eating grin on Rozanov’s face when he poked that puck away from Comeau? Fuck, that asshole drives me nuts!” Hayden slapped his zipped-up bag for emphasis.

Shane laughed awkwardly. “Oh, uh, sure. He’s an asshole, all right.”

—————

“Roz? Rozy? Hey! Can you hear me?” Cliff Marleau waved his hand in front of his captain’s face. 

Rozanov did not respond. 

He was sitting on the floor in front of his stall, half-undressed from the game, staring at the floor a few feet in front of him and wearing an unreadable expression on his face. Rozanov did not appear to be seeing or hearing any of the guys celebrating or goofing around in front of him. Just a few minutes ago he had assisted on the game-winning goal on the ice and was yelling with the rest of them—completely normal. 

What the hell had happened since he got in here? Marleau wondered. 

“Connie—Connors, did you see what happened to Roz?” Marleau grabbed the other man by the arm. 

“Look at him. He’s not even responding to me talking to him.” Marleau gestured at Rozanov, who was still sitting on the floor, unmoving, wearing half his pads, his shorts, socks, compression shirt, and untied skates.

“Oh shit,” Connors said, looking at his captain. “Where’s Hammers?” He looked around the room and spotted Hammersmith refilling his water bottle from a jug in the corner. 

“Hammers!” He called, and the other man turned. Connors wordlessly indicated Rozanov on the floor, not wanting to draw too much attention. Hammersmith looked Rozanov up and down and knit his brows together. He crossed the room in three strides, stopping right in front of his captain. 

The three men huddled around Rozanov to block him from view. Whatever was going on was not good, Marleau thought.

“Let’s get everyone else out of here. Roz should have some privacy and maybe the quiet will help,” Hammersmith said, after trying and failing to get Rozanov’s attention the same way the other two men had tried. 

Connors and Hammersmith shepherded everyone towards the door, telling them to get out there and celebrate the win or go home. Most of the guys left without another thought, whooping and hollering out into the early evening. 

Victor St. Simon stopped them. “What are you guys doing? Who’s sitting on the floor over there?” He craned his neck trying to see around Marleau’s hulking figure. 

Hammersmith sighed. One more person would be okay, and St. Simon was a trustworthy veteran who was at least somewhat friendly with Rozanov outside of hockey. 

“It’s Roz,” Hammersmith said. “We don’t know what happened between the ice and the locker room but he sat down on the floor in the middle of taking off his gear and he’s not responding to anyone or anything. Just sitting there.”

Now it was just Marleau, Hammersmith, St. Simon, and Connors with Rozanov in the locker room. They stood in a semi-circle over their captain, mulling what to do.

“Hey, is that his phone there?” St. Simon pointed to Rozanov’s phone sticking out from under his shin on the floor. “Maybe we could call someone for him?”

“Who would we call? He never talks about his family.” Connors said uncertainly. 

Marleau bent to pick up the phone. The lock screen showed 7 missed calls today from a name written in Cyrillic, and a text from Jane, which read: Congrats on the win.  

Jane. Was this the Montreal chick Roz had been texting for years?

“Maybe we should call the Jane he’s been texting for forever? The one he smiles at his phone all the time for? I think she lives in Montreal, but maybe she’ll have some idea what to do or who to call?” Marleau asked the other men. 

“Might as well try,” Connors said. “We’re not really getting anywhere by trying to talk to him.” 

Marleau crouched down and held the phone in front of Rozanov’s face to unlock it. He clicked the text from Jane to open her contact and hit the little phone icon to call her. Then he stood with the other men and put the phone on speaker as it started to ring.

Chapter 2: Two

Chapter Summary

Shane felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw “Lily” flash on the screen. Grinning, Shane quickly jogged away from Hayden and out of earshot of the rest of the team before answering and putting the phone to his ear. 

“Hey, why didn’t you text me back? That was a great assist you had earlier. Lucky bounce in the neutral zone. Did you want to…get together again?” He said breathlessly. 

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Rozanov? Can you hear me?” Shane said quietly, his hand cupped over the phone.

“Hollander?” A male voice that was vaguely familiar but definitely not Ilya’s finally came over the line. 

Shane’s blood ran cold.

Chapter Notes

Hurt/comfort, panic attacks, but nothing too graphic here.

Just as he was walking out of the Boston arena, Shane felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw “Lily” flash on the screen. Grinning, Shane quickly jogged away from Hayden and out of earshot of the rest of the team before answering and putting the phone to his ear. 

“Hey, why didn’t you text me back? That was a great assist you had earlier. Lucky bounce in the neutral zone. Did you want to…get together again?” He said breathlessly. 

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Rozanov? Can you hear me?” Shane said quietly, his hand cupped over the phone.

“Hollander?” A male voice that was vaguely familiar but definitely not Ilya’s finally came over the line. 

Shane’s blood ran cold. Shit shit shit. Not knowing what else to do, he smashed the button to hang up. He stood in a darkened corner of the parking lot, breathing hard, mind racing. 

Someone had Ilya’s phone. Why did someone else have Ilya’s phone? And they recognized him, which maybe means it was one of his teammates…shit.

Shane’s thought spiral was interrupted by his phone ringing again. 

Lily.

Shane was clearly not going to answer. He let it ring to voicemail. His palms were sweating and he was still hiding in this corner of the parking lot, rooted to the spot, breathing like he’d be running.

Call coming again. Lily. Shane hung up before it could ring twice. Again. Lily. He stared at it, letting it go to voicemail again. 

A text came in.

Jane, please answer. Something is wrong with Rozanov. 

Forcing down his panic, Shane scrambled to call back. The call was answered on the first ring.

“What do you want?” He bit out. 

“Uh. This is Cliff Marleau. I—I don’t know why Roz has you saved as Jane in his phone and right now I really don’t care. Roz is sitting on the floor of the locker room and staring at the ground. He’s not responding when we talk to him. He was normal when we came in and then he sat down in the middle of getting out of his gear and we don’t know why.” Marleau rushed out. 

Before Shane could respond, another voice cut in.

“Hi, uh, you’re on speakerphone. This is Hammersmith. Marly unlocked Roz’s phone because it was on the ground under his leg and we’re trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. When we picked up the phone there were a bunch of missed calls from a Russian name and one text from you from a few minutes ago, so we decided to try you.”

Shane’s blood was rushing in his ears. 

“Hello? Are you still there?” Marleau (Shane thought), asked. 

“Uh. Yeah, sorry,” Shane mumbled, still rooted to the spot. He meant to ask what was going on again but he couldn’t get any more words out past the lump in his throat. 

“Look, Hollander, I’m sorry. I swear I don’t care what’s going on with whatever Roz is doing with keeping you under a different name in his phone. I just—do you know anything?” Marleau sounded almost as panicked as Shane felt. 

Shane heard more voices muttering low in the background on the call. The Raiders really loved their captain. They were worried about him. Shane briefly wondered if anyone on the Metros would even notice if he had a panic attack in the locker room. He took one deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling himself. 

“Where is he?” Shane heard himself say. 

“We’re still in the locker room. Where are you?” Marleau asked. 

“I’m outside in the parking lot. Uh, I’ll find a way in?” Shane took a few hesitant steps back towards the building, feeling a little like he might have a heart attack, but worried enough for Ilya that he had to keep going. 

“Shane! Shane, where are you going?” Hayden spotted him and waved him over. 

Shane felt another wave of panic but forced himself to keep walking. He held the phone away from his ear and called back “I have to take care of something, Hayd, don’t wait for me!”

“Ooh, is that Lily on the phone?” Hayden teased. “Have fun, man!” He waved Shane off. 

“Come back around the east side of the building, I’ll send Connors to hold the door open and wait for you,” Shane heard Marleau say on the line, then paused. “Uh, thanks, Hollander, for picking up again.” 

“See you in a minute,” Shane replied curtly. He ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket, blowing out a breath. Okay, feet, move, he thought.  He pulled his hood up around his head, grateful that he was wearing a plain blue hoodie and not a Metros one. He walked quickly with his bag slung over his shoulder. 

In the fading light he spotted a door open under an unmarked awning and a guy in a hoodie standing in the doorway, propping it open with his foot. 

“Hollander?” The man’s voice called. 

“Yes, um, hi,” Shane said uncertainly, but he walked toward the doorway anyway. 

“It’s Connors,” the guy said as he approached, and stepped out of the way to let Shane in past him. 

Shane slipped into the building and Connors closed the door, taking a sharp right and walking quickly down the lower level concourse. It was empty and quiet except for their echoing footsteps on the concrete floor. 

“You and Roz are…friends?” Connors asked as he led the way to the locker room. 

Shane pressed his lips together. “Uh, yeah, something like that,” he said finally, heart hammering in his chest. 

Connors just nodded in response. “I really hope you can help us figure this out, man. He’s like catatonic,” the Raiders player said as he turned down a short hallway. 

Shane wracked his brain. He’d never seen Ilya anywhere near that sort of state and nothing immediately came to mind for why he would get that way. He felt the panic crawling up his throat again and he forced himself to swallow. He could not get sick here, he just couldn’t. 

Then they were standing in front of the Boston Raiders locker room door. Connors grabbed the handle and yanked it open. Shane took a deep breath and blew it out, feeling like he was stepping into a lion’s den. 

When Shane entered, he saw that the Raiders had mostly cleared out of the locker room. There were three men standing in the middle of the room, sort of huddled together. Shane recognized them as Marleau, Hammersmith, and St. Simon. Canadian, American, Canadian, respectively, and all Raiders veterans. 

They looked up when they heard the door open, and broke apart their huddle, revealing what they’d been gathered around. 

Ilya was sitting on the floor with a blank, unreadable expression on his face, staring into space, apparently unaware of the people around him. He was still wearing a lot of his gear, including his untied skates. His only movement was his fingers worrying with the hem of his shorts. 

Shane’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Hollander! Dude, uh, thanks for coming to try to help us,” Marleau said, a little awkwardly. “Are you guys…friends? Do you know what might be happening?”

“No. I, uh, I don’t know,” Shane answered honestly. He dropped his bag on the ground and walked toward Ilya, heart still hammering in his chest as he crossed the floor of the Boston Raiders locker room alone. Despite just finishing a brutal game against each other, none of these guys looked like they wanted to hurt Shane, the Metros captain, though. They were all just worriedly looking at Ilya. 

“Rozanov?” Shane called out as he approached, his voice slightly shaking. No response. 

Shane knelt down in front of Ilya. Acutely aware of the Raiders’ eyes on them both, he carefully put his hand on Ilya’s arm in between his elbow pad and arm guard in what he hoped looked like a platonic gesture. 

“Ilya?” He tried again. 

Ilya blinked slowly and took a deep breath, seeming to hold it. 

Shane moved his hand on Ilya’s arm, again hoping that it just looked like a friend rubbing another friend’s arm to get their attention when they weren’t responding. 

Ilya let his breath out slowly and moved his head to look at Shane, but his eyes were glassy and unfocused. 

“Hey Ilya, it’s Shane,” Shane said softly, ears reddening at the use of their first names, knowing the Raiders were still listening and watching. “Can you hear me?” He kept rubbing Ilya’s arm between the pads, tracing slow circles with his fingers. 

Ilya, gazing a little past Shane’s right side, nodded slowly. 

“Hollander, how did you do that?” Marleau was staring at them. Shane ignored him. 

“That’s good, keep listening to my voice, okay?”

Ilya nodded again. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Shane asked, continuing to pet Ilya’s arm, looking him up and down. 

Ilya shook his head slowly.

The Raiders continued to stand around them, worried looks on their faces but keeping their questions to themselves. Shane was grateful. Ilya was clearly overwhelmed about something. 

“He had a bunch of missed calls from a Russian phone number that I saw when I picked up his phone,” Marleau offered uncertainly. 

Shane looked back at Ilya, a cold pit settling in his stomach. Ilya hadn’t reacted when Marleau spoke, still staring at the floor past Shane’s shoulder. It would have to be Shane to do some more probing, but he had a sinking feeling what this might be. 

“Your father?” Shane murmured. 

Ilya’s eyes snapped to Shane’s, wide and steely blue. The rest of his face bore little other expression, a blank mask he was trying to hold in place, but his eyes were so full of pain. He nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

Shane tightened his grip on Ilya’s arm and Ilya made a very soft sound. A single tear leaked out of his right eye. 

Shane decided he did not care where they were or who was watching. He walked his knees closer to Ilya and slowly brought his arms around him so as not to startle him. He gathered Ilya’s head and upper body as close as he could in their awkward position on the ground. Shane got one hand in between the upper chest/back pads and the yoke of his lower body pads and settled it on Ilya’s sweaty back, trying to give what he hoped was reassuring pressure. He resisted the urge to kiss the top of Ilya’s head. 

Shane was pretty sure Ilya was reacting this way because his brother had called to tell him their father had passed away, but he wanted to double check before he said that to the Raiders. He held Ilya a little tighter before speaking. 

“Is he—?” Shane let the word get stuck in his throat. 

“Dead,” Ilya said hoarsely, barely a whisper. 

Shane gripped Ilya more tightly to his chest. His feet were falling asleep in this position but he didn’t dare let go now. 

“Dead? Who is dead, Hollander?” St. Simon asked. 

Shane blew out a breath. “His father. I think all the missed calls were his brother calling to tell him that their father passed away.” 

He kept his tight hold of Ilya and looked up at the four worried faces of Ilya’s Raiders teammates. None of them made a comment about Ilya crying or Shane holding him. They genuinely seemed to care just about Ilya’s wellbeing. 

“Shit, Rozy, I’m so sorry,” Hammersmith finally said. 

Ilya didn’t respond, just shook his head and pressed his face against Shane’s shoulder. Shane felt more wet spots blooming as Ilya was apparently crying silently. 

Okay, crying is good. He can hear us, he’s moving through, Shane thought to himself. When Shane had panic attacks, he found it helpful to start moving through physical tasks once his brain was coming back online like this. He wasn’t 100% sure that what Ilya was experiencing was a panic attack, but it looked similar enough that he thought it was worth a try to treat it as such. And let’s be real, he didn’t have any better ideas right now. 

Give him simple tasks. Shane thought. 

“We probably have to help him get changed,” Shane told the room generally. Can someone grab his bag and pull out his clothes?”

Hammersmith bent down and began rifling through Ilya’s bag. 

“Someone help me get his gear off,” Shane directed, hearing his Captain Voice coming out as he felt more confident of this plan. 

The Boston Raiders, worried about their captain, fell right in line listening to the captain of the Montreal Metros, like any of this was normal. Shane was slightly in awe as Connors and Marleau stepped forward and obediently began stripping Ilya’s pads off. 

Shane eased his grip on Ilya and slowly pulled away to get his chest guard and compression shirt off. 

“Arms up,” Shane commanded, urging Ilya’s arms into the air with a light touch at his elbows. Shane knew Ilya was definitely still not himself, because Normal Ilya would have some kind of quip about Shane being bossy if he ever spoke to him like this. Instead, Ilya complied wordlessly, and Marleau yanked the Under Armor shirt over his head. 

Connors had gotten Ilya’s skates and shin pads off, but now they needed to get his hockey pants off. 

“Can he stand?” Connors looked at Ilya doubtfully. 

Ilya shrugged noncommittally. Shane mentally cursed Connors for not phrasing it as a direction, because they needed Ilya to stand, even briefly, to get this gear off if they weren’t cutting it off him. Short phrases, no questions, simple directions. Shane said to himself. Leaving no room for nuance made it easier for a scrambling brain to participate, especially since Shane couldn’t speak Russian and he was not sure how much English processing Ilya was doing right now.

Shane stood up and shook the pins and needles out of his feet. He reached for Ilya, who didn’t move.

“Hands,” Shane said, wiggling his fingers at Ilya. No room to argue or say he can’t.

Ilya looked up at him and wordlessly placed his hands in Shane’s. 

“I’m going to stand him up, then Marleau and Connors, pull his pants—everything you can get off at once—at least to his knees. Then I’m going to sit him on the bench.” Shane told the room. Ilya’s eyes were still locked on Shane’s face. 

Shane stepped back with one of his legs to brace himself. 

“Stand on 1…2…3!” He squeezed Ilya’s hands with each number counted out loud and shifted his weight onto his back foot to pull the larger man to his feet. He wrapped one of Ilya’s arms behind him across his shoulders and shifted his hands to Ilya’s hips to hold onto him closer to his center of gravity. 

Shane silently prayed to whoever might be listening for Ilya’s knees to hold as he tried to keep him upright. Hammersmith and St. Simon hovered closely, as though anticipating Ilya might fall, but did not touch him. Marleau and Connors dutifully stripped all of Ilya’s lower body gear down to his knees. 

Ilya was standing just a little too far in front of the bench. 

“Right foot back,” Shane murmured in Ilya’s ear, still praying to whoever was listening that Ilya’s knees wouldn’t buckle. 

Ilya slid his right foot back about 6 inches. His knees held. Shane stepped with him. 

“Good. Now left foot back,” he tapped his fingers where they were holding at Ilya’s left hip to give him tactile input. Ilya obediently moved his left foot, the backs of his knees bumping into the bench. 

“Thank you. Bend your knees and sit down slowly,” Shane directed, squatting with Ilya to accept some of his weight as he lowered Ilya onto the bench. 

The Raiders players stared.

“Where did you learn to do all that?” Marleau asked. 

“Do what?” Shane sat on the bench next to Ilya and put his arm around the other man’s shoulders, ensuring he wouldn’t flop over. 

“I don’t know, move someone bigger than you, calm someone down who’s freaking out, get Ilya Rozanov to just comply with every direction you give him? Whenever I tell him to do something, he purposefully does the opposite,” Marleau huffed a short laugh. 

Shane pressed his lips together grimly. “I helped my parents take care of my grandpa when he had a stroke. This was years ago, but helping move someone of any size is just about using leverage to your advantage. As for the rest—short phrases, no questions, simple directions. It works when your brain isn’t working right. Doesn’t matter if you’ve had a stroke or are just panicking.”

The Raiders nodded, accepting Shane’s answer. 

Ilya was sitting on the bench mostly naked at this point, and he started to shiver. Hammersmith jammed Ilya’s clean shirt over his head and Shane helped him thread his arms through. Connors bent down and pulled the rest of Ilya’s gear off his legs. 

“He can’t just go home alone like this,” St. Simon gestured at the three men helping Ilya get dressed. 

“And we have to tell Coach about his dad,” Hammersmith added. “I’m sure he’s going to go to the funeral? Was his dad in Russia?” Hammersmith turned to Shane. 

“I’ll drive him home, and I can stay with him,” Marleau offered immediately. 

“I can also go with you,” Shane said. “And yes, his dad was in Russia. We should probably call his friend Svetlana. I think she’s here in Boston. She is Russian, an old friend, and she might be able to help.”

“I can call her, we’ve met once before,” Marleau said.

“I will call Coach,” Hammersmith stood up to go. 

“Hey, before you go. Can we—can we keep this…between us?” Shane asked the room, trying to keep his voice from sounding as scared as he felt. About being seen, clearly familiar with Ilya Rozanov, in front of these teammates. About Ilya’s teammates finding out he was “Jane”. About what he was scared was written all over his face, that he cared about Ilya an awful lot, and what he assumed they must be putting together about his relationship with Ilya. 

Four pairs of Raiders’ eyes met his. 

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

“Won’t say a word.”

“None of this leaves this room. Not Roz’s father dying, not Hollander here, none of it.” Marleau said, and everyone nodded. 

Shane let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Hammersmith left to call Boston’s coach. Marleau left to call Svetlana. 

It was just St. Simon and Connors left. Connors finished tying Ilya’s shoe 

“Take care of yourself, Roz, hmm?” he said, and patted the laces of Ilya’s shoe as he stood up. Ilya didn’t look at him, but he nodded. 

“Are you and Marly going to be all right taking him? I can come too,” St. Simon offered to Shane. “Don’t you have to get on a flight?” 

Shane shook his head. “We fly out late tomorrow afternoon, and we don’t have a game for a few days. I think two of us is probably enough, plus we’ll probably have Svetlana too, so that’ll be three.”

“You hear that Rozy? There’s gonna be three people taking care of you and bossing you around. So you better listen to them and take care of yourself,” St. Simon patted Rozanov on the shoulder. 

“Marly has our numbers, call if you need us,” Connors told Shane. Then they were gone.

Chapter End Notes

Shane is Down Bad and just barely starting to realize it, lol. Keep going, hun, we promise it's worth it!

Chapter 3: Three

Chapter Summary

“Ilya,” Shane closed his eyes instead of smacking Ilya for his cheekiness like he wanted to. 

When he opened them again, Svetlana was standing behind Ilya looking at Shane with her jaw on the floor.

“Ilya Rozanov!” she scolded, then began speaking quickly in Russian again, gesturing at Shane and raising her eyebrows. 

Ilya huffed out a breath that sounded like a laugh against the side of Shane’s head, the taller man ruffling the hair at Shane’s temple with his breath. 

“Sveta says she has never seen me do what I’m told the first time someone asks until I just did it for you. She called me…what is word for when you have cream but you beat it so it gets thicker and put it on top of sundae?”

Shane made a choked sound. “Whipped?”

“Yes, that is word. I am whipped for Shane Hollander,” Ilya nodded gravely. 

Chapter Notes

Ilya slowly let his head fall to Shane’s shoulder and let out a big sigh. Shane felt Ilya shift more of his weight against him. His adrenaline was crashing, from the game and from this ordeal, and now he was going to be really sleepy, Shane guessed. 

“Ilya, no, you can’t fall asleep here. We have to get you home.” He squeezed Ilya’s shoulder in emphasis of the word “home”. 

Ilya grunted in response, eyes closed. 

“Ilya,” Shane warned. “I don’t care if you just had a panic attack, I’m not above pinching you if it keeps you awake.” He jostled Ilya’s shoulder with the arm he still had around him. 

“Mean,” Ilya whispered into the crook of Shane’s neck. 

Shane could have laughed with relief. Hearing Ilya start to pick up their usual banter meant he was coming back into himself. 

“Who is pinching someone?” Marleau walked back into the room. 

“Shane,” Ilya said hoarsely, leaving his head on Shane’s shoulder.

“Oh my god, I did not pinch you, asshole!” 

Ilya lifted his head a fraction and opened his eyes, raising his eyebrows at Shane. 

“I didn’t!” Shane insisted. “I just threatened to because you were trying to fall asleep and I don’t want to carry your 200 pound ass to the car!” 

Ilya smirked and settled his head back on Shane’s shoulder, satisfied. 

Marleau was looking from Shane to Ilya and back to Shane, a thousand questions in his eyes. 

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. 

“Drink some water, your voice sounds like shit,” he shoved Ilya’s water bottle that St. Simon had filled into the other man’s hands. 

Ilya obligingly lifted his head and took a few sips of water, then passed the bottle back to Shane and put his head back down. 

“Svetlana is on her way to Rozy’s house,” Marleau said by way of changing the subject. He had clearly chosen not to ask further questions about Shane and Ilya’s dynamic for the time being. 

“Okay, let’s get him home,” Shane replied.  

“Head up,” he told Ilya. This time, Ilya did not argue, moving his head off Shane’s shoulder and blinking his eyes open slowly. 

“Marleau is going to come on your other side,” Shane gestured with his chin, “and then we are going to stand up.”

Marleau came over to Ilya’s other side and put Ilya’s arm over his shoulder. 

“1…2…3…up!” Shane urged Ilya’s hips forward with a hand at his low back and Ilya was standing. 

Shane and Marleau slowly walked Ilya to the car. 

“I’ll drive, you probably don’t know the Boston streets very well,” Marleau said.

Shane did not argue that he had memorized the route from the Raiders arena to Ilya’s house. Marleau didn’t need to know that right now. 

Shane tucked Ilya’s head down to prevent him from banging it on the door frame and stuffed him into the back seat. Then he slid in after him and buckled both their seatbelts. 

Marleau drove carefully, the same route that Shane had learned for going to Ilya’s house. 

Ilya fell asleep on Shane’s shoulder, and he let the tired Russian snooze away. 

“Roz, what’s your gate code?” Marleau asked. Ilya, asleep, didn’t respond. 

“It’s 1221,” Shane said quietly. His reddened ears were not visible in the dark back seat but he was still feeling embarrassed. 

“How do you—you know what, don’t answer that right now. Tell me later,” Marleau chuckled. Shane felt his face go even pinker. 

He poked Ilya awake and got him out of the car while Marleau moved their bags. Ilya’s legs seemed stronger, and Shane steered him towards the door without Marleau’s help. 

“I’m guessing you also know the code for the front door?” Marleau said, bemused. 

“1410.” Shane said, without meeting Marleau’s eyes. Marleau just chuckled again and punched in the code. He held the door open for Shane to walk Ilya through. 

“Thanks, Marleau,” Shane said, feeling really grateful that the other man had been so helpful and not appearing to judge Ilya or himself at all.

“It’s Marly,” he replied. “And of course. Thank you for coming when I called.”

Shane deposited Ilya on the couch closest to the front door and rolled his shoulders. He felt himself starting to crash after a brutal game and having to hold up and move Ilya around for the last hour. 

He was just turning towards the kitchen to wash his hands when a beautiful woman padded out of the downstairs hall and stopped short. 

She stared at him with wide eyes for a beat before turning to Ilya with rapidfire Russian. 

Ah, of course, Svetlana. Shane thought. And why shouldn’t I be surprised that she also has the door code to Ilya’s house?

Shane didn’t know why he should feel a pang of jealousy over who Ilya gave his door code to. 

Ilya smirked at her but did not verbally respond to her onslaught. 

Svetlana made a noise that suggested she was exasperated with him. Ilya just smirked again and waved his hand tiredly. She looked at him half fondly and half like she wanted to smack him (oh boy, was Shane familiar with that sentiment towards Rozanov), bending down to give him a hug. Ilya clumsily hugged her back. Shane noticed that she kissed him on the cheek as she pulled away. 

“Well,” she said in English to Ilya, “aren’t you going to introduce me?” 

He mumbled a reply in Russian, the ghost of a smile on his face. 

Svetlana gasped like he’d said something incredibly rude and lightly smacked him on the knee. 

“Ilyusha!”

Ilya leaned his head back on the couch and dramatically threw his arm over his eyes, groaning. 

Svetlana looked at him and just shook her head. She turned back to Shane, who braced himself. He wasn’t sure for what yet. 

“Hello, Shane Hollander,” she said warmly. “I guess he’s not going to introduce us. I’m Svetlana, Ilya’s old friend,” she offered Shane her hand. 

“H-hi, nice to meet you,” Shane stuttered, shaking her hand. He was a little surprised how easily she recognized him and a little afraid of what Ilya was saying or what she had already guessed about them. 

“I’ve heard so much about you, it’s a pleasure to finally see you in person.” She smiled. 

“Hopefully good things,” Shane grimaced. 

“Oh, all good things. Ilyusha never stops talking about you, for years. It’s like he is obsessed with you,” her eyes twinkled with amusement.

Ilya groaned again on the couch.

Shane felt a blush crawling up his neck. He rubbed his hand over his nape and looked at the ground. “Oh dear.”

Marleau was standing in the doorway, watching. Svetlana looked from Shane to Ilya and back to Shane.

“You are Jane,” she said simply. It wasn’t a question, more of a declaration. 

“Y-yes,” Shane did not meet her eyes. 

“It is you that Ilyusha has been texting for years.”

“Sveta,” Ilya warned. She ignored him. 

Shane nodded miserably. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he squared his shoulders and stood as tall as he could. He felt like he had to be strong for both himself and Ilya now. 

Svetlana raised her eyebrows in what Shane thought was a very good impression of Ilya. She opened her mouth, shut it again, appearing to contemplate how she wanted to phrase what she was going to say. She shook her head then and laughed softly.

“Your secret is safe with me, Shane.”

Shane’s eyes flicked to Marleau. He pantomimed zipping his lips, locking them with a key, and throwing the key over his shoulder. 

Shane huffed out a breath. “Why?” He wanted to know. 

Svetlana looked at him curiously. Then she shrugged. “I understand the stakes. You don’t owe me an explanation.” She sat down on the couch next to Ilya. “You, on the other hand,” she jabbed him with her finger. “I will have questions for you. Not now, but you are stuck with me on the flight tomorrow.”

Ilya made a soft noise that sounded like a whimper. Svetlana just laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder, clearly very familiar with him. She wrinkled her nose and said something to him in Russian. Ilya sighed. 

“Sveta has just told me that I smell. My father died and I had panic attack and she is still bullying me,” he whined hoarsely. 

Svetlana laughed again. 

“You probably should clean up a little bit before you go to bed,” Shane reasoned. 

“And we should all probably eat something,” Marleau said. 

“Ugh,” Ilya said, leaning back on the couch again. 

“Roz, I’m gonna go look through your fridge and see if I can cook anything real quick.” Marleau did not wait for Ilya to agree, just turned on his heel and left. 

“Come on, I’ll help you shower,” Svetlana said, squeezing Ilya’s knee. 

“No,” Ilya said.

“Ilyusha.”

“I want Shane.” Ilya opened his eyes and looked for Shane, who was still standing right next to him. 

Svetlana raised her hands in defeat, an amused smile on her lips. “Okay, Ilyusha, I get it. Now go.”

Marleau stuck his head back into the room. “How does everyone feel about frittata?”

“Fine with me,” Svetlana said. 

“Me too,” Shane said, thinking it couldn’t be that far off his diet, and he’d survive for one meal.

Ilya gave Marleau a sloppy thumbs up. “Thanks, Marly.”

Svetlana looked at Ilya. “Come on, get up. You’ll feel better when you’re clean.” Ilya groaned and didn’t move. 

Shane stood in front of him and bumped his knee into Ilya’s to get the other man’s attention. “Hands,” he said, and Ilya immediately gave Shane his hands. 

“1…2…3…stand up,” he pulled and Ilya obediently stood. Ilya was definitely steadier on his feet now but he purposefully sagged dramatically into Shane, letting Shane support most of his weight. 

“Use your legs, asshole,” Shane admonished, and Ilya dutifully stood up, dropping a kiss on Shane’s cheek as he rose to his full height. 

“Ilya,” Shane closed his eyes instead of smacking Ilya for his cheekiness like he wanted to. 

When he opened them again, Svetlana was standing behind Ilya looking at Shane with her jaw on the floor.

“Ilya Rozanov!” she scolded, then began speaking quickly in Russian again, gesturing at Shane and raising her eyebrows. 

Ilya huffed out a breath that sounded like a laugh against the side of Shane’s head, the taller man ruffling the hair at Shane’s temple with his breath. 

“Sveta says she has never seen me do what I’m told the first time someone asks until I just did it for you. She called me…what is word for when you have cream but you beat it so it gets thicker and put it on top of sundae?”

Shane made a choked sound. “Whipped?”

“Yes, that is word. I am whipped for Shane Hollander,” Ilya nodded gravely. 

“I hate you,” Shane said conversationally to Ilya. 

“No you don’t.”

“Come on, asshole. You said you would shower if I helped you,” Shane gently tugged Ilya toward the stairs. 

Ilya put his arm around Shane and went willingly, leaning on the Canadian lightly. 

Svetlana called after them in Russian again, a laugh in her voice. 

“She says that you are good for me, and that she is happy for us.”

Shane decided he liked Svetlana after all. Sure, she was a little scary, but she clearly cared a lot about Ilya. And their relationship appeared almost more familial than like romantic partners, at least now.

Chapter End Notes

You may be saying to yourself, wow, FluentBird81, I was promised smut in the tags and we still haven't seen it despite Ilya being naked once already. And to that I say, patience, Young Grasshopper. We will get there--eventually! As always, thank you for reading 🥰

Chapter 4: Four

Chapter Summary

Ilya swallowed the questions he was about to ask and just breathed Shane in. He had never allowed himself the comfort of just holding Shane and being held by him before. Nearly all their touches had been strictly sexual, and then they would go back to being “rivals” or whatever. 

Shane was rubbing slow circles into his back and continuing to hold him, not stepping away. Ilya basked in the warmth, the comfort, the absolute pleasure of being held by someone who cared about him. Someone he loved. Shit. 

Ilya loved Shane. He loved him. He had never allowed himself to complete that thought before, but here, in Shane’s arms, Ilya knew without a shadow of a doubt that he loved this man. But was Shane ready to hear that? Ilya was not sure. 

Chapter Notes

Ilya is dramatic and needy and Shane loves it.

Ilya felt his brain coming back to him. It had been a long time since he’d had an episode like this where he seemed to more or less lose control of his body and his mind went numb. He remembered calling Alexei back and hearing that his father was dead. He remembered his vision going blurry and his ears ringing. He remembered feeling overwhelmed by all the tasks ahead of him and being unable to tell Shane. 

The next thing he remembered was Shane in front of him, saying his name, giving him instructions. He remembered feeling so relieved that he didn’t need to be in control anymore. 

He remembered sitting on his couch, Svetlana was there, and someone else—Marly, he thinks? He does not remember how he got there or how Shane was in the room with the other two, and didn’t appear to be panicking or leaving. 

Wait. He hasn’t told anyone that his father died. How did they all know?

Ilya became aware of his surroundings again. He was sitting on the edge of his bed in his house in Boston. Shane was there, but they weren’t seducing each other. The Canadian had his back to him and was digging through his dresser drawers. He turned around holding t-shirts, sweats, and boxers and laid them on the bed next to Ilya. 

“Hi,” Ilya felt himself smile kind of dopily at Shane. 

Shane smiled back, looking more than a little relieved. He stood in front of Ilya and stepped between his legs, gathering him close and running a hand down his back. He felt Shane kiss the top of his head as he sighed a “Hey” against his curls. 

Ilya swallowed the questions he was about to ask and just breathed Shane in. He had never allowed himself the comfort of just holding Shane and being held by him before. Nearly all their touches had been strictly sexual, and then they would go back to being “rivals” or whatever. 

Shane was rubbing slow circles into his back and continuing to hold him, not stepping away. Ilya basked in the warmth, the comfort, the absolute pleasure of being held by someone who cared about him. Someone he loved. Shit. 

Ilya loved Shane. He loved him. He had never allowed himself to complete that thought before, but here, in Shane’s arms, Ilya knew without a shadow of a doubt that he loved this man. But was Shane ready to hear that? Ilya was not sure. 

“You scared me,” Shane said, his words a little muffled as he spoke them into Ilya’s hair. 

“Sorry,” Ilya said, sincerely. He started to feel guilty about all the turmoil he had undoubtedly caused for Shane—and who knows what else, since he couldn’t remember. 

“No,” Shane said, holding him tighter and kissing the top of his head again. 

“No?” Ilya asked, confused. 

“Do not be sorry,” Shane clarified. 

“I have caused you so much trouble,” Ilya said, his voice thick. 

Shane exhaled but it came out as sort of a laugh. Ilya reveled in the feel of Shane’s breath against his scalp. 

“Maybe. But you are worth it.” 

Well, and if that didn’t spear Ilya right through the heart in the best and worst possible way. 

Before he could say anything in response, Shane was stepping back and pulling on his hands. “Come on, you said you would shower.”

“I did? Are you coming with me?” Ilya waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh my god, you are impossible! An hour ago you could barely talk and Marly and I had to nearly carry you to the car!” Shane chided. 

“Oke. And? Are you coming?” Ilya kept his eyebrows raised but grinned at his accidental double-entendre. 

Shane gave him a look. 

“Just get in here, asshole.” He tugged Ilya’s hands again and Ilya stood and followed him to the bathroom. 

“Do you…want help?” Shane asked, turning on the water to get it heating up. 

“With what?”

“Getting out of your clothes, showering?” Shane waved his hand. 

“Are you offering?” Ilya asked hopefully. 

“Ilya.”

“If you are offering, I need it.” Ilya nodded seriously. 

Shane sighed. Stopped Ilya by putting a hand on his chest, grabbed the back of his shirt. 

“Arms up,” he said softly. 

Ilya brought his arms up slowly and Shane tugged the shirt over his head. He tossed it toward Ilya’s hamper in the corner without looking, and of course it fucking went in.

Shane backed Ilya into the counter so he was leaning against it, and tugged Ilya’s sweatpants and boxer briefs down to his knees. 

“Hold my shoulders and step out,” Shane murmured. 

Ilya felt his legs complying before he could even process what was happening. 

“Bossy,” Ilya heard himself say. 

“Yes, and you like it,” Shane quipped. 

For all his life, Ilya hated being told what to do. He couldn’t think of anything he liked less than someone trying to boss him around. 

So why was he absolutely loving this?

“Love it.” Ilya leaned forward and kissed Shane on the forehead as Shane got Ilya’s foot out of his sweats. 

I love you. He thought to himself.

Shane just chuckled. He made quick work of yanking off his own clothes and nudged Ilya into the shower, following right behind him and closing the door. 

They had never showered together for the main purpose of just getting clean. Ilya marveled at Shane’s complete lack of nerves as he guided Ilya through cleaning up. When they were alone together, Ilya always took charge. Shane seemed to like it that way, and every time Ilya encouraged Shane to take the wheel, the other man would often become a little bashful and shy. Not here. He gave Ilya clear directions and gentle touches to get him to the next step, occasionally murmuring “good” or “thank you” while Ilya’s body helplessly complied with Shane’s every command. 

Ilya felt himself floating away in pleasure as Shane raked his fingers through Ilya’s hair, scrubbing at his scalp with shampoo. 

Was that his own voice that was moaning like that?

“Look down,” Shane guided Ilya’s head forward and used one hand to shield above his eyes and the other to rinse his hair with the detachable shower head. 

Ilya kept his eyes squinted open and saw that Shane was definitely hard. He took a peek at his own body, which mirrored Shane’s state. 

Shane caught him looking and laughed. 

“Ignore it. I am.”

“You are…ignoring??” Ilya was flabbergasted. 

“Yes.” Shane said simply, quickly washing his own hair. 

“We are showering together and both hard and you are ignoring this?” 

“I am, yes.” Shane rinsed his hair and spit water out of his mouth. 

“Why?” Ilya asked. 

“Because you are in no state to be fucking anything. You need to finish your shower while your legs still hold you up, and you need to eat, and we have to pack for you, and you need to sleep,” Shane said, attacking Ilya with a soapy washcloth. 

“Even if I want?” Ilya raised his eyebrows. 

“Especially then.” Shane glared at him, still casually scrubbing Ilya’s body like it was something he always did. 

“Ugh. So mean,” Ilya thunked his head back against the tiles. His traitorous body continued to comply easily with Shane’s every instruction and touch. 

Next thing he knew, Shane was turning off the water and wrapping him in a towel. Ilya stepped out of the shower onto the mat feeling a little more like himself now that he was clean, as though he had been able to wash some of his earlier panic down the drain. They dried themselves off and made their way back into Ilya’s bedroom to the two piles of clothes Shane had laid out. 

“I don’t have any of my own stuff here so I’m wearing yours,” he said, pulling on a pair of Ilya’s boxers. Ilya stood there in his towel, watching Shane dress himself in Ilya’s favorite sweats and a soft black shirt, faded by how many times it had been washed. 

The sight was pulling hard on every one of Ilya’s heartstrings. I love you, I love you, I love you. You are mine. He thought.

“I like when you wear my things,” Ilya said out loud. 

Shane just smiled and handed Ilya a shirt to wear. 

Once they were dressed, Shane told Ilya they had to go eat. 

“Marly was going to make a frittata with stuff he found in your fridge, I think?” Shane said. 

“Since when do you call him Marly?” Ilya knitted his brows together. 

“Since today,” Shane waved his hand vaguely. 

Chapter End Notes

I know, I know, when are these poor MFs going to go back to their old ways of spending 99% of their time together in bed? Patience, dear readers, Shane is a man on a mission to take care of Ilya. He knows what's coming...and yes, it's both of them, soon 😉

Chapter 5: Five

Chapter Summary

<"Sveta, you can stay in either of the rooms downstairs. There are towels in the hall closet."> Ilya said in Russian.

<“What if Shane wanted to pick first?”> Svetlana’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

<“Shane is not allowed to stay downstairs.”> Ilya leveled her with a look.

<“Oh, he isn’t, huh?”>

<“No, he is mine.”>

Svetlana rolled her eyes at Ilya, but she was smiling fondly again. <“Okay, Ilyusha, go to bed

Shane divided a look between them.

“Sveta was just saying that she is tired and is going to bed. And I was saying yes, us too.” Ilya ignored Svetlana’s surprised laugh and pulled Shane to his feet.

Chapter Notes

Shane and Ilya made their way to the kitchen. Svetlana was sitting at the island with her laptop open, typing away and chewing on her bottom lip. Marleau was sitting next to her, just starting to dig in to a slice of what looked like a mouthwatering frittata. The rest of his creation was sitting in the pan on the stove, steaming hot. 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Svetlana eyed them both with a smirk. 

Shane felt his cheeks heat, knowing what it looked like that they were both freshly showered. 

“Shane did not even let me blow him,” Ilya piped up. “He said I had to finish showering and eat food and pack for Russia and go to sleep.” He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout as he grabbed a plate to take a slice of frittata. 

“Ilya!” Shane hissed, mortified, positive that he could not blush any redder if he tried. 

“What? Is true,” Ilya continued to pout. 

Svetlana and Marleau looked at each other and burst out laughing. 

“If there was any doubt before…” Shane muttered. 

“There was maybe some plausible deniability in the locker room?” Marleau said through a guffaw. “But then when you knew the door code and the gate code and you were able to get this one”—he hooked his thumb at Ilya—“to more or less follow your every command, it became pretty obvious.” 

Shane hid his face in his hands. He’d figured they knew by now, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear it laid out aloud like that. 

“It’s okay, man. We’re happy for you, and we won’t tell anyone,” Marleau said. 

—————

“In the locker room? Shane was in our locker room?” Ilya asked Marleau. 

“Uh, yeah. You don’t remember? You were sitting on the floor staring into space and not responding to anyone. Your phone was on the ground under your leg. St. Simon spotted it and we picked it up to try to figure out if we could call someone to figure out how to help you.” Marleau said. 

“And you called Shane?” Ilya raised his eyebrows.

Marleau laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well—there were a bunch of missed calls from a name in Russian letters, and then there was a recent text from Jane that was congratulating you on the win. So we called that number, hoping it was the Montreal Jane you’ve been texting and grinning dopily at your phone for years.”

“I do not grin dopily,” Ilya denied, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah you do, Roz. With, like, every message, too.”

Shane was smiling so hard, his face hurt. 

“Anyways. I called the number you had saved as ‘Jane’, and imagine my surprise when Shane Hollander picked up,” Marleau chuckled and shook his head. 

“You answered?” Ilya asked Shane, brows up, clearly a little surprised.

“I thought it was you calling me!” Shane retorted.

“Oke, oke, but then you kept talking to Marly after he called you on my phone?” Ilya was incredulous.

“Oh, he hung up on me!” Marleau clarified helpfully.

“Look, I’m sorry about that–” Shane started, embarrassed.

“Hollander, don’t worry about it.” Marleau grimaced. “I’m sure you were scared shitless by four Raiders players calling you after you lost to us, and then finding out that you were Rozy’s Montreal Jane.” 

“Wait–there were four of you that ganged up on Hollander?” Ilya looked astonished, letting his mouth that was half full of frittata hang open.

“Gross, Ilya, chew your damn food and swallow!” Shane elbowed him. Ilya stuck his tongue out a little bit but then shut his mouth and chewed.

“We didn’t gang up on him, I swear! Hammersmith cleared the locker room to give you more privacy while we figured out what the fuck was going on, and I called “Jane” on speakerphone. It was me, Hammers, Connie, and St. Simon.” Marleau said.

“And Shane answered after you called him again, after you recognized him and he hung up on you?” Ilya asked doubtfully.

“He texted and told me something was wrong with you,” Shane said quietly.

“So you just fucking walked into the Raiders locker room alone?” Ilya waved his hands dramatically for emphasis as he spoke and his brows disappeared under his bangs in surprise. 

“Marly sent Connors to come get me,” Shane said defensively.

“Oke, and you, Captain of Metros, just casually came to Raiders locker room after we beat you,” Ilya said slowly, disbelievingly.

Shane looked up at the ceiling, praying to whoever was listening for patience. “I was coming for you, asshole, and that’s where you were. Stuck on the floor.” 

Ilya’s lips parted like he was about to say something. He seemed to change his mind, pressing his lips together and sharply inhaling. His eyes were maybe a little bit shiny.

—————

Ilya was sitting in his kitchen, eating Marly’s delicious frittata. Shane and Marly were putting together the pieces of the afternoon that Ilya’s brain had not registered while he was having a panic attack. Marly had just revealed that not only had Shane come to Ilya’s aid when the Raiders AC had called, but he had done so directly into his biggest rival’s locker room after a tough loss. And not only that, he risked it even when it meant revealing to four of Ilya’s teammates that the two of them were intimately acquainted. That Ilya’s teammates would probably guess that Hollander was gay.

He risked all of this for me. Ilya thought. And suddenly he was fighting tears again.

Svetlana noticed immediately.

<I see why you like him, Ilyusha. Not only is he the best hockey player, but he has such a big heart. And so brave!> Svetlana said in Russian.

<He risked so much for me. I don’t deserve him.> Ilya responded, not bothering to argue that he was a better hockey player this time. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face.

<You love him.> Svetlana stated shrewd observations the way other people asked questions.

Ilya gave her a startled look. She just smirked back at him, then narrowed her eyes.

<Have you told him?> 

<No. I don’t know if he feels the same way.> Ilya admitted, aware now that Shane and Marleau had stopped talking to each other and were looking back and forth between them.

<You can’t be serious.> Svetlana looked at him like he was perilously dumb.

<Do I look like I’m kidding?> Ilya waved his hand around his very serious facial expression.

Her face briefly collapsed into a sad smile before she said in English, “I need your passport number to finish checking us in for our flight tomorrow. It leaves at 2:15 pm.”

This was his out, his excuse to leave the room to collect himself. She’d had his passport number for as long as he could remember.

“Of course,” Ilya said, looking away from Svetlana, taking a breath and standing up. 

Suddenly Shane was standing too. “Do you need help?” 

Ilya looked back at Svetlana, who was smiling again.

“Ah, no. I will only be a moment.”

He walked down the hallway and slipped into his office, sitting down in the rolling chair in front of the desk.

Was Svetlana right? Did Shane love him back? Sveta was rarely wrong, and she seemed so sure. 

Ilya rested his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands, just breathing for a moment to regain his composure.

—————

“Is he okay?” Shane asked Svetlana quietly as soon as Ilya was out of earshot.

She sighed. “Yes, only, he is stubborn. It makes everything harder.”

Shane nodded.

“Thank you both, for taking care of him, and for calling me,” Svetlana addressed both Marleau and Shane.

“Of course.”

“Anything for Rozy.”

Shane grabbed both his plate and Ilya’s and carried them over to the sink. Then he grabbed the empty frittata dish and began running the water. Marleau brought his plate and Svetlana’s over and stood next to him. The Raider looked around like he was checking for Ilya coming back and then turned to Shane.

“Hollander, can I ask–is there a Jane? Or has it always been you?”

Shane couldn’t help laughing a little at the absurdity of this line of questioning. “You can call me Shane. But uh, no, as far as I am aware it has always been me.”

Marleau raised his eyebrows. “Wow, okay, so it has been awhile, right? How long has this been going on?”

“Since summer before our rookie season.” Ilya had returned and had clearly heard Marleau’s nosy questions.

All three of the people in the kitchen turned and gaped at Ilya. Marleau and Svetlana, because they were shocked at this admission, and Shane because he was shocked that Ilya was telling them. 

“You’ve never really been rivals?” Marleau looked confused.

“Oh, no—no, the rivalry is very real,” Shane said seriously, though he looked like he was trying not to smile. 

“Shane is a, what is phrase? Competitive little shit?” Ilya looked at Shane fondly. 

Shane immediately glared at Ilya as he threw a dish towel at him. “Fuck you!” 

Ilya caught the dish towel, raised his eyebrows, and gestured at Shane as if to say “do you see my point?” 

Svetlana was just cackling at the whole exchange.

—————

“I should probably head out,” Marleau said, “unless you need me for anything.” 

The four of them were sitting in Ilya’s living room. The TV was on but they had mostly been chatting instead of watching it. Shane was sitting next to Ilya on the couch. They weren’t cuddling like Ilya would have preferred, but their legs were touching and Shane was not pulling away or hiding it in front of Svetlana and Marly, not even when Ilya tentatively placed his hand on Shane’s knee. 

“Hol—Shane,” Marleau corrected himself, “don’t be a stranger, yeah? Take my number.” 

Shane obligingly pulled out his phone and Marleau rattled his phone number off. 

“Text or call if you need anything. Or if Roz is annoying you too much and you need help knocking some sense into him,” Marleau winked at Shane. 

“I’m sure that will come in handy,” Shane laughed as Ilya sputtered indignantly. 

“Take care of yourself, bro,” Marleau said to Ilya. Both men stood and Marleau pulled Ilya into a hug. 

“Really, call me,” Marleau said seriously. 

“I do not like you like that, Marly, but I am flattered,” Ilya said loudly, patting Marleau on the back. 

“Dude, you’re the worst. I’m serious!” Marleau laughed. 

“And I am also serious. Bye Marly, thank you for cooking us delicious food,” Ilya said, letting go of him. 

Marleau turned to Svetlana and Shane. “Will you watch him for me please?”

Both nodded, “Yes, of course.”

“I can hear you, and I do not need watching!” Ilya exclaimed. 

“Thanks Marly, we’ll watch him,” Shane reassured him, and patted Ilya’s arm. 

Marleau left.

Shane turned to Ilya. “You should sleep. You’ll have time to pack in the morning if your flight isn’t til the afternoon.”

Ilya yawned. Exhaustion was creeping in again. 

<Sveta, you can stay in either of the rooms downstairs. There are towels in the hall closet.> Ilya said in Russian. 

<What if Shane wanted to pick first?> Svetlana’s eyes sparkled with amusement. 

<Shane is not allowed to stay downstairs.> Ilya leveled her with a look. 

<Oh, he isn’t, huh?>

<No, he is mine.>

Svetlana rolled her eyes at Ilya, but she was smiling fondly again. <Okay, Ilyusha, go to bed, then.> 

Shane divided a look between them. 

“Sveta was just saying that she is tired and is going to bed. And I was saying yes, us too.” Ilya ignored Svetlana’s surprised laugh and pulled Shane to his feet. 

“Goodnight, Sveta,” he said in English to her back as she walked down the hallway. 

<Goodnight, Ilyusha.> She responded in Russian. 

“Do you want me to…” Shane trailed off, looking down the hallway towards Ilya’s guest rooms. 

“Shane, I want you to sleep in my bed,” Ilya said, going for the clearest possible declaration he could muster, ignoring Shane’s startled expression. It wasn’t the “I love you” that was bursting to fall from his lips, but it was a start. 

Chapter End Notes

Ilya is a menace, and he is so blind to Shane's way of showing love 😅

Okay, next chapter is what the thirsty folks have been patiently waiting for, promise! 😘

Chapter 6: Six

Chapter Summary

Ilya broke their kiss. “You are thinking so loud,” he said, tucking a piece of Shane’s hair behind his ear. 

Shane mentally added “perceptive” and “gentle” to his list of attributes for the real Ilya under the Rozanov mask.

“I guess I just feel like there’s a lot of things I want to say and talk about with you, but it feels like too much for right now,” Shane said, a little hesitantly. 

Ilya let out a soft sigh. “Yes, maybe we have time to talk more tomorrow?” 

“Okay,” Shane gave him a small smile. 

“Oke, less words, more kissing now.” Ilya tore his shirt off over his head and tossed it behind him. He backed Shane into the bed, gently pushing him down and then covering the other man with his body. 

Chapter Notes

Alone at last 😉

Shane followed Ilya into his bedroom. Ilya shut the door softly, then turned and backed Shane against the adjacent wall, crowding into his space. 

“Fuck, you look good in my clothes,” he said, dipping his head to press their lips together. 

Shane put his hand on Ilya’s chest, meaning to push him away and reprimand him for trying to start something when Ilya should be getting some rest. 

But, fuck, Ilya’s lips felt so good. 

Shane heard himself make a noise that was shockingly similar to a whimper as he ran his tongue over Ilya’s bottom lip and the other man opened for him, letting him deepen the kiss. Ilya lightly cupped Shane’s jaw to guide the angle, and Shane felt all the blood leave his brain, taking most of his logic and resolve with it. 

There was a time in his life in which Shane would have been mortified by his reaction to this kiss from Ilya. He’d tried kissing and having sex with women before, and he had ultimately concluded that he just didn’t have much libido and/or wasn’t a very sexual person, as these experiences had been lackluster at best. And then, years ago, he’d gotten hard watching Rozanov compete with him like hell on an exercise bike the night that they met, as Juniors. It happened again in the showers watching Rozanov get cleaned up after a CCM commercial shoot. To Shane’s shock, Ilya had been hard too. And then he’d come to Shane’s hotel room and kissed him and holy shit it turned out that Shane might have a type after all. He was horrified with himself then, but he just couldn’t resist Rozanov’s magnetic pull on him. 

They continued to see each other over the years, usually just for a quick getting each other off and then going their separate ways. Lately, though, Shane had been allowing himself to wonder what it would look like if they were more permanent fixtures in each others’ lives. The more time he spent with Rozanov, he realized he really liked the guy. Yes, he was infuriating, but Shane respected him as the only other hockey player who could keep up with him. There was a side of Ilya that he was starting to show Shane that seemed—sweet? Goofy? Like a big teddy bear? In their personal interactions behind closed doors, Ilya had always been thoughtful, respectful, even kind, in his own way. And Shane wanted to know this person that was underneath the bravado of the mask of Ilya Rozanov.

The strength of his reaction when Marleau had told Shane that something was wrong with Ilya should have surprised him. They weren’t like, boyfriends or anything. But Shane had been caring about Ilya more and more for a while now, despite his best efforts to the contrary. He hadn’t really let himself explore these thoughts before, but Shane had felt viscerally sick at the idea of something happening to Ilya. He’d very uncharacteristically thrown caution to the wind and had all but come running to Ilya’s aid, and he was still here with him, spending their very first night together because Shane was still worried about the other man. 

Shane thought it was possible that he was falling in love with Rozanov. That maybe he’d already fallen and had just been denying it to himself for awhile now. He’d considered saying so to Ilya before their game today, but the other man had distracted him. Hands free, Ilya had rumbled in his ear after he’d fucked Shane and made him come a second time in 90 minutes. Just the thought was enough to send another jolt of pleasure right to Shane’s dick. 

Ilya broke their kiss. “You are thinking so loud,” he said, tucking a piece of Shane’s hair behind his ear. 

Shane mentally added “perceptive” and “gentle” to his list of attributes for the real Ilya under the Rozanov mask.

“I guess I just feel like there’s a lot of things I want to say and talk about with you, but it feels like too much for right now,” Shane said, a little hesitantly. 

Ilya let out a soft sigh. “Yes, maybe we have time to talk more tomorrow?” 

“Okay,” Shane gave him a small smile. 

“Oke, less words, more kissing now.” Ilya tore his shirt off over his head and tossed it behind him. He backed Shane into the bed, gently pushing him down and then covering the other man with his body. 

“Oof.” Ilya’s weight crushed Shane in the most delicious way. As bad at communicating as they had historically been with words, they had a great track record of communicating with their bodies. Their lips crashed together again, and Ilya gently tugged on Shane’s bottom lip with his teeth, drawing another moan out of him. Shane would kiss this man for the rest of forever if there weren’t other things he also wanted to do to him with his mouth. 

Shane wedged a thigh between Ilya’s legs as they continued to kiss. The other man grunted as the firm muscle of Shane’s quads dragged over his hard length. Ilya ground his hips against Shane’s leg, seeking more friction. Shane let him for a few moments. He cradled the back of Ilya’s head with his hand, sliding his fingers into the soft curls that he could now admit to himself drove him absolutely wild. 

Still holding Ilya’s head protectively, Shane used his core strength to roll them over so he was on top of Ilya. The Russian broke their lips apart, panting. 

“Whoa,” he breathed, eyes wide, pupils dark with lust as he stared at Shane. 

Shane kissed Ilya’s jaw, made a line of kisses to his ear, nipped his earlobe. Ilya arched up with a groan, exposing his throat. Taking this rare opportunity, Shane pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive skin of Ilya’s neck and throat. He laved his tongue over the other man’s prominent Adam’s apple and Ilya squirmed underneath him, shoving a hand into Shane’s hair as if he needed something to hold onto. 

Shane continued to make his way down, gently sucking on the spot low on Ilya’s throat just above his collarbone. Ilya hummed with pleasure. Shane had never given a hickey before, but suddenly had the wild desire to bite into Ilya’s soft flesh and brand him, to show the world that Ilya was his. He pulled away for a moment and inspected the spot. 

Would Ilya like receiving a hickey? Was this a bad idea before he had to go to Russia?

As though Ilya could read his mind, he arched his throat open again towards Shane. 

“Do it, mark me,” he whispered. 

“I—I’ve never,” Shane hesitated. 

“You will not hurt me, I want it,” Ilya said confidently. 

That was all the encouragement Shane needed. He leaned back in and kissed the spot softly, softening even further as he opened his mouth, tracing patterns with his tongue before gently beginning to suck on the spot. He could not get enough of the taste of Ilya, or his scent, or how it felt when their bare skin touched. 

Emboldened by Ilya digging his fingers into the skin of his back, Shane sunk his teeth into the spot he’d been kissing, sucking hard and then soothing with his tongue as he pulled away. Mine, he thought again, admiring the blooming scarlet mark. It would probably be visible for days when Ilya wore his usual v-neck t-shirts, and for once, Shane didn’t care. 

He kissed his way down, along Ilya’s collarbone, over his pec, pausing to tease the nipple into his mouth until it pebbled up for him and Ilya hissed out a breath. Shane kept going lower, down the other man’s ribs, over the ridges of his abs. When his tongue reached the vee of Ilya’s torso, Shane shoved at the waistband of Ilya’s sweats. Ilya groaned and lifted his hips to help Shane slide the pants down over his legs. The Canadian took the opportunity to pause and yank his own shirt off before returning to kiss the creases of Ilya’s hips reverently. 

“Shane,” Ilya whined as Shane moved his lips over every part of Ilya’s skin around his angry red cock but continued to ignore the spot where Ilya wanted him most. 

Shane flashed Ilya a satisfied smirk and feigned innocence. “Did you need something?”

—————

Every single thing about Shane left Ilya craving more. Was it possible to be addicted to a person? 

Ilya loved that Shane was strong enough to throw him around. He enjoyed being the dominant one in the bedroom, but there was something so exhilarating about being a little manhandled—flipped over, pressed down by the weight of a man nearly as big as he was. No one before Shane had ever been able to give that to him—and he didn’t like to think about if it was even possible for him to have an “after Shane”.

Shane had looked hungrily at Ilya’s throat and he’d guessed that the other man was considering whether he could give Ilya a hickey. It was a little risky right before his trip to Russia, but no one would know who gave it to him, and damn Ilya wanted this. Seeing the mark in the mirror would remind him of this night, where Shane risked everything to come to him when he was broken—because he was broken, and then stayed. He felt like he needed Shane more than his next breath, and for once that felt more exhilarating than scary. 

There was a lot they needed to talk about, but that was for later. For now, Ilya wanted to bask in the care that Shane was showing him.  

Shane was trailing kisses down Ilya’s torso. Every press of his lips was sending shockwaves of electricity through Ilya’s body. He felt like a live wire, with Shane’s mouth completing the circuit for the current to race through him.  

Ilya was so goddamned hard, and Shane appeared to be lavishing attention on every inch of him besides his dick. 

“Shane,” he heard himself basically whining. 

“Did you need something?” Shane looked at him, amused.

The little shit looked so pleased with himself. Fuck, this man will be the death of me. Ilya thought to himself. 

Ilya let his head fall back onto the pillows and groaned. Shane gently sucked one of Ilya’s balls into his mouth, causing the other man to let out a stream of cursing in Russian. 

Shane lifted his head and looked at Ilya, breathing hard and grinning. “I gotta learn Russian.”

Ilya couldn’t think of a single other thing that would flay his heart open further than Shane speaking his mother tongue to him. Although to be honest, he was having trouble thinking at all in any language right now with Shane’s teasing. 

Shane licked a stripe up the underside of Ilya’s shaft, pausing at the top to slowly lave his tongue over the head. 

It was all Ilya could do not to come apart right there. He fisted one hand in the sheets and the other hand in Shane’s hair, his hips helplessly bucking up towards Shane’s mouth, more Russian curses flying out. 

“So difficult to tell what you really want,” Shane teased, flicking his tongue over Ilya’s slit to punctuate his words. 

<If you don’t suck my cock right now, I might die.> Ilya murmured in Russian. 

Shane couldn’t possibly have known what he said, but maybe his tone gave away something, because the other man’s eyes darkened, and he took Ilya in his mouth. 

The wave of relief that crashed over Ilya was short-lived, as a different tension immediately began to build again. Shane built up a rhythm, reaching for one of Ilya’s pecs and roughly palming it the way Ilya always did for him when their roles were reversed. With Shane’s eagerness, Ilya was not going to last long like this. After just a few moments, he tugged hard on Shane’s hair. 

“Fuck, stop, stop!” 

Shane stilled and moved off of Ilya. “Sorry, are you okay?”

Ilya’s breathing was ragged. “Very okay! Too okay. Fuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself down from the edge. When he opened them again, Shane was gazing at him with an amused expression.

“And you call me the eager one. Third time today and you’re still like this? Are you always this way or is it just my lucky day?” He traced a finger over the curve of Ilya’s hip as he spoke.

Only for you. Ilya thought. He had a pretty high libido generally, but he was not nearly as ravenous for anyone else like he was for Shane.

“Ah, it’s because you are so pretty. I cannot help it,” Ilya felt himself smiling widely at Shane.

Shane rolled his eyes.

“Is true! Now take off your pants, I want to see all of you,” Ilya said.

Shane pushed himself up on his elbows and rolled off of Ilya, shoving his sweats down and off his feet. His hard length sprang free, already leaking a little bit, low onto his abs.

Ilya devoured him with his eyes, smiling again as he watched Shane fold the pants and put them on the armchair near the bed.

“Come here,” Ilya reached for him. They settled themselves together on the bed, twining legs, tangling fingers in hair, kissing like they needed each other more than they needed air.

Ilya rolled on top of Shane, straddling his hips and grinding against him, drawing a moan out of Shane as their cocks rubbed together.

Ilya felt suddenly that he absolutely needed to taste Shane. He tore his lips away from Shane’s and trailed kisses across the freckles of one cheek. He gently grabbed Shane’s earlobe with his teeth.

“Mmm delicious,” he rumbled in Shane’s ear, nuzzling the side of Shane’s neck and breathing him in. Shane’s scent was always intoxicating to Ilya, but having Shane here in his bed, he was struck with the thought: Shane smelled like home. While Ilya always found Shane alluring, the mix of Ilya’s body wash and laundry detergent mixed with the scent that was just uniquely Shane brought Ilya so much comfort. 

Fuck, he was a goner.

Rather than dwell on that thought, Ilya kissed his way down Shane’s body. Usually, he was content to tease Shane until the other man was begging, but tonight he was just hungry for Shane’s pleasure. 

Chapter End Notes

Don't worry, they aren't finished with each other yet 😘

Chapter 7: Seven

Chapter Summary

Ilya found himself whispering aloud to Shane.

<"I love you, I love you, I love you."> He whispered in Russian. A mantra, a prayer, a manifestation.

<"I love you, I love you, I love you.">

He would say it in English to Shane soon, he promised himself. Ilya wasn't ready for Shane's reaction. If it scared Shane off, if he ran away from Ilya, Ilya wasn't sure that he would survive it.

Chapter Notes

Who doesn't love smutty AND sappy? 😘

Shane felt Ilya brush the pad of his thumb over Shane’s slit, slicking the precome over the head and giving him a stroke as the Russian angled his mouth to devour him. Then Ilya was on him, finding a rhythm and swirling his tongue around the underside of Shane’s cock like he was the best thing Ilya had ever tasted.

“Holy shit, Ilya,” Shane breathed, carding his fingers through Ilya’s hair. Ilya hummed in response. He hooked one of Shane’s legs over his shoulder and let a hand trail down to play with Shane’s balls, eliciting more cursing from Shane’s lips.

Ilya continued to let his fingers trail lower, softly brushing over Shane’s rim. He gently eased his mouth off Shane’s cock and looked up at him, cocking his head to the side in question as he continued to brush his finger pad gently against the hole.

“Do you want to?” Ilya murmured.

Shane nodded. He wanted so fucking much. 

“Words, Shane.”

“Yes, I want to,” Shane breathed, arching against Ilya’s hand, his body asking for more.

Ilya dipped his head to kiss the inside of Shane’s thigh. “Turn over.”

Shane immediately flopped onto his stomach, spreading his legs for Ilya to settle into. Ilya chuckled and palmed Shane’s ass, pushing his legs further apart. 

“So eager.” Ilya pressed a kiss into the firm muscle of Shane’s glute.

Normally, that was Shane’s cue to retort something snarky, but he decided to go for earnest.

“I am, for you.”

He couldn’t see Ilya’s facial expression, but he felt the other man go still. He whispered something in Russian and kissed the base of Shane’s spine. Then Ilya dug his fingers into Shane’s glutes and spread them apart, dipping his head and gently tracing his tongue around Shane’s rim.

Shane pressed his face into the pillow by his head, groaning. Fuck, that felt good.

Ilya continued swirling his tongue over the hole, adding a little pressure until he felt the muscle relax slightly and dipping inside.

Shane made a strangled noise as Ilya tenderly opened him up with his mouth. He bucked his hips against Ilya in a silent plea for more. Ilya paused briefly to stuff a pillow under Shane to improve his angle. 

Oh, god. 

Shane was acutely aware of the fact that he and Ilya were not alone in the house. He was mortified by the distinct possibility that he would not be able to keep quiet enough to not be overheard by Svetlana under Ilya’s ministrations. He wanted to say something to Ilya about this, but Ilya’s mouth was continually turning his brain into mush. Shane stuffed his face harder into the pillow he was holding onto in an attempt to muffle the cursing Ilya was drawing out of him with every swirl of his tongue. 

Ilya kissed the spot low on Shane’s back again and brushed a finger over Shane’s hole again. “Do you still want? I won’t hurt you if we go again?” He murmured. 

Shane lifted his head, panting, and twisted around to look at Ilya. “Yes, I still want you, Ilya. Please.”

Ilya’s eyes darkened at the sound of his name. He quickly reached for the lube and drizzled some over his fingers. Shane felt Ilya gently ease one finger inside him. 

“Is oke?”

“Fuck, yes,” Shane groaned. “So fucking okay.”

Ilya pressed a kiss to his hip and began to move his finger inside Shane. Shane was so goddamned hard. He bucked his hips against Ilya, seeking more pressure, more friction, but Ilya was going maddeningly slowly. 

“Ilya,” Shane heard himself nearly whining. “Please!”

“Please what?” Ilya drawled, adding a second finger and slowly making a gimme gesture, pushing the pads of his fingers into Shane’s prostate and sending electric shockwaves through Shane’s body. 

“Ah—shit!” Shane bit his lip. “Please fuck me!”

“What does it feel like I am doing right now, Hollander?” Shane could hear the amused smile in his voice as he slowed his strokes down even more. Ilya loved to tease him, even at the Russian’s own expense, just to rile Shane up.

Well, two can play at that game. Shane thought. 

“Rozanov, I want your cock inside me right now. Make me come hands free, again,” he ground out. Ilya went completely still behind him, stunned. 

“Please.” Shane added, afraid he had been a little too direct. 

“On your back,” he heard Ilya whisper hoarsely. 

Ilya removed his fingers from Shane and they rearranged themselves on the bed—Shane on his back and Ilya kneeling between his legs. Ilya reached for a condom and lube. Shane covered the condom with his hand.

“No need. Just use lube,” he said, thrilled by the prospect of only feeling Ilya inside him with nothing left between them. 

“Are you sure?” Ilya knit his brows together, thrown off. 

“Yes,”  Shane breathed. 

Ilya got himself ready and pushed Shane’s legs back, a hand under each of his knees. Shane was seriously flexible between his hockey training and yoga practice, and his knees went nearly to his shoulders as Ilya folded him in half. 

Both men cursed as Ilya pressed himself inside. He built a slow rhythm, his face as open and unguarded as Shane had ever seen it. Shane was stunned anew by how absolutely beautiful this man was. His full lips were parted as he panted with exertion. His golden curls were a mess from where Shane had been running his fingers through. His blue eyes were shining, wide dark pupils filled with desire and hunger and something that looked suspiciously more emotional, and he never took his eyes off Shane. Shane was struck with the impression that this was a departure from their usual fucking. They had never fucked face to face like this, and the slow build, the reverence, the emotion— really felt…different. 

It was not long until both men were babbling a steady stream of swearing. 

“Fuck, Ilya, feels so good,” Shane panted. 

Ilya seemed to forget English, murmuring in Russian as he pounded into Shane. Shane fucking loved hearing Ilya speak Russian. It was even hotter than hearing his accent in English. Ilya shifted to a slightly different angle. 

Oh. 

Holy shit. 

Shane had about a second of warning before he was cresting the top of his wave of pleasure. 

“Fuckfuckfuck. Ilya, ILYA! Oh god, I’m so fucking close. Gonna come so hard. Ah—Ilya!” Shane was dimly aware that he was yelling. Loudly. He could not hold it back, Ilya just felt too good. He covered his own chest with hot ribbons of come, digging his fingers into Ilya’s hips as he held on for dear life. 

Then Ilya was also coming apart, roaring Shane’s name and filling him completely. He collapsed on top of Shane and they just breathed together. Ilya continued panting in Russian in Shane’s ear. After a few seconds, Shane realized Ilya was saying the same phrase over and over. 

“Yah tibia loo-blue,” it sounded like he was saying as he nuzzled and kissed the side of Shane’s neck, still panting from exertion. 

Shane committed the sounds to memory, making a mental note to do his best to look it up later. Then he allowed himself to float in the afterglow. 

After a few minutes, their breathing returned to normal. Ilya eased himself off of Shane and got up to the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a warm wet washcloth, which he carefully ran over Shane’s chest, cleaning him up. Once Ilya was also clean, he came back to the bed. 

They got under the covers together, and Ilya hauled Shane up against him. Ilya was deliciously warm, and Shane had never felt so cared for in his life. Exhausted and sated, his brain blissfully quiet, sleep found him almost instantly. 

—————

Ilya asked Shane to be on his back while they fucked, and Shane surprised him by complying immediately. 

Being face to face for such an intimate act was all new for them. Ilya was sure his love for Shane was written all over his face as he purposefully slowed down his movements, savoring every second, every inch that Shane would give him. 

Despite his efforts to go slowly, it wasn’t long before both he and Shane were struggling to hold on. He felt too good, and Ilya was having a hard time putting thoughts into English. Shane seemed to like hearing him speak Russian, though, and he couldn’t understand what Ilya was saying, so he let the Russian words just flow. 

<Fuck you are so good, Shane. I do not deserve you but I cannot help but want more.>

<I feel selfish asking you to be mine, but I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you.>

<I love you so much and I don’t know what to do about it.>

Ilya scooted his knees a fraction closer to Shane to reposition and after two thrusts Shane got loud. He was cursing and saying Ilya’s name and grabbing Ilya hard enough to leave bruises on his hips. 

And holy shit that was hot. 

Ilya’s body responded immediately, the ball of pleasure in his belly expanding like an inflating balloon—bigger and bigger until it was stretched so tight it would burst. 

“Oh god, I’m so fucking close. Gonna come so hard. Ah—Ilya!” Shane hollered, throwing his head back. His body spasmed around Ilya as he came. 

Ilya’s name on Shane’s lips and shouts of pleasure were it for Ilya. He followed Shane over, also unable to keep quiet, crying out Shane’s name as he finished. 

Ilya felt his body crumple over Shane, spent from the effort and the cataclysmic orgasm he just had. God, he loved this man. Ilya found himself whispering aloud to Shane. 

<I love you, I love you, I love you.> he whispered in Russian. A mantra, a prayer, a manifestation. 

<I love you, I love you, I love you.>

He would say it in English to Shane soon, he promised himself. Ilya wasn’t ready for Shane’s reaction. If it scared Shane off, if he ran away from Ilya, Ilya wasn’t sure that he would survive it. 

He forced himself to disentangle their bodies and get a washcloth to help them clean up. He looked at himself in the mirror as he ran the hot water tap, surprised by the lax and sappy look on his face. He inspected the hickey Shane had given him, bright red and starting to deepen into purple at his collar bone. That one was not going to be gone by tomorrow. Hell, it probably would still be there a week from now. Ilya smiled at his souvenir of the most raw and sensual night of his life. 

And now he was going to go take care of Shane and Shane was going to stay and they would wake up together. It was Ilya’s deepest and most desperate desire, to have Shane stay. One he’d been holding onto for months—maybe years. He’d anticipated how this night would go, dreamed of it so many times. It did not precipitate at all how he had planned or expected, but he was so grateful that at least he had this one night. 

He returned to the bedroom and helped a very sleepy Shane clean up, then pulled him close under the covers. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” He whispered one more time against Shane’s temple before falling into the deepest sleep he’d had in a long time. 

Chapter End Notes

Our poor boys are so hopelessly in love and so bad at using words. They're working on it! 😅 Thanks for following along--I hope you are having as much fun reading as I have been having in writing this!

Ya tebya lyublyu = I love you.

Chapter 8: Eight

Chapter Summary

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Shane said again, just a little louder. 

Ilya stilled. He opened his eyes, turning to stare at Shane with an unreadable expression, brows furrowed. 

“Oh, you speak Russian now?” 

“I—um,” Shane stuttered. This was not how he expected Ilya to react. 

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Ilya’s eyes searched his, like he was waiting for Shane to burst out laughing or say he was kidding. 

Chapter Notes

Their first morning after together. How will they handle it?

The first thought that Shane had when he woke up was that he felt so impossibly warm and cozy, like he was wrapped in a weighted electric blanket. He slowly blinked his eyes open. Ilya was draped heavily across his body, an arm and a leg slung over Shane possessively. His heart caught in his throat as he remembered yesterday’s events that brought him to Ilya’s house. Ilya looked so relaxed in sleep. So much younger, almost boyish with the Rozanov mask completely gone. Shane smiled fondly at him, then began mentally going over a list of things he needed to do this morning. He wanted to help Ilya pack and do anything else that could be useful to prepare him to go to Russia, he wanted to talk to Ilya if they had a chance…and there was something else he was forgetting. 

Oh yeah, he wanted to look up what Ilya was saying in Russian over and over last night. 

Most of what the other man had said just washed around Shane like music, but there was a phrase that he had repeated. It sounded something like “Yah tibia loo-blue”. Shane thought maybe it meant something like “that feels good”, or maybe something kind of dirty. But the way Ilya had said it sounded so emotional, which was confusing Shane. 

Shane slowly and carefully slipped out from underneath Ilya’s hold. The Russian scrunched his face as though protesting, but did not otherwise stir. 

“I’ll be right back,” Shane whispered, softly kissing Ilya’s shoulder. It seemed to soothe him, and he continued to breathe deeply in sleep. 

Shane tapped his phone screen to wake it up as he slipped out of the bed. 7:30. 

Wow, that was sleeping in by his standards. 

He crept over to the bathroom and shut the door most of the way, not fully latching it to avoid the clicking noise that could wake Ilya. After using the bathroom and washing his hands, he picked up his phone and opened the translate app. 

Shane selected Russian to English translation. He made sure the volume was on but low so no one else could hear it. He took a deep breath and tapped the microphone for speaking. 

“Yah tibia loo-blue,” he whispered, doing his best impression of the roundness of the vowels in Ilya’s voice. 

The app picked it up and flashed a loading symbol, spinning in the center of the screen as fast as Shane’s heart felt like it was hammering in his chest. 

Did you mean: Ya tebya lyublyu? The app asked.  

Shane clicked the sound icon to hear it spoken. It sounded just like what Ilya had said, if a little more robotic in pronunciation. With a shaking finger, he clicked “translate”. 

I love you.

The words stared back at him on the page. 

Ilya had been telling Shane that he loved him. Repeatedly. With emotion shaking in his voice. While they fucked face to face like they were making love. 

Shane’s eyes were suddenly wet. He fought the urge to sob. He could not believe it. 

Ilya loved him too. 

He wanted to say it back to Ilya, so much that it hurt. Then he had an idea. 

What if I say it back to him the first time in Russian?

Shane wondered if hearing it in his mother tongue might feel more meaningful to Ilya. Liking this plan even more, he clicked the volume up one more notch on his phone and held the speaker to his ear to listen to the app say the words. He listened over and over, muttering it to himself, feeling the shape of the words on his tongue. 

Well, that would have to do for now. Shane thought. He was excited about looking into studying Russian more, though, so he could speak to Ilya and understand at least the basics. While he was in the bathroom, he brushed his teeth as quietly as he could, figuring he might as well smell nice the first time he tried to speak Russian out loud. 

He crept back into the bedroom and peeked at Ilya, who was still asleep, lips parted and snoring softly. 

Shane’s heart squeezed at the sight. He hated to wake Ilya, who looked so peaceful in a way he never did while he was awake and alert. Unfortunately it was ten minutes til 8:00, and they had a lot to do before Ilya would have to get on a plane. 

Shane felt the familiar pang of never having enough time with Ilya. He hoped that they could talk a little bit this morning. That maybe they could figure out a way to make more time in the future, even if it was still stolen moments on phone calls and in hotels between games. He wanted whatever Ilya would give him. 

He slipped back under the covers. Ilya was facing away from his side of the bed now. A slant of sunlight poured in from the gap in the curtains and fell across Ilya’s forehead. Shane scooted himself up to be able to put his chin on Ilya’s shoulder, snaking his arm around the other man and pulling Ilya’s body up against his own. Even boneless in sleep, Ilya was all firm muscle. His warm skin seared into Shane’s much chillier body, the latter having been standing in the bathroom practicing his Russian for the last 20 minutes. Shane felt himself getting hard. Normally he’d have been embarrassed, but instead he just felt giddy. 

Ilya’s brow furrowed and he stirred at Shane’s touch. 

“Good morning,” Shane whispered, brushing his lips against Ilya’s temple. 

Ilya made a soft noise of contentment and hunched his shoulders to further snuggle into Shane without opening his eyes. 

Shane smiled in spite of himself. 

“I know you’re awake, Ilya,” he rumbled, voice low in the other man’s ear. 

“Mmm,” Ilya hummed in response, eyes still closed but lips turning up at the corners. 

Shane tucked a curl out of Ilya’s eyes and behind the other man’s ear. He let his lips play with the shell of Ilya’s ear for a moment, savoring the contentment of holding a sleepy Ilya. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane whispered. Ilya did not immediately react. His eyes were still closed and he looked like he was floating in the bliss of being warm and sleepy and held. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Shane said again, just a little louder. 

Ilya stilled. He opened his eyes, turning to stare at Shane with an unreadable expression, brows furrowed. 

“Oh, you speak Russian now?” 

“I—um,” Shane stuttered. This was not how he expected Ilya to react. 

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Ilya’s eyes searched his, like he was waiting for Shane to burst out laughing or say he was kidding. 

“Um. Yes. I love you,” Shane said quickly, before he could chicken out. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest waiting for Ilya’s response. 

Ilya pulled away from Shane and inhaled sharply like he’d been hurt. Shane saw with alarm that the other man was crying. 

“Ilya—” he started, reaching for him. 

Ilya turned back around to face Shane and yanked him close. He rolled himself on top of Shane and peppered his face with wet kisses. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu, Ya tebya lyublyu, Ya tebya lyublyu.” Ilya repeated between kisses. 

Shane could taste the salt of the other man’s tears and found he was also crying. 

“Fuck, I love you so much,” Shane laughed wetly against Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya just squeezed him harder in response, breathing hard, a little overcome with emotion. 

After a few minutes, Ilya’s breathing had mostly returned to normal. With a shuddering sigh, he rolled off of Shane and propped himself on his elbow to look at the other man. 

“Did you know, last night, what it meant?” 

“No,” Shane said honestly. “But you said it so many times that I thought it must be important. I tried to memorize it so I could translate it later. I looked it up this morning.” 

Ilya brushed his thumb over a stray tear in the corner of Shane’s eye and smiled softly. “And then you say it perfectly saying it back to me, first try?” 

Shane blushed. “Not first try, I practiced.”

“When?”

“This morning, in the bathroom. While you were still asleep.” 

Ilya’s face cracked into a wide grin and he dove at Shane again, kissing him hard, murmuring in Russian between kisses.

—————

Ilya was cocooned in his blankets, sleeping soundly, when he distantly felt something cold on his skin. His body immediately responded with annoyance, trying to get back to floating away in dreams.

“Good morning.”

Shane. It was Shane who was holding him, perfect. Ilya contentedly snuggled back against Shane’s body. 

“I know you’re awake, Ilya,” he heard Shane say, tickling Ilya’s ear with this breath. 

“Mmm,” Ilya hummed, smiling in spite of himself. 

Ilya felt Shane hug him closer and brush his lips across Ilya’s ear again. It felt so good to be held. Ilya didn’t remember the last time anyone had held him like this. With a slight pang, he realized it might’ve been his mother, when he was a child. Shane was pushing his hair out of his eyes, trailing over his ear with so much tenderness. Then he was whispering to Ilya again, pulling him back to the present. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Shane said softly, right into his ear. 

Ilya’s heart actually stopped. 

I can’t have heard that right.

He turned to stare at Shane, confused and ready to throw up his walls and run. 

“Oh, you speak Russian now?” Ilya heard himself say a little more aggressively than he meant to. 

“I—uh,” Shane stammered. 

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Ilya pulled away and fought to keep his voice even. He couldn’t bear it if Shane told him he loved him and then took it back. He needed to hear that Shane was 100% sure before he accepted these words from him. 

“Um, yes. I love you,” Shane rushed out, looking terrified but defiant, like Ilya had just accused him of being wrong when he knew he was right. 

Ilya felt his heart get flayed completely open, pierced by Shane’s admission. 

He said it in Russian the first time, for you. In Russian. He said it in Russian, and in English. It’s real. 

He looked away, tears pricking his eyes, fighting the urge to sob. 

“Ilya—,” Shane reached out towards him, looking so scared. 

Ilya grabbed Shane, crushed him beneath his weight and buried his face against Shane’s skin. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu, Ya tebya lyublyu, Ya tebya lyublyu.” Ilya chanted, kissing Shane’s face over and over through their tears. 

“Fuck, I love you so much,” Shane chuckled against Ilya’s skin. Ilya just hugged him harder in response, breathing hard, unable to let go. 

After Ilya got his breathing under control and was sure Shane wouldn’t run away from him, he climbed off and propped himself on his elbow to look at the other man. 

“Did you know, last night, what it meant?” 

“No,” Shane said earnestly. “But you said it so many times that I thought it must be important. I tried to memorize it so I could translate it later. I looked it up this morning.” 

Ilya brushed his thumb across Shane’s freckles and wiped away a lingering tear. He smiled softly. “And then you say it perfectly saying it back to me, first try?” 

Shane blushed. “Not first try, I practiced.”

“When?”

“This morning, in the bathroom. While you were still asleep.” 

Ilya grinned so hard he felt like his face would break in half as he dove at Shane again, kissing him hard, Russian words flowing out of him. 

<You are so perfect. My perfectionist. My Shane. I love you so much. Fuck, what am I going to do with you?> he murmured. 

Ilya’s stomach turned over as he remembered that he had to leave Shane and go back to Russia, today. His grin faded. 

“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya pressed their foreheads together as he felt another tear make its way out of his eye, rolling down his cheek and falling onto Shane’s arm, which was wrapped around him and holding him tightly. 

“I know.” Shane said simply, just holding Ilya and not letting go. 

Ilya knew being together wasn’t something they could fix right now—he wasn’t even sure that Shane should want it with him. There were so many loose ends, uncertainties, and barriers. Russia, the rivalry, being queer in a very unfriendly environment, keeping secrets from most of the people they knew—it was a lot. But Shane was here, and holding him, and not running. 

“Look, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Shane admitted. “I don’t know how we can be together. I know there are a lot of…things we need to work out. But we can figure something out, okay?” He squeezed Ilya again.

“Is that what you want? To be together?” Ilya asked, not letting himself hope yet. 

“So much,” Shane said without hesitation. “I won’t pretend I’m not scared. But, yes, I want to be with you.”

Ilya found Shane’s lips again and kissed him until he forgot his own name. 

Chapter End Notes

I love their love so much 🥹🥰

Chapter 9: Nine

Chapter Summary

“Ilya, you should probably check what I packed for you to make sure it’s okay,” Shane said, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of upstairs.  

“Ah, yes, oke,” Ilya agreed, turning toward the stairs and running his hand thoughtfully through his hair like he was thinking. Shane followed him. 

As soon as Shane crossed the threshold of Ilya’s bedroom door, Ilya closed it quietly and crowded into Shane’s space. 

“Are you going to look at what I pa—” Ilya cut him off with a kiss, gently cupping Shane’s jaw in his hand to angle it deeper. 

“How fast can you come?” Ilya demanded softly in Shane’s ear when he broke the kiss. Shane felt himself go weak in the knees and a blush creeping up his neck. 

“Uh—depends,” Shane murmured back, gaze dropping to Ilya's lips. “How good can you give it?” 

Chapter Notes

Shane is thoughtful and Ilya is chaos and all is right with the world 🥰

After showering together again—which definitely did not take twice as long as necessary getting clean, dirty, and clean again—Shane and Ilya made their way downstairs. Svetlana was sitting at the counter in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. 

“Morning,” she yawned. 

“Hi,” Shane waved. 

Ilya nodded at her. He opened a cabinet and got out two bowls. Then he opened another cabinet and pulled out Apple Jacks cereal and plain oatmeal, pushing the oatmeal towards Shane.

Shane nodded his thanks and started measuring out oats like he always did this at Ilya’s house. 

Svetlana divided an amused look between the two men, who both had big dopey smiles on their faces. 

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes,” Shane blushed. 

“No,” Ilya deadpanned. 

Shane elbowed Ilya in the ribs. Ilya shoved Shane back, grinning. 

Svetlana laughed. “Mmm, I see.” She paused and looked back and forth between them. “How does anyone not see it?” 

“See what?” Shane asked, peering into Ilya’s fridge for some kind of milk, surprised to see a new, unopened container of almond milk. He pulled it out and turned back to Svetlana. 

“You two. You’re literally grinning at each other,” she said, an amused expression on her face. 

“Ah, Shane does not always look at me like that. Only right after I make him co—”

“ILYA!” Shane cut him off, scowling and blushing a deep scarlet. 

“Ah—that’s what his face usually looks like around me,” Ilya waved his hand at Shane’s scowl. “Is cute. Like angry kitten.” 

“Oh my god.” Shane muttered. He pinched the bridge of his nose instead of smacking the man he just confessed his love to, but it was a close call. 

“He says that a lot too,” Ilya offered helpfully. Sometimes it sounds like that and sometimes it’s a lot louder.”

“Mmm yes, so I heard.” Svetlana said drily. 

Shane wanted to sink into the floor. Throttling Ilya was also not totally off the table. “Fuck you,” he said to Ilya as he poured milk into his oats.

“Mmm, not right now,” Ilya said gravely, taking a bite of Apple Jacks and chewing. “Maybe later.” 

Shane decided not to dignify that with a response. He had never met anyone so infuriating in his life. There was no reason at all for him to be getting hard again. He busied himself at the opposite counter stirring his oatmeal and putting it in the microwave, subtly (he hoped) adjusting himself as Svetlana and Ilya started conversing in Russian. 

—————

<How are you feeling?> Svetlana asked Ilya in Russian. 

Ilya had just spent the last few minutes antagonizing Shane, which he loved almost as much as kissing him. Shane just made it so easy, and he was so easily annoyed by Ilya. Plus Shane had just told him he loved him and wanted to be together, and then they’d had mind-blowing sex for the fourth time in the last 2 days. So from that perspective, Ilya was never better. 

He was feeling fine, if a little tired, from yesterday. He was feeling a lot of things about going back to Russia. Worried about how the funeral would go, nervous to see his brother, angry that Russia and his father was tearing him away from Shane yet again. He had complicated feelings about the fact that his father had passed away and he was now officially an orphan.

<I’m fine> Ilya said, hoping Svetlana would drop it while he continued to scarf down cereal.

<Did you talk to Shane?> she prodded. 

<About what?> Ilya asked innocently. 

<Stop being difficult. You know what.>

<What if I wanted to keep it private?> Ilya said petulantly, looking at Svetlana sideways. 

She paused mid-bite, eyes wide. 

<He said he loved you back?>

<How did you get that from what I just said?> Ilya asked incredulously. 

<I guessed, and you just confirmed it. Also, you both came downstairs looking positively lovesick. It would be disgusting if it weren’t so adorable.> Svetlana laughed and affectionately tugged on one of Ilya’s curls, letting it spring into his face as she let go. 

“Hey!” Ilya said in English, swatting at her hand. 

“I was just telling Ilyusha that he is lucky he has people who put up with him. He is so annoying and stubborn,” Svetlana said serenely to Shane while Ilya sputtered indignantly. 

Shane nodded in agreement. “So annoying. And then he’s like—disarmingly charming the next second? And I forget for a moment how infuriating he was being. Until the next time he’s being exasperating again.”

“Whoa, Mr. Dictionary—that is a lot of big words for early morning,” Ilya quipped. 

“Sorry. I just mean you’re mostly an asshole, but sometimes you’re very likable,” Shane clarified. 

“Hollander, I am always likable and charming.”

Svetlana laughed at both of them. 

“Okay Mr. Likeable and Charming, we have a number of calls to make before we fly out today and I need you for several of them,” Svetlana said. “Have you packed yet?” 

“Ah, no,” Ilya answered, rubbing the back of his neck. Too many things on his to-do list, and to his chagrin, none of the ones left were Hollander. 

“You go make some calls. I can pack for you if you tell me what bag to use and an idea of the things you want,” Shane offered. 

“Oke, use the medium black suitcase.” Ilya rattled off a list of things he wanted. 

<Wow, nice hickey. Did you have that yesterday?> Svetlana commented drily in Russian as Ilya passed her on his way to the sink with his empty bowl. 

Ilya sighed dramatically. 

“Sveta says I have to pack a sweater with a high neck.”

Shane turned pink. “Like a turtleneck?”

“Yes, I think so. Probably.”

—————

Shane went upstairs and dug through Ilya’s closet. He found that all of Ilya’s suitcases were black and about medium-sized, but there was one with more recent tags on it than the others, so he figured it was the one to use. 

He opened the suitcase and made a mental checklist of the things Ilya listed as well as what he would pack if it was him going on this trip. Ilya had mentioned his toiletry bag, but not any particular things in it that he wanted. Shane found the bag under the bathroom counter and dug through it. He found that several of the mini bottles of products were nearly empty, so he set about refilling body wash and shampoo and cologne. 

When he got to toothpaste, he found that Ilya’s mini tube was completely empty, and he didn’t appear to have any extras. Not wanting to bother Ilya to ask about it, Shane went to his own bag and grabbed the spare mini toothpaste he kept for himself and added it to Ilya’s bag. 

He returned to the bedroom and put the toiletries in the suitcase, deciding to tackle clothes next. He packed the clothes Ilya had listed, folding everything carefully and stacking it neatly in the suitcase to minimize wrinkles. Shane chuckled to himself as he added a turtleneck sweater.

While Shane was going through Ilya’s dresser to pack him a couple of t-shirts and sweats, he found a soft white t-shirt with no tags in it.

Huh, that’s weird. Ilya never wears white shirts. Shane thought. 

He picked up the t-shirt to shake it out and re-fold it. When his fingers touched the fabric, he stopped cold. 

This is my shirt. It’s been missing for like a year! 

Shane had left it at Ilya’s house last year when he ran out after Ilya had asked him to stay and used his first name. 

And Ilya had kept it. 

Shane’s heart caught in his throat. He wondered if Ilya had worn the shirt and thought of him. He folded the shirt nicely and tucked it between two other shirts in Ilya’s suitcase. After considering for a moment, he looked through the drawer for Ilya’s softest plain t-shirt that he could find, folded it neatly, and slipped it into his own bag to take home. It seemed only fair to get to have one of Ilya’s shirts if Ilya had one of his. 

He wracked his brain trying to remember if there was anything missing, adding a phone charger and plug adapter that he found in Ilya’s bedside drawer as he swept around the room to jog his memory. 

Figuring that was at least most of it, Shane left the suitcase open at the foot of the bed for Ilya to add any of his last minute things to it before he and Svetlana left for the airport.

Shane wandered back downstairs. He had a text from Hayden asking if he’d had a nice time with “Lily” and if he was coming back to the hotel for breakfast and whether he was going to fly home with the team later in the day. Shane rolled his eyes and told Hayden he would be back in time to take the team bus to the airport, ignoring the first two questions. He opened the fridge and pulled out a can of ginger ale, then sat at the counter, sipping it. The clock on the microwave showed 10:45. Shane wasn’t sure when Ilya and Svetlana planned on leaving for the airport but he imagined it would be soon. 

Ilya and Svetlana appeared a few minutes later from the downstairs hallway. Svetlana was rolling a small suitcase and Ilya was carrying her other bag. The way Ilya’s eyes lit up when he spotted Shane had Shane’s heart squeezing in his chest. 

“Did you get everything done that you needed to do?” Shane asked, standing up and placing his can in the recycling bin. 

“Yes, thanks to me,” Svetlana said, poking Ilya in the ribs. 

“Ugh. Yes. I owe you one, I know. Thank you, Sveta,” Ilya said dramatically, slinging his arm around her and dragging her closer like he was about to mess up her hair. 

“Ilya, don’t you dare!” She tried to shove him away. He pulled her back again and gave her a smacking kiss on the top of her head anyways. 

Svetlana made a frustrated noise and swiped at her hair where Ilya had messed up her curls. 

“Ah, but you love me,” Ilya sang, laughing. 

“And aren’t you lucky I still do, Ilyusha!” She snapped, but it had no real venom behind it. 

Shane looked on, but this time instead of feeling jealous, he felt relieved that Ilya had someone else in his corner who could help him. A part of Shane  would never be happy about the fact that Ilya and Svetlana had ever had a benefits component to their friendship, but he believed Ilya when the other man had told him that he and Svetlana hadn’t partaken in “benefits” in a long time. 

“We should probably leave in about 25 minutes or so,” Svetlana said, glancing at her phone. “I will call a car.”

“Ilya, you should probably check what I packed for you to make sure it’s okay,” Shane said, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of upstairs.  

“Ah, yes, oke,” Ilya agreed, turning toward the stairs and running his hand thoughtfully through his hair like he was thinking. Shane followed him. 

As soon as Shane crossed the threshold of Ilya’s bedroom door, Ilya closed it quietly and crowded into Shane’s space. 

“Are you going to look at what I pa—” Ilya cut him off with a kiss, gently cupping Shane’s jaw in his hand to angle it deeper. 

“How fast can you come?” Ilya demanded softly in Shane’s ear when he broke the kiss. Shane felt himself go weak in the knees and a blush creeping up his neck. 

“Uh—depends,” Shane murmured back, gaze dropping to Ilya's lips. “How good can you give it?” 

————-

Ilya led Shane back upstairs because Shane asked him to check what the other man had packed for Ilya for his trip. Ilya frankly didn’t give a crap what Shane had packed for him. He was sure it would be more than sufficient, and he could buy anything he’d forgotten once he was in Moscow. Svetlana had told him 25 minutes, and he had a singular goal for those 25 minutes. 

He shut the bedroom door the second Shane was through it and cut off Shane’s question about packing with a searching kiss that had his toes curling. Ilya pulled away for just a second—long enough to whisper in Shane’s ear. 

“How fast can you come?”

He expected Shane to stammer out an earnest guess estimating the number of minutes.

“Uh—depends,” Shane said without missing a beat, eyes drifting to Ilya's mouth. “How good can you give it?” His eyes snapped back to Ilya’s and he held his gaze, challenging. 

Oh let’s fucking go. Ilya thought to himself. His cock twitched almost painfully with how fast it was hardening, straining against his tight black jeans. 

“I bet I can make you come faster than you can make me finish,” Shane palmed the front of Ilya’s jeans and grinned. The Russian sucked in a breath as Shane dragged the nail of one finger up the seam of the zipper, along Ilya’s hard length and undid the button one-handed with a flick of his wrist. 

Ilya barely had time to choke out a curse before Shane was on his knees. 

“Wow,” Ilya sputtered, both palms flat on the wall in a vain attempt to remain standing as Shane shoved his jeans open and pulled his hard length out of it. Ilya felt dizzy and giddy with the speed with which Hollander pivoted from chatting casually to a literal race to finish. Fuck, he loved this man. 

Shane pressed reverent kisses along Ilya’s shaft, letting the tip of his tongue drag under the ridge of the head of the other man’s cock before swirling his tongue over the tip and taking him into his mouth. 

Ilya felt his eyes involuntarily rolling back in his head at the wet heat and the slide of Shane’s tongue as the Canadian relaxed his throat and took Ilya deep. There was no pretense of teasing or dragging this out a second longer than necessary. Shane was a man on a mission and he intended to win. He hollowed out his cheeks, gripping Ilya hard by the hips to steady his relentless pace. 

Ilya was not sure if he was going to come or collapse first. The intensity of sensation Shane was creating with his mouth was so white-hot Ilya felt like he was being burned by Shane’s lips. Ilya could be loud when the sex was intense but his senses were so overwhelmed that all that came out was a desperate keening groan. He dimly registered that he was already getting close, and that he was supposed to try to last longer than Shane would. Ilya’s brain searched wildly with the two brain cells that had enough blood left circulating up there for something to focus on to distract him from the burning pleasure of Shane’s ministrations. He tried counting, but that just made him more acutely aware of how little time had passed. 

The medley of Shane’s eagerness, competitive desire to win, and fucking amazing mouth were a lethal combination. Ilya kept one hand on the wall and carded the fingers of the other through Shane’s hair, desperately looking for something to hold onto as his world tilted on its axis. 

Shane added his hand near his lips, twisting deliciously at the top of a stroke before plunging Ilya back in and bottoming out in the back of his throat. He hummed with pleasure as Ilya’s knees began to shake. The vibration rocketed through Ilya’s whole body. 

Ilya came so suddenly and so blindingly hard, he didn’t have time to warn Shane when it was about to happen. He knew he probably made quite a lot of noise, but he couldn’t hear any of it as his ears were ringing so loudly that all he heard was static. It went on and on as Shane stayed with him, wringing every drop of come out of him like he was starving for it. Finally Ilya’s body stopped shaking and Shane eased off and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Shane looked up at Ilya with fire in his eyes. He looked so fiercely, reverently in love that it took Ilya’s breath away. Ilya dropped to his knees beside Shane. He told himself it was to kiss the man he adored and not because his legs literally wouldn’t hold him any longer. 

“Shane, you have killed me. I am dead,” Ilya said hoarsely, cupping the side of Shane’s face and kissing him. Shane kissed him back, breath heaving from his efforts. When Ilya pulled back, Shane gave him a little satisfied smirk. 

“2 minutes and 28 seconds,” Shane murmured, petting Ilya’s hair. 

“Hmm?” Ilya said absently, definitely fully awake and not mostly collapsed in Shane’s arms. 

“That’s your time to beat.”

“Oh, you used a stopwatch?” Ilya snarked, though he winced privately. He liked to think of himself as having good stamina but he was so weak for Hollander. 

“There’s a clock right behind you, Ilya,” Shane pointed to the clock on the wall. 

Ilya’s eyes followed his finger.  “And you watched the clock while sucking my cock?” Ilya said, dumbstruck. 

“Not the whole time! Just enough to know how long it took,” Shane said, like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. 

Ilya felt completely overwhelmed in his love for this overly-rational, hyper-competitive, deeply silly man. 

“Hollander you will not last 2 minutes,” he heard himself saying.

“You fucking wish, Rozanov,” Shane shot back.

Beginning to feel like he could move again, Ilya got his legs under him and grabbed Shane behind the shoulders and behind his knees. He took a deep breath and stood up, picking Shane up with him. Shane was laughing and demanding Ilya put him down. Ilya crossed the room with Shane in his arms and deposited the Canadian on the bed. Shane had not fully bounced once before Ilya pounced on the other man, covering him with his body. 

Ilya didn’t look at the clock. He didn’t really care how long any of this took. He had his entire world laughing and smiling and groaning beneath him and he felt like the luckiest man in the universe.

Chapter End Notes

Okay, one more update from Ilya coming up. Thank you for enjoying it with me! 💖

Chapter 10: Ten

Chapter Summary

Toweling off afterwards, he inspected his reflection in the mirror and smiled again when he saw the mark Shane had made low on his throat. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the slight ache of the bruise. If he closed his eyes he could nearly remember exactly what it felt like to have Shane’s mouth right here. Maybe he would have to ask Shane for a mark every time they saw each other, as a reminder that this was real. In his darkest moments of doubt, he could press on the mark to remind himself that Shane was not just a dream.

Chapter Notes

There is no Russian monologue in this universe because the boys are already openly loving each other. As beautiful as that scene was, this one made me happier to write for them. They deserve softness ❤️

Ilya was back in his apartment in Moscow. After a grueling 20 hours of travel from Boston, he’d landed just in time to be expected to attend a dinner with his family and some government officials who had worked with his father. 

His father’s wife Polina had audaciously asked him for $25,000 USD without a hint of sadness in her face for his father’s death. His brother Alexei had cornered him, insulted him, called him dirty names, and tried to threaten Ilya into giving him money. Ilya was so fucking done with this place, these people. All he wanted was to tie up loose ends and leave. Being back here had put sharply into focus that Moscow was no longer home. Hell, Boston wasn’t really home either. Home was Shane, and whatever time they could scrape together to see each other. Ilya missed Shane so fiercely in that moment, his eyes stung. He longed to get lost in the feel of Shane’s body and the sound of his voice. The only thing that brought him enough safety and comfort to let his walls down and just be himself. 

Feeling absolutely gross after his long travel day and horrible dinner where he’d tried to drown himself in the vodka, Ilya dragged himself over to his suitcase and opened it, looking for something to wear to sleep. His heart caught at the sight of the neatly organized piles of clothes and fully zipped toiletries and accessories cases tucked carefully at the bottom. He pawed through the clothes for a t-shirt and stilled when he pulled out the white t-shirt Shane had packed him. 

Shane knew this was his shirt, right? He packed it on purpose to tease Ilya, yes?

Smiling for the first time that day, Ilya quickly got out of his travel clothes. He pulled out a pair of sweats to go with the t-shirt. He decided to at least take a quick shower and wash off the day before changing into the clothes. 

As Ilya pulled his toiletries bag out of his suitcase, he recalled that he’d made a mental note to refill all his travel bottles at the last roadie because he’d been out of nearly everything. Silently cursing himself, he opened it in the hopes that he had at least enough for right now so he could get clean and go to bed. 

Every single one of his containers was neatly tucked into their little pockets, and every one of them was filled exactly as full as they could be without exploding on the plane. Shane had even refilled his little container of Tylenol. Tears threatening to fall, Ilya grabbed his bottles of soap and shampoo and quickly walked to the shower where he could no longer distinguish what was water and what was liquid emotions. 

Toweling off afterwards, he inspected his reflection in the mirror and smiled again when he saw the mark Shane had made low on his throat. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the slight ache of the bruise. If he closed his eyes he could nearly remember exactly what it felt like to have Shane’s mouth right here. Maybe he would have to ask Shane for a mark every time they saw each other, as a reminder that this was real. In his darkest moments of doubt, he could press on the mark to remind himself that Shane was not just a dream.

He reached for his toothbrush and remembered that he had also been completely out of travel sized toothpaste, and there wasn’t any way that Shane would have been able to refill that. He spotted an unfamiliar pink tube in the toothbrush slot of his dopp kit. Furrowing his brow in confusion, he held it up to the bathroom light. The label was all in a strange mix of characters that Ilya vaguely guessed might be Japanese, but there was a picture of a toothbrush, a peach, and a leaf on the front. It slowly dawned on Ilya what it could be. 

Shane gave me his own toothpaste when he saw I didn’t have any. 

It was such a tiny gesture, Ilya told himself. No real reason to be getting emotional about it. Except it wasn’t tiny. Shane had found a problem and he had solved it–problem solving was something Shane was masterfully good at. But it wasn’t just solving a simple problem, it was the anticipation of Ilya needing something and providing it without Ilya needing to give input. It was the fact that he packed for Ilya at all, but also that he did it so perfectly–better than Ilya would have packed for himself even if he’d had time to prepare. It was yet another quiet manifestation of how much Shane cared. Ilya wasn’t used to people caring about him. Not in ways big or small. Svetlana cared about him, but she did not coddle him. Ilya had not realized how much he longed to be coddled sometimes. To be able to throw his whole self to another person and have them catch him safely, lovingly. To say with their actions I’ve got you, and for him to be able to trust that they really did.

Bleh, this was too many emotions for one day.

It was 9:30pm in Moscow. That meant it was mid-afternoon in Montreal. The Metros had a home stand and Shane should be home from practice by now. Ilya shrugged into Shane’s white t-shirt and hit FaceTime on his phone, propping it against the mirror as he finished brushing his teeth. The gently peachy mint flavor tasted like Shane and it made Ilya ache with how much he missed the other man. He spit and was wiping his mouth when Shane’s face appeared on his phone screen. 

He looked like he was freshly showered, smiling into the camera. “Hey,” he said softly, affectionately. “How are you?”

“Ah—,” Ilya waved his hand vaguely. “But better now.” He felt his shoulders relaxing just at the sound of Shane’s voice. He peered closer at the screen. Shane was wearing a black v-neck t-shirt. Shane never wore black or v-necks. 

“Nice shirt,” Shane smirked, looking at Ilya’s chest. “You know, I thought I lost that shirt like a year ago. Glad you found it.” He winked, actually winked, at Ilya the way Ilya was always doing to him. Fuck, he missed Shane so much. 

“Thank you for packing it,” Ilya heard himself saying earnestly. Then, because he couldn’t help it, he held up the Japanese toothpaste. “I prefer to taste this by having your tongue down my throat, but…I think it’s my new favorite because it tastes like you.”

Shane blushed. “You didn’t have any toothpaste and I couldn’t pack for you and not refill your things!”

Ilya grabbed his phone and walked into the bedroom. He settled on his bed and turned on the bedside lamp, which made his previously shadowed face glow in the lamplight. He looked at the little thumbnail he could see of himself on the screen. His face was lined with fatigue but his usual cocky mask was gone. He looked softer. A version of himself he had not seen much in a long time. Ilya peered back at Shane again, finally recognizing something. 

“You took one of my shirts?” The thought of Shane stealing his clothes circled like an old dog searching for a spot to lie down to rest and settled comfortably in his heart. 

“Yes. It seemed only fair, since you had one of mine.” Shane giggled.

“Thank you,” Ilya said softly, sincerely. He paused a second before adding “Malysh,” His voice the barest whisper. 

“What does Malysh mean?” Shane asked. 

Ilya just smiled. “I’ll tell you when I’m home.”

Chapter End Notes

Ilya was always going to have a really hard time with this journey with his father. I just really liked imagining how Shane would help him bear that burden if he had known it was happening a few days earlier than he found out canonically. ❤️‍🩹 Thanks so much for coming along on this journey with me! Until the next one, dear readers. 🥰

Malysh = baby

Works inspired by this one

Epub Cover inspired by “The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows” series by FluentBird81 by sk_inspired (skargasm), skargasm