Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Jackie Pike, Irina Rozanova, Luca Haas, Sasha | Ilya Rozanov's Coach's Son

Additional Tags:

Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Alternate Universe - No Homophobia or Queer Fear, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, Romantic Gestures, Grand Romantic Gestures, (Ilya Goes Nuts With the Grand Romantic Gestures), First Kiss, First Dates, Hockey Chirping as Flirting, The NHL is LGBTQ+ Friendly, Supportive Montreal Voyageurs, Ilya/Cliff are on the Ottawa Centaurs, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, Transgender Luca Haas, Romance, Ilya Tries to Win Shane Hollander's Love (And Shane Hollander is Charmed as Hell By It), Alive Irina Rozanova, Sexting, Masturbation, 69 (Sex Position), Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-20 Completed: 2026-03-27 Words: 47,014 Chapters: 8/8

Puck Me, I’m Yours

Summary

In a world where homophobia and queer fear doesn't exist, in a world where love can happen out in the open for anyone and everyone, Shane Hollander is still stubbornly single. As the Captain of the Montreal Voyageurs, he insists he's too focused on hockey and his career for a relationship, when in reality, old fears of being seen as "the hockey weirdo" keep him from unmasking.

That is, until Ilya Rozanov enters his life. The newly single Captain of the Ottawa Centaurs, after a decade-long relationship ends amicably, is now interested in the one man who won't give him the time of day.

So when Shane, while on National Television, tells Ilya he'll have to "impress him" to earn that first date, Ilya takes it as the greatest challenge of his life. What follows is a whirlwind of grand romantic gestures, public flirting, chirping (flirting) on the ice, social media ploys and and ever escalating spectacle. All while the NHL, their friends, their family, their teams, and fans across the continent watch, cheer, and place bets on when Shane will finally say yes.

Notes

Before you read on, I want to point out that this is an Alternate Universe, where homophobia, queer fear, and intolerance doesn't exist. Everyone is equal regardless of race, sex, gender, or sexual preference. So if you see things that seem "odd" for NHL, Russian, or characters in this story to behave or say, understand that they are all slightly changed because of this very big difference in the universe and the real world. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Chirping Is a Valid Form of Foreplay

Montreal's locker room was thrumming with nervous energy before their first game of the season against Ottawa. It was the middle of October, with autumn starting to give way to an early winter, but the cold hadn't stopped their fans from almost selling out the entire arena. Even from inside the locker room, Shane Hollander could hear the thunder of the fans waiting for the game to begin.

Shane didn't blame the fans for being excited. Hell, he was just as pumped as they were, if not more. His leg bobbed up and down as he sat on the bench beneath his locker, double checking all his equipment before getting dressed for the game.

The Ottawa Centaurs had been the Montreal Voyageur's rivals for a long time now. For just as long of a time, Montreal had been in the winning position.

Though that was before their new Captain, superstar Ilya Rozanov, and his second-in-command, Cliff Marlow, came over from Boston. They'd been given outrageous contracts that almost broke the ceiling on what an NHL player could legally make. Must have been nice for Ottawa to get that new tech billionaire owner.

Ever since then, Ottawa and Montreal had played a game of push and pull. They seemed to dance around each other these days, never that far apart in terms of skill and drive.  Every game between them was on the highlight reels on Sportsnet for weeks.

The change was unsurprising.  Rozanov had been the first draft pick the year before Shane came on the scene and brought home Boston a Stanley Cup in his first three years on the ice. Marlow was comparable to Rozanov in skill, but minus the hockey IQ, the Russian ruthlessness, and about 20 pounds of muscle. 

Games like tonight were what made Shane feel alive. Playing against Rozanov always made his blood burn hotter and push himself in ways no other player in the league did.

Across the locker room, he could tell his brothers in arms were just as pumped. JJ was headbanging to music blasting from his speakers to amp him up. Hayden was facetiming his wife and kids for luck. Drapeau, their goalie, was meditating butt naked under a shower, letting ice cold water crash down on him.

Shane kept his head down, ignoring them and letting his noise-cancelling headphones block out everything unnecessary. He laced up his skates, triple-checking every knot.

One of the Voyageurs tapped him on the shoulder, gesturing to their coach, who was yelling over the noise. Shane took off his headphones and winced at the noise that came after.

Their coach, Theriault, commanded immediate attention with a sharp whistle through his fingertips. "Listen up boys! We've got a special request from our brothers in Ottawa, and we're gonna be damn sure to respect this one, you hear me?"

The room settled.

"As you all know, Haas is back tonight. First game since his top surgery." Their coach's gaze swept the room, serious as he could be. "Haas has been cleared by his doctors as I've been told, but we've been asked to avoid direct contact with his chest. No cross-checks, and no aggressive boarding. Everything else is fine, don't be afraid to get rough, but we're keeping the brutal violence against him to a minimum tonight. Their Captain, Rozanov, said you can be extra brutal to him tonight to make up for it, and I say we give the damn Russian what he asks for."

Confirmations echoed through the locker room, without a single dissenting voice or complaint.

"We all know about Haas. We sent him a get-well basket after the surgery. Who on this team would be that much of an asshole to a guy straight out of PT and recovery?" Shane thought. He couldn't really think of anyone in the NHL that wouldn't respect another player’s comeback from surgery like that. Maybe Dallas Kent in Toronto, but that guy just liked hurting people. Everyone and their dog thought he should go into the MMA and be done with it.

"Good. Now that the "no shit sherlock" talk is out of the way, let's talk turkey, boys." Theriault's expression shifted into a big, cocky grin. "Tonight, we show these bastards no mercy. Tonight, we're going to show Ottawa why we're going to be bringing home that damn cup this year! Tonight, we make them regret ever showing their faces here! Aren't we boys!?"

"Yes, Coach!" Everyone yelled in unison. That got everyone fired up again, and by that point, Theriault started droning on with inspirational speeches, from that old school kind of coaching that nobody really liked anymore. Shane was sure he was copying, word for word, the speech from Independence Day.

One of the staff came through, thankfully cutting the coach’s rambling off, and giving everyone their 20 minute ice warning.

Shane finished putting on his pads and reached for his jersey. The fabric slid over him, a familiar weight settling on his shoulders. The noise around him blurred into background static.

This was the part he loved, the moments right before the game, when everything narrowed down to a single point of focus. When he turned "on" and everything else about him turned "off".

Hockey was his entire world, and when he got to play, all the other noise in his brain was gone, just for a little while.

God, he loved that feeling.

"Happiness. God this is better than sex…" Shane thought, as a peaceful grin crossed his soft features and freckled face.

"Shane! My man! I've got something that's going to pump you the fuck up!"

The focus was broken by a deep, cocky, overconfident voice that had been with Shane since he was thirteen years old.

Shane glanced up and his smile vanished into a flat line while his eyes narrowed into kill mode. Hayden Pike dropped onto the bench beside him, breaking Shane’s groove.

He contemplated, briefly, using his hockey stick for violence against his best friend's face. "No. Need him for the game. Not yet. I'll wait until after the game's over to bludgeon him to death," Shane thought.

Hayden was buzzing with energy, waving the phone as though he'd found the secret to the universe. "Look at this guy. I'm telling you, the Hayd-master has finally found your perfect match. AND BEFORE YOU ASK… Yes, I got Jackie to approve this one before I brought it to you. We confirmed this one doesn't have a warrant out on them."

Shane didn't reach for the phone, nor did he even look in its general direction. "Not this again, Hayd. Do we have to play this stupid game every week?"

"Just look! I won't pass you the puck tonight if you don't!" Hayden all but shoved the phone into Shane's eyeballs.

With a sigh, Shane took the phone. The screen showed a man, big, broad-shouldered, probably 6'7 or some other kind of "fuck you" height. He had ginger hair swept back and a hefty lumberjack beard. There were smile lines around his eyes. Confidence in the tilt of his head. Handsome and big. Yeah, Hayden was right, this guy was Shane's type.

"Ryan Price," Hayden said, grinning. "Recently retired. You remember the "Pay the Price Guy" in the other division? Dude runs a training camp out in BC now for kids. He's single and ready to mingle based on his dating profile."

Ryan Price. The nice guy who always apologized when he hit you too hard. He remembered playing against him a few times in their careers and he was a good player, probably the best Defender in recent history. Shane even remembered a conversation they'd had over beers at an industry party, where Ryan admitted to not liking hockey all that much and how he was looking forward to an early retirement." Shane's interest, despite how hot the guy was, immediately dried up.

Shane handed the phone back. "Pass." He said, without a moment's consideration.

Hayden shot back up, with new fire in his eyes. "Dude. He's one phone call away. One call, and you've got yourself a hot, sexy date with a guy who, rumor has it, had the biggest cock in the NHL. You're a size queen, right? I mean, you have to be, after that one time I saw your dil…”

"HAYDEN," Shane screamed, reaching over and wrapping his hands around his buddy's neck. He shook him back and forth to make his point known.

Several of the other Voyageurs cackled beside them, each one patting Shane on the shoulder as they walked by and offered their own annoying means of "support".

"Go get 'em, tiger!"

"Yeah, Cap. Go get yourself laid, at least! You're too wound up and stressed!"

"Don't worry, Cap, you can handle Price or anyone's anaconda, no problem!"

"Find yourself a man, for all our sakes!  I’m sick of getting 3 AM tape review texts!"

"You can't marry a hockey stick, Hollander!"

"I hate you all! We're doing double drills next practice!" Shane yelled back, fighting back the urge to blush.

Most of the guys laughed it off as they made their way out of the locker room and into the tunnel.

Shane knew they all meant well, even Hayden. They'd all been trying to hook him up and get him a boyfriend since his rookie season. When their meddling didn't work, the PALs (Partners and Lovers of Hockey Players) got involved, which got Jackie Pike involved, and now Hayden was her #1 conspirator.

"Dude. 12 inches. It's on his profile. I don't know what else I can do for you," Hayden muttered, shoulders dropping in defeat.

Shane rolled his eyes. "First of all, he doesn't like hockey anymore, and I very much do, so it's a no go from the start. Second of all, do you have any idea how big that is? Man, I'd like to be able to walk again after sex. That's… Too much. Just ask Jackie, bigger is not always better. Sometimes the best things come in smaller packages," he said, with a smug grin.

"Asshole," Hayden said, shoving at Shane.

Shane pulled his helmet off the shelf and turned it over in his hands, checking the fit. "Look, I appreciate what you guys are doing. The thing is, I'm at the top of my career. I'm on my way to winning a Stanley Cup and getting a Conn Smythe. That has been my life's goal since I was in Grade 1." He gripped his helmet tightly.

That reason hadn’t been a lie.  At least, not all of it.  Though, it wasn’t the only reason he didn’t date.

A memory ran through Shane's head. He remembered, vividly, the first time he'd tried to have a boyfriend, back when he was in Grade 9. There was a guy he liked a lot, who he also knew was gay. After talking to his mom and dad about it, they encouraged Shane to go ask if he wanted to hang out sometime, and had even offered Shane a pair of their season tickets to an Ottawa game to help break the ice.

Shane had approached the guy, Bradley, and asked if they wanted to go out sometime.

"…aren't you that weird hockey dude who won't shut up about stats? Yeah, no, I think I'll pass. You’re kind of a freak, man."

An echo of laughter came next, from his classmates. Shane could still hear the sounds in the hallway of his school, as if it happened yesterday instead of almost 15 years ago.

Ever since that day, Shane hadn’t wanted to be the freak or the weirdo in public.  He wanted to be “the normal guy”.  So, he tried to avoid situations like that as much as he could.  He knew it was stupid, but in his head…  Everyone out there was just waiting to laugh at him again.  Or worse, with the advent of social media, he could be outed as a “freak” to the whole world and his hockey career might be affected. 

Shane didn’t know if or when he could ever feel comfortable enough to “unmask” himself fully around someone other than himself.

He shook off the past and came back to the present. "I wouldn't be good boyfriend material right now, anyway. So, I'll worry about finding a boyfriend later."

"You've been saying that since your rookie year, and that was nearly 8 years ago," Hayden crossed his arms, and gave Shane "the look". The same look that his mom and dad gave him every Christmas when he hadn't brought "a nice boy" home.

"…and I'll keep saying it." Shane said.

Hayden leaned back against the locker. His expression softened, with enough genuine concern to make it impossible to ignore. "I want you to be happy, man. You deserve to have someone in your corner, like I've got Jackie."

"I am happy," Shane said, in a bland tone.  He didn’t even believe himself.

Hayden scoffed. "You're only happy when you're playing hockey. That's not the same thing as being happy all the time."

Shane dropped his head. He couldn't meet Hayden's eyes. Instead, he slid his helmet on, adjusting the strap under his chin. "There's nobody out there who'd want to put up with my hockey obsession, anyway. I'm too much for people. Too intense."

"Bullshit," Hayden stood, slapping Shane's shoulder as he passed. "You just haven't met someone who can match your freak!  There’s someone out there, I know it, who’s going to walk up to you one day and worship the ground you walk on.  Not because you’re a hockey star, but because you’re Shane Motherfucking Hollander.  When he does, I need you to quit listening to the little gremlins in your head and start listening to the guy instead.  You hear me?"

Shane didn't respond. He finished gearing up in silence, breathing slow and even. The noise of the locker room swelled again with laughter, trash talk, and the metallic clang of sticks being grabbed from racks.

Hayden reappeared at his side, fully geared now, grinning like he hadn't been shut down hard. "You ready to crush some dreams tonight?"

"Always."

"Good. Because Ottawa's been talking shit all week. I want to wipe that smug grin off Rozanov's face."

Shane stood, rolling his shoulders. "Then let’s start wiping."

They moved toward the tunnel with the rest of the team, skates clacking against the floor. The roar of the crowd bled through the walls, a distant sound that grew louder with every step.

Shane's pulse kicked up, all the negative thoughts vanishing and replaced with the joy that came with being on the ice. This was the only high that mattered. The ice, the game, and the perfect execution of a play.

This was his true love.

The tunnel opened ahead, light spilling across the concrete. The crowd's screams hit them hard. Shane stepped onto the ice, with the cold biting through his gear. He took a breath, let the noise fade into white static, and pushed off, ready for whatever Ottawa was going to throw at him.

Ilya Rozanov carved a lazy circle with his skates near Montreal's center ice, letting his legs get a warmup. The rest of his team surrounded him, in their own stretches, hyping themselves up for their biggest rival, the Voyageurs.

The boards rattled with the weight of the crowd that night, Montreal always brought noise, even during warmups. He loved it. Loved the energy, the expectant eyes that glared daggers at them, and especially the way everything felt bigger here.

Hockey had been his first love, and the feeling of playing out on the ice always brought him peace.  He hadn’t had a difficult life by any means, but his father and coach always had high expectations of him.  Thankfully, his mother’s support all these years had balanced that intensity out.

Ilya would normally be pumped up for a big game like this one, given a chance to really challenge himself.  There were only a few teams, Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Toronto, and Montreal, that made him want to give it his all.

Unfortunately, his attention was split that night, and he'd nearly tripped over himself twice during warmups.

In the last three months, Ilya's life had started to get complicated, and he hated "complicated". His parents had gotten a much-needed but still painful divorce, he'd broken off a 10-year relationship with his boyfriend Sasha, and his younger brother was in rehab again.

"Get it together, man. Your mother's in the stands. She came all this way to watch you… Don't disappoint her." Ilya thought to himself.  He glanced up, trying to spot his mother, Irina, in the VIP boxes at the top of the stadium. He couldn't get a good view from that angle, but he knew she was up there, cheering him on.

Irina had just gotten through a divorce with her husband, Grigori, after a shaky last couple of years. Grigori had started turning to the bottle at bit too much, as did Ilya's younger brother, Andrei, who supplemented it with prescription pain killers. Unable to handle it all, she'd gotten a divorce and came to live with Ilya while she got settled in Canada, ready for the second half of her life as a free woman.

Ilya made sure Grigori and Andrei got the support they needed, but informed them he wasn’t going to be supporting any bad habits.  Grigori, thankfully, had been cutting back.  Andrei?  Well, time would tell.

Ilya shook the anxiety off and decided to do his job as Captain. At the very least, it would get him out of his own head.

He spotted Luca, the youngest guy on their team, near the bench, rolling his shoulders, testing his range of motion.

Ilya skated over, slowing to a stop beside the kid. "Haas. You good for first string?"

Luca looked up, grinning with those eager eyes that they'd all missed for the last two months.  He’d finally gotten his long awaited top surgery after the end of the last season, and had used most of the off-season to recover. "Yeah, Cap. I'm ready!"

"No pain?"

"Nothing I can't handle." Luca stretched his arms overhead, wincing just slightly. "Docs cleared me. I'm better than ever. No more tits to weigh me down."

Ilya clapped a glove against his shoulder and squeezed tight. "Good. Then you go kill it out there, my son! I know you have my back."

Luca's grin widened. "You know I will, Cap!"

"Yes. I do." Ilya pushed off, leaving the guy to his own prep. He trusted Luca to know his limits, and probably push through them a little, just like they all did. The talented Swiss player had the kind of fire and drive that inspired the rest of the team to do better. He'd been a first pick the year prior, the obvious choice and the envy of all the other teams who'd lost out on his talent.

Cliff, his best friend since moving to North America, appeared at Ilya’s side a moment later, matching his pace as they both skated slow laps around the rink. "Think he's actually good to play, or just playing tough?"

"He is good," Ilya said. "Luca does not lie about his body. Not like some lumbering neanderthal who lies to their Captain's face about sprained ankle!" He glared at Cliff, whose body was almost as muscled and tall as Ilya's, but seemed to injure itself every time they looked away for a second.

Cliff snorted. "Fair enough, man. That was years ago, back in Boston, forget about it already!"

They skated in silence for a lap, tapping their sticks against the ice in an old rhythm. The rest of the Centaurs spread out across the rink, running warm ups, taking shots. Ilya let his mind settle, shaking off the last remnants of the last few months.

"So," Cliff said, breaking the quiet. "You doing okay? After… you know."

Ilya didn't need to ask what he meant. "I am fine."

"Yeah, but are you fine fine, or just 'I don't want to talk about it because I bottle all my shit up' fine?"

Ilya huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You are annoying."

"That's why you love me, man."

"Yes, unfortunately." Ilya glided to a stop near the boards, resting his stick across his legs. Cliff pulled up beside him, waiting for his friend to unload his burdens, like he always did.

Ilya exhaled. "Sasha and I… we wanted different things. He still wants clubs, parties, threesomes, sometimes all three of those things at same time. These things were fun when I was in early twenties, but now? I am ready for something else. Something quieter. More… stable."

"Monogamy?" Cliff asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes. Monogamy." Ilya shrugged. "I want a person who is mine. Who wants to be mine. Not someone who is looking for next adventure every weekend. Sasha? Sasha doesn't want that.  Sasha would never want that.  I knew it would be cruel of me to demand to keep him to myself or expect him to change.  He knew it was cruel to keep holding onto me when my heart wanted something more solid.  We had long talks after playoffs ended.  The breakup was going to happen, without a doubt."

Cliff nodded slowly. "Makes sense, but, you guys were together a while though. Must still hurt."

"It does. We started dating back when we were still teenagers in Russia. Our fathers were pissed, though. They thought a relationship would mess with my game. We had to beg and plead to be together. Our fathers agreed, but on condition that during game nights, we didn't share same bed. Those old men still had superstition that emptying balls before games emptied your "spirit"."

Ilya spun a small circle on the ice, sighing to himself. "…but we ended it like adults. No fighting and no drama, we both despise those things. We admitted we just wanted different paths. He moved out few months ago. We had one last goodbye kiss. One last goodbye hug.  One last goodbye fuck. Now, it's over.  Sasha already has new lovers.  I met them, they’re…  Nice."

"That's good, man." Cliff skated beside him, then reached over and patted his back. "You need to get back out there, though. Don't mope about it. Don’t let yourself fall down the “woe is me” pit either.  Plenty of guys and gals would be lucky to have you."

"Yes. I know." Ilya grinned, the weight of his life lifting slightly. "I am very charming."

"…and humble."

"That too."

They circled back toward the offensive zone, and Ilya let his gaze drift across the ice. Montreal was running their own warmups now, blue and red jerseys cutting through the neutral zone.

…and then Ilya saw him.

Shane Hollander, skating across the ice, barking orders to his teammates and rallying them together.

The Canadian had been the #1 draft pick the year after Ilya joined the NHL and was the only reason the Voyageurs had a program, in Ilya’s opinion. He hadn't gotten to know Hollander well, except when they played each other, and most of that had just been chirping back and forth over the heated rivalry between Ottawa and Montreal.

What Ilya did know, through the various gossip over the years, is that Hollander treated hockey like a religion.  He was the kind of guy that watched his own tapes for fun in the comfort of his home, and was always trying to improve his game.

Ilya respected that drive and passion.  He didn’t think that many people, himself included, could handle that kind of single-minded ambition.

There was also no denying the man’s skill on the ice, and Ilya had often thought Hollander was one of the top five players in the league, hands down.  Probably top 3 sexiest men, too, right below himself.

Hollander took a shot on the net. The puck fired fast, top shelf, striking the net in the blink of an eye. Another shot came soon after, hitting in the exact same placement. Then again.  Then again.  Near-perfection with each shot.

Ilya felt something warm curl in his chest. Now that he was single, he could appreciate the skill and beauty of others again. Though if he were honest… Hollander had always been something in the corner of his eye. "Gorgeous," Ilya murmured.

Cliff followed his gaze, then let out a low whistle. "Hollander? Yeah, that is a nice ass."

"Very nice," Ilya agreed, watching Shane skate back to the line. "He is single, yes?"

"Aggressively so. Heard rumors he shoots down everyone." Cliff grinned, bumping Ilya's shoulder. "Go ask him out.  I fucking dare you, man.  Ask him for drinks or something, after the game. You’ve had three months, it’s time to get back out there, man. No time for wallowing."

Ilya tilted his head, considering his options. "You think?"

"Dude. Yes. Worst he can do is say no. Best case, you get some practice on asking people out again.  I bet you’re rusty after being benched for 10 years." Cliff's grin widened. "…and you're very charming, remember?" he said, mocking Ilya's accent.

"True."

Ilya pushed off, skating across center ice with easy confidence. Shane was near the team benches now, as both teams started to gather for the start of the game. Ilya angled toward him, slowing as he approached.

Shane glanced up, catching sight of him. His expression didn't change, it was always flat and unreadable.

"Hollander," Ilya said, pulling up beside him with a grin. "You look very good tonight."

Shane's eyes narrowed. "Thanks, I guess. You too, Rozanov.  You’re hitting those slow laps like a champ."

Ilya let his gaze drop as he fumbled over his words, just for a second. "Is this a new workout or a new diet? You must tell me secret of your gorgeous body and beautiful ass."

Shane's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "You done with the foreplay? Can we just get onto the insults or the chirpings? I don't know what's going on here, but you’re taking a long time to get to the punch line."

"No insults.  No chirps," Ilya leaned on his stick, casually. "I am thinking, maybe after game, we go get late dinner. You and me. Somewhere nice. I buy you steak. Wine. Whatever you want.  Your choice."

The entire Montreal team froze. All eyes were on Rozanov and Hollander, eagerness on their faces. Like they were watching a puppy and a kitten interacting for the first time.

"Not interested," Shane spat.

The Voyageurs all groaned in unison. A loud "OH COME ON" from JJ echoed through the arena.

"Why not?!" Ilya said, hamming his rejection up a bit, not unlike a petulant child. He kept his smile and pursed his lips together.

Shane gestured to the ice before them. "Because I'm focusing on hockey. We're about to play a game, Rozanov. Now is not the time to be asking people out. I'm trying to warm up here."

Ilya tilted his head. "You can do both. I do both all the time."

"Good for you. Explains why your last hat trick was in your rookie year."

"Ooooooooh." The Voyagers all moaned together at the burn from the chirp.

"Come on, Hollander. One dinner. I am very fun. You will have good time, I promise. Better time than losing streak last season after you fell on your ass in second round playoffs!"

"Ooooooooh." The Centaurs took their turn to fire back.

Shane finally looked at him fully, expression dry. "Hockey is my love, Rozanov. There's no room in my heart for a big, slow Russian who can't keep up with me to save his life."

Laughter erupted from both benches.

Then…  Suddenly, there was an uncomfortableness in Shane’s expression.  He held up a hand, as if to apologize for the comment he’d just made.  The laugher from the benches seemed to upset Hollander, for some reason.  He looked…  Well, Ilya couldn’t describe the look.  Something between getting stabbed with a knife and grief over being stabbed with a knife.

Ilya pressed a hand to his chest, mock-wounded, and cut him off, trying to lighten the situation a bit. "Slow? You think I am slow?"

"Glacial,” Shane whispered.  He struggled to find his voice.

"I score on you twice last season.  I don’t think that is slow."

"…and I scored on you four times." Shane's mouth slowly came back to a smile.  Uncomfortable, yes, but…  Less stressed. "So yeah. You're slow. I don't think you can keep up with me, if you know what I mean."

More laughter. Someone, probably Cliff, whooped from the Centaurs' bench.

Ilya grinned, undeterred and clapped a hand on Shane’s shoulder. "You are funny, Hollander.  I like funny men.  Okay, okay, I see how it is. You want me to work for it. I can do this. I enjoy a nice challenge, if you’re up for it?"

“Up for it?  Up for what?”  Shane asked.

“Up for me wooing you into going on first date.  I’ve been rejected this time, clearly, but I’d love to try again.  Maybe after we beat you tonight, and I show you how good at hockey I am.  I will steal your heart with my skill and speed,” Ilya said.

"You'll be working a long time, Rozanov.”  Shane mumbled.

Ilya pushed off, skating backward with a wink. "I am patient man, Hollander. Let the wooing commence, then!  You cannot stop the woo, the woo is on its way!"

Shane rolled his eyes and turned away, rejoining his line.  “Do whatever you want, man.”

Ilya skated back toward his own bench, still grinning. Fuck, he loved a man that could take as hard as he could give. Still… He couldn't help but feel a pang of pain from the rejection.

Cliff was waiting, practically vibrating with excitement. "Dude. That was amazing."

Ilya rolled his eyes. "He said no, Cliff. Did you and nosy Nancys not hear?" He glared at the rest of his bench, who all suddenly looked like they had more important things to do.

"Yeah, but he didn't say fuck off. If he really wanted you gone, a guy like Hollander would have just said to eat dirt and die." Cliff clapped him on the back. "That's basically a win."

Ilya laughed. "You think?"

"I know so! I'm like, the king of getting laid."

"Then how come you're single?" Luca asked, with a playful smirk.

"Fuck off Haas!" Cliff yelled, chasing the little punk around the bench as their teammates laughed.

At that moment, Ilya caught sight of someone near the boards, a social media team, camera pointed directly at him. They looked like they'd just caught live footage of a world-changing event.

He sighed. "They filmed the whole thing, didn’t they?"

"Obviously." Cliff grinned. "It'll be viral, probably, before the end of the game."

Ilya glanced across the ice, where Shane was lining up for the game to start. Even from here, even beneath the pads, the curve of that ass was something magical to behold.

"You are staring at his ass," Cliff said.

"Yes. I am aware."

"Make sure you keep your eye on the puck during the game."

Ilya shook his head, pushing off toward the ice. "Come on. Let us do one last lap for warm up. I need to score many goals tonight."

"To impress Hollander?"

"To prove I am not slow."

Cliff laughed, loud and bright. "Tonight's going to be a great show."

Ilya didn't answer, but went to put on one hell of a show.

That night, they took a decisive win over Montreal, 4-2, and Ilya got his first hat trick since his rookie year, scoring each time on Hollander, flirting in the only way he thought would get through to the man.

Though, to be fair, Hollander also scored twice against him, and made damn sure Ilya knew it was him.

Chapter 2: Wooing is an Art Form

The green room at the CBC TV Station was too loud, smelled like burnt coffee, and buzzed with lots of noises that made Shane flinch every time they started shouting between segments.

Shane sat in an uncomfortable chair, adjusting the collar of his button-down and tie for the third time. The station assistant disappeared ten minutes ago, leaving him alone with a can of Canada Dry (his favorite drink), and his thoughts.

Neither were particularly helpful to soothe his nerves.

Through the doorway, Shane could hear the muffled voices of the morning show hosts running through their segment prep. On a TV screen above him, he could see the live feed getting ready to announce him with a scrolling text at the bottom.

"Montreal Voyageurs Captain Shane Hollander joins us live to talk about the upcoming season…"

He should have been thinking about the talking points for the interview, planning to highlight their best games in the opening month, or talking about team chemistry. Shane knew he was one of the better media-trained members on the team, but that didn't mean he shouldn't prepare.

Unfortunately, his brain kept circling back to Ilya Rozanov, and that took up about all his brain function for the morning.

Fuck, Rozanov had looked good on the ice two nights ago. The kind of once-in-a-lifetime performance that would give Gretzky a run for his money. He really had stolen Shane's heart that night, or at the very least, he'd set a fire there that made Shane want to hit their next practice twice as hard.

The image wouldn't leave him alone.

The sheer audacity Rozanov had bull-rushing through Montreal's defense, all while stick handling with that infuriating combination of power and trickery. He'd scored three goals that night, all top shelf, all gorgeous, in what must have been the sexiest hat trick in Shane’s memories.

…and after the game. When Rozanov took off his helmet and pads, standing shirtless, he'd flexed that gorgeous body off to the cameras during an interview when Shane was just within the line of sight.

Those bouncing pecs… Those chiseled, defined abs… The pure, hairy, manliness of him. Sexy as hell all around.

Shane hadn't thought this long about someone in… Well, ever.

Shane pressed his palms against his thighs, taking in deep breaths to try and ground himself. He tried to will away the stubborn boner that kept tenting in his dress pants.

"I stroked you twice this morning and three times after the game! Fucking stop!" Shane spat the words at his traitorous dick. Though, the thought of all his masturbation just made things worse, as dancing images of a muscular Rozanov pounding him, whispering dirty Russian words into his ears came back with a vengeance.

Shane stood up and paced the green room, trying to get his body under control. While he did, he'd replayed their warmup conversation from the night before. He remembered every damn word, and especially that man's infuriating wink and whatever the hell he managed to do with those eyebrows of his.

"I will steal your heart with my skill and speed," Rozanov told him that night.

Which, in Shane's opinion… He'd done a damn good job of it.

That night felt real. The whole scene was playful and hammed up, yeah, but real.

…and then?

Much to Shane's disappointment?

Nothing came after the game.

No follow-up. No message. No wooing like Rozanov had promised.

Just silence.

"They probably needed to get on the bus for their next game in Toronto. They've got a busy schedule, so they needed to shower and get out. We've ran out on games to catch flights before. Or, maybe something came up. He probably doesn't have my number. I don't know if anyone in Ottawa has my number. How would he have called?" Shane invented excuse after excuse.

Though deep down… He wondered if this was just another Bradley. Maybe Rozanov was trying to get under his skin and freak him out before the game. Or maybe it had been a joke, after all.

Maybe it'd been a bit of pre-game theatre for the cameras. Rozanov was a showman, everyone knew that. Charismatic, bold, always playing to the crowd.

Shane stopped pacing. His erection softened and all his lustful thoughts were extinguished.

Now that he thought about it more… Why would someone like Rozanov actually want him? Rozanov was newly single, yes, but… God, there were celebrities, rock stars, and pop stars out there who he could easily bag. Hell, there were sexier NHL players out there too, even on his same team.  People who weren’t boring as hell, or obsessed with hockey, or difficult to be with.

The thought settled in Shane's stomach, as a fresh, awful kind of disappointment he hadn't felt in a long time.

He'd been half-hoping, embarrassingly, that Rozanov would try and that the wooing he'd promised would materialize into something real. That someone actually did want him, the real him.  Hell, he would have settled for something that proved Shane wasn't just a punchline.

"Are you surprised?  Look at what you did last night. You insulted him to his face, you embarrassed him in front of his team, and you turned him down, multiple times. Of course he wouldn't want you. This is why nobody wants you!" Shane thought to himself.

No sense in lingering on it, he supposed.  He was waiting to smile for the cameras and pretend everything was fine.  Why waste your time on something that was never going to happen.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Shane pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Hayden: Good luck with the interview. Try not to look dead inside.

Hayden: Also Jackie says hi and wants to know if you've heard of any wooing from Rozanov.

Shane typed back quickly.

Shane: No.

Hayden responded lightning fast.

Hayden: Well, keep an eye out. He called me last night and had some interesting questions about you. I might have answered them. ;)

Shane's heart, that had dropped into a pit about 10 minutes ago from his self-loathing spiral, now bounded back up into his chest from the trampoline Hayden had just landed in his stomach.

He was about to start texting Hayden about what he meant by that, when the TV producer reappeared, a tablet in hand and her headset blinking. "We're ready for you, Mr. Hollander," she said.

"I… I'll be right there!" Shane said, as he pocketed his phone and followed her out of the green room.

A small smile crossed Shane's face that he couldn't contain. "He asked about me? He really asked about me?!" He thought.

Shane barely processed getting mic'd up. He didn't even register when they moved to the guest chair in the staged interview area of the station, the one that looked like a modern Montreal living room.

Across from him on their own soft yellow chairs, were the two hosts of Morning Montreal, Camille Deschamps and Jean-Luc Moreau, both dressed in their studio best. He nodded along, absentmindedly as they shook his hands and waited for the cameras to start rolling.

"Okay, we're live in 5…4…3…2…1!" The producer pointed to Camille to start the segement.

"Welcome back from the commercial break. As promised, we have with us here today Shane Hollander, the golden boy and Captain of the Montreal Voyageurs, and one of the most talented hockey players of our generation! Welcome, to the show Shane!" Camille beamed, slowly brushing the long strands of her blonde hair aside. "We are so excited to have you here!"

Shane shook off the thoughts of Rozanov. With the cameras rolling, he snapped back to himself. "Thanks for having me, I appreciate it," Shane said, falling into the easy rhythm of media appearances.

"Smile. Nod. Use simple words. Short sentences. Be charming but not too charming. Remember your training." Shane thought.

Shane had practiced this "persona" plenty of times. Years of media training had really paid off, and these days he even wore it for industry events, or when he had to meet with people he didn't know for the first time.

Jean-Luc leaned forward, grinning ear to ear. "So, Shane. Big season ahead. We're all hoping to bring the Stanley Cup home, and we've been so close, so many times in the years since you joined. Though I've got to ask, how's the team feeling after that tough game against Ottawa? How's morale?"

"We're feeling good," Shane said smoothly, forcing the bitchy frown he'd normally wear away. "Ottawa's a strong team, and Rozanov played a hell of a game. We learned a lot, and I plan on going over the tapes with everyone to see where we can improve. Keep in mind we've got a long season ahead, and we're focused on building momentum. One game doesn't define us, and we'll be playing Ottawa again down the line. We'll show them how we adapt."

"Love that attitude," Camille said. "…and you scored twice against them, beautiful goals, by the way!"

"Thank you, but it was a team effort. Pike and Cameau set me up perfectly both times. I couldn't ask for a better team." Shane answered.

They moved through the usual questions. The hosts started with season predictions, team dynamics, and even a touching story about how Laine and Koch visited a Children's hospital and got creamed in Mario Kart. Shane's training routine came up, like it always did, and he answered on autopilot, delivering sound bites the same way he'd done a thousand times before.

Then… To Shane's surprise, Camille's expression shifted into something mischievous.

"Okay, Shane," she said, exchanging a look with Jean-Luc. "We have to ask about the elephant in the room.".

Jean-Luc gestured to a TV behind them, where video footage of yesterday’s game started to play. "There's a video that's been making the rounds online. Over ten million views in two days. You and Ilya Rozanov having a very… interesting conversation during warmups."

Shane kept his expression neutral, but his pulse kicked up. "Oh, that."

Shane had seen it when it was just 10,000 views. Someone had put "Accidentally in Love" as music behind Ilya's flirting and Shane's chirping and made some kind of "edit" that they posted to Tiktok and all the other social media platforms. They loved zooming in on Ilya's cocky face and every time Shane cracked a chirp.

"Yes, that!" Camille laughed. "The whole internet is losing their minds over it! Heck, I'm losing my mind over it! Rozanov, one of the most handsome men and talented hockey players in the NHL, asked you out, and you turned him down!?"

"In the most savage way possible, I might add," Jean-Luc said. "Called him glacial. That was cold, man! What was up with that?"

The hosts laughed.

Laughter that forced Shane to ball his hand into a fist, digging his nails deep into the palm to stop his persona from slipping away. He forced a smile and cleared his throat by laughing alongside the rest. "Guys, it was just trash talk. Pre-game banter. I've heard worse and so has Rozanov."

"Was it, though?" Camille leaned in, eyes sparkling. "Because Rozanov said he was going to "woo" you. The man promised a "wooing", Shane. Now… I've got to ask both for myself and for the audience at home… Did he follow through? Did Rozanov get his dinner date?"

Shane kept his voice light and controlled. Part of him wanted to hold onto the hope Hayden had thrown him, while the other part wanted him to shut all of this down before it got any more painful for either of them.

"Jean-Luc, Camile, I have yet to be wooed. So, no, no dinner date as of yet," Shane said.

"Awww!" Camille pouted. "I was hoping for a sweet story of you two wining and dining!"

Jean-Luc shook his head. "That's a shame. Though, Shane, do you think if you were sufficiently wooed, you'd give the man a chance? Or are you saying that you're just not that interested?"

"I'm saying," Shane paused, trying to think of the best "media friendly" way to end this without making him or Rozanov look bad. "If Rozanov wants to date the number one hockey player in Canada, he's going to have to impress me first. I have yet to be impressed, so for now, I guess we're just at a stalemate."

"Perfect. Nobody's the bad guy or the good guy in this. We can move on and finish the segment," Shane thought, proud of his quick thinking.

The hosts erupted into delighted laughter.

"Well… Now that we know you're waiting to be impressed… We might have a little surprise for you, Shane," Camille clapped her hands together, clearly loving what was about to happen.

Jean-Luc was just as bright eyed. "We might have gotten a call from a certain someone, and… Yeah, I think surprise is the right word for this, Shane."

Shane's stomach flipped, watching the crew on the set all get dopy, happy looks on their faces. "A surprise?" He choked over the word.

No.

No, they couldn't actually mean what he thinks they mean.

"Mm-hmm." Camille looked off-camera, nodding at someone in the wings. "Bring it all out!"

Three station assistants appeared from backstage, struggling under the weight of the cargo they were lifting.

The first man carried an enormous teddy bear, easily six feet tall, plush and honey-brown, with an oversized red bow around its neck. It looked like a giant-sized version of the one Shane used to have as a kid.

The second and third wheeled out a forklift stacked 24 pallets high with cases of ginger ale. Canada Dry.

Shane stared, frozen in place as the big bear was put in the seat right next to him. Its head flopped over and landed on Shane's shoulder.

"Wait a minute!" Camille said, voice rose with glee. "There's more!"

Two more assistants appeared, each carrying massive bouquets of roses. Red, white, and pink. They kept coming back and forth from the back of the set. They didn't stop until there were twenty-four arrangements surrounding Shane's chair.

24 Bouquets.

Twenty-Four.

His jersey number.

Jean-Luc whistled low. "Looks like we're seeing the first wooing taking place live, here today on CBC!"

Shane couldn't speak. His throat had closed up entirely and all higher brain function was focused on taking in the sight of the first romantic gifts he'd ever been given.

Camille stood, plucking a large greeting card from around the bear's neck. "…and there's a card! Read it!"

She handed it to Shane, her eyes twinkling. There would be no getting away from this segment without revealing its contents.

Shane took it with shaking hands. The front of the card featured a cartoon bear, wide-eyed and holding a heart.

The text read….

"No First Date? That's "Unbearable!" had been written in Rozanov's handwriting.

The TV crew, the weatherman off in the corner, and the hosts all lost it with laughter, cheers, and roaring applause.

Shane, barely able to function at the moment, managed to open the card.

Inside, written in neat handwriting, was a phone number, and beneath it…

Call me ;) - Ilya

Shane's face went hot red, in a shade he didn't think was possible for a human to have. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck, spreading across his cheeks. His heart hammered loud enough for the microphone to pick up.

The camera zoomed in on him and his shell-shocked face that was definitely not "media trained" in the moment.

Camille leaned over, reading the card aloud. "It says 'Call me' with a winky face! Oh my God, this is the cutest thing I've ever seen on this show!"

The TV crew was still cheering from the wings. Shane sat there, clutching the card, surrounded by roses and ginger ale and one giant, ridiculous bear.

He couldn't stop staring at the phone number.

"He actually did it. Wait… Did Hayden tell him about Bobo the Bear from my childhood? Did he tell Rozanov my favorite flowers!? Did he tell him all of that?" Shane thought.

Camille sat back down, grinning ear to ear. "So, Shane. Does this gesture impress you? Is this enough to earn a date? Have you been successfully wooed?"

Shane finally found his voice. "I…"

He stopped. Cleared his throat. Took a minute to think.

"The cameras are still rolling. Say something. Anything. Uh… What do I do in a situation like this? Protect the brand! Right! Protect the brand!"

He straightened in his chair, willing his pulse to slow. When he spoke, his voice was calmer than he felt.

"I'll admit, Rozanov made a good first period play," Shane said slowly, looking directly into the camera. "…but we'll have to see what he does in the second and third periods. I think I'll have to… Review the tapes. See how I'm feeling before I answer."

"God that was the dumbest thing you could have said." Shane thought to himself, hating every stupid word from his stupid brain.

Shane held the camera's gaze as they finally went to commercial break, while his mouth curved into something that almost resembled a real smile.

@HockeyNightCA

BREAKING: Ilya Rozanov sends MASSIVE romantic gesture to rival Shane Hollander live on Morning Montreal. 24 bouquets of roses, 24 cases of ginger ale, and a 6-foot teddy bear. We repeat: A SIX FOOT TEDDY BEAR.

@sapphicpuckfan

i'm not even joking when i say my wife and I screamed so loud my cat ran under the bed. ROZANOV REALLY SAID "I'M WOOING YOU" AND DID IT.

@BradKenzie_PittFan

Disappointed Hollander spent 20 minutes getting flirted with instead of preparing for our game Saturday. Guess the Voyageurs don't take Pittsburgh seriously anymore.  They're gonna learn real fast that we're still the best team in the league! #LackOfFocus #IntheBag

reply @marlowsqueen

brad you're a 47 year old hockey dad with a beer gut commenting on athletes who could skate circles around you. log off and touch grass

reply @haasfan4lyfe

my guy it was a surprise gift he didn't ask for??? he literally didn't know it was happening??? can you read???

reply @sameatspie

this is our roman empire, I'm going to need you to sit this one out

reply @cliffmarlow

[tweet deleted]

@tsn_sports

Shane Hollander responds to Ilya Rozanov's romantic gifting: "I'll have to review the tapes." The Montreal Captain remains hard to impress. Full interview link in bio.

reply @SarahAuntie - I'm already firing up my old laptop. The edits are coming. Nonstop.

reply @jackiepike - PLEASE LINK THEM! @haydenpike is eating these up. He cried over one of them! :)

reply @haydenpike - HOWIE DAY'S COLLIDE, JACKIE! I WAS UNPREPARED!

@cliffmarlow

[tweet deleted]

reply @lucahaas - YOU CAN'T SAY THAT CLIFF! I DON'T CARE IF ROZY SAID IT WAS OKAY! DELETE THIS BEFORE HARRIS SEES AND YOU GET IN TROUBLE! D:

reply @cliffmarlow - Wait, how do I delete a tweet?

retweet @cliffmarlow - [original tweet deleted]

reply @lucahaas - I'm coming over to your place! Don't do anything else!!!!

reply @torontosux6996 - I saw. >:3

reply @lucahaas - YOU SAW NOTHING

@puckbunny2008

"review the tapes" my ass. SHANE YOU BLUSHED SO HARD YOUR HEAD TURNED INTO A TOMATO. WE SAW IN 4K. THE CAMERA ZOOMED IN. JUST SAY YES AND KISS THE MAN.

@betweenapuckandahardplace

Petition for someone to check on Ilya Rozanov because that man just dropped the most romantic thing to happen in NHL history and Shane hit him with "good first period play." I would simply perish

@montrealvoyageurs (Official)

Our Captain received some special deliveries this morning! No comment on wooing strategies at this time.

reply @JJ - @shanehollander if you don't want him, I'm considering playing for another team to try things out. …and I don't mean hockey ;3

reply @montrealvoyageurs - @JJ please contact the social media team and the communications director

reply @JJ - aww, you guys never let me have any fun. >:|

@jackiepike

Hayden won't stop cackling. He keeps replaying the clip where Shane's face goes red and yelling "LOOK AT HIM. LOOK! IT'S HAPPENING!" I married a twelve-year-old.

@rozаnovfanclub

imagine being brave enough to woo someone on live television. imagine being confident enough to send 24 rose bouquets . imagine being Ilya Rozanov. I can't relate but I'm OBSESSED

@cliffmarlow

@shanehollander Luca came over and helped me write better tweets.

@shanehollander Ilya is a good man with a big heart and beautiful soul. :)

@shanehollander Ilya helped me find my place in the world, when everyone else just saw me as this lumbering giant only good for playing sports.  I didn't leave Boston, my home town, for nothing, you know?

@shanehollander Ilya also looks good naked, if you couldn't tell from the underwear ads he does!

@shanehollander I would know better than anyone! I've seen him in the showers almost every other day! You will NOT be disappointed.  #vouch :)

reply @rozаNOVfanclub - I NEED DETAILS

reply @cliffmarlow - [tweet deleted]

reply @lucahaas - CLIFF NOOOOOOO

@hockeymemes4u

[Screenshot of Shane clutching the card, eyes wide, face crimson]

[Second screenshot of Shane's death grip on the card after opening it]

"I'll have to review the tapes"

@thepollboardnhl

POLL: Should Shane Hollander go on a date with Ilya Rozanov?

Yes (89%)

No (I'm a Hater) (11%)

47,283 votes

@ottawacentaurs (Official)

No comment at this time. Please have fun, please help us in celebrating love in every form, but please be respectful of our players and the Voyageurs players personal lives, and if either player asks to stop with the social media storm, we ask you respect that of them.

reply @harrisdrover - Please do not pay attention to Cliff Marlow's official handle. @cliffmarlow you are getting double social media training reminders tomorrow, buster! >:(

reply @cliffmarlow - Awww. :(

reply @lucahaas - I'll go through it with you Cliffy.

reply @cliffmarlow - thank haas! <3

@fortilcollege

OFFICIAL SHIP NAME POLL:

Shayla

Hollanov

Holl-Ill-back Girls

Lunch at the tea garden was Irina's idea. Ilya didn't care much for leaf water and the flimsy little things that had no business being called "sandwiches", but it was one of his mother's favorite places, and Ilya would never refuse his Mama anything.

Ottawa had places like this scattered throughout the city, hidden sanctuaries tucked between buildings, where you could find some peace and quiet. For that reason alone, Ilya could appreciate the choice.

His mother found this particular establishment, The Lily of the Valley, within her first week of living with him and it had quickly become her favorite. Even in the cold of October, when the garden was shut off, the inside was a ranch-styled botanical experience, with enough succulents, flowers, and vines to make a greenhouse jealous.

Ilya sat across from his mother at a small wrought-iron table beneath a canopy of wisteria. He watched her pour tea from a delicate pot. The afternoon sun filtered through the window next to them, highlighting the tablecloth in soft green and violet.

Around them, the place hummed with quiet conversation and the clink of cups on saucers.

"You are staring at your phone again," Irina said, not looking up from the tea. She spoke in Russian, and hearing his native tongue, without the need to constantly translate himself, relaxed Ilya's mind for a bit.

"Sorry Mama," Ilya said, also enjoying the moment to have a private conversation in Russian with his mother. Ilya shook his head, realizing he'd been scrolling through Twitter for the third time in ten minutes. "Just checking."

"Checking what? To see if entire world has seen your romantic gesture?" She set the pot down, lips curving into something amused. "Because I think they have, darling. I've seen it on the news."

Ilya grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Is hard not to look. Everyone is talking about it."

"Everyone is talking about you." Irina passed him a cup, steam curling from the surface. "You made quite the statement, sending all those gifts."

"Good statement, though, yes?" Ilya wrapped his hands around the cup, soaking in the warmth. "People seem to like it. Fans are very supportive."

"The fans always like spectacle," Irina sipped her tea, watching him over the rim of the cup. "…but what about Shane Hollander? Did he like it? Or was this merely you showboating again, like you did for Sasha the first year you had millions?"

Ilya's grin faltered slightly. "I… do not know yet." He paused to think over the events.

"Did Hollander appreciate the gifts and attention? Or was it too much? Was this too public?" Ilya thought to himself.

Ilya called Hayden Pike, Hollander's best friend, after getting his number through several channels. They'd talked for hours about the things Shane liked, that he didn't like, and that he would abhor. Pike had been the one to tell him about the morning interview at the TV station and even suggested coordinating with the hosts and crew.

"Shane is always the golden boy. The captain. Our leader. Everyone always expects him to be in charge and take care of things. I don't think I can ever remember when someone took charge and let him be the one get taken care of. You better spoil him, Rozanov," Pike had told him.

Ilya wondered if Pike was an idiot. He started planning to bludgeon the man's face with a hockey stick if he'd been wrong.

"Hollander said he would review tapes. Whatever that means," Ilya finally said aloud.

"It means he is thinking." Irina set her cup down, folding her hands in her lap. "Which is a good sign, yes?"

"Maybe." Ilya glanced at his phone again, willing a notification to appear. "Or maybe he thinks I am crazy person who sends too many roses."

"Twenty-four is not too many. Is thoughtful number. His jersey." Irina's expression softened. "You paid attention to him. To his favorite things. That is not crazy. That is… sweet. Your father? He would never think of such sweet things."

Ilya grimaced at his poor mother's implication. He looked down at his tea, watching the leaves swirl in the bottom of the cup. "I just… I wanted him to know I was serious. That it was not joke on ice."

"…and now he knows." Irina reached across the table, resting her hand over his. "…but tell me, my darling. Why him? Why Shane Hollander? This was very sudden."

Ilya exhaled, leaning back again.

Around them, the garden carried on with servers refilling cups, couples murmuring over lunch in their own little worlds, while wind chimes sang between branches of the trees outside their window. He let the sounds settle around him before answering.

"When I played against him two nights ago," Ilya began, "…something was… different. I felt a spark. Like, like electricity in my chest. Have not felt that since Sasha, but this time…" He trailed off, searching for the words. "This time is not the same."

"How is it different?" Irina asked.

"With Sasha, was all physical at first. There was attraction, yes, but mostly was about fun. About enjoying each other's bodies. The freedom and joy of having a lover. Someone who was close, physically." Ilya met his mother's eyes. "With Shane, it feels like more than that. The way we talked on ice, and the way we pushed each other during game, it felt like we were dancing, you know? Like we understood the same language. The closeness, this time, it wasn't physical. It was… More."

Irina nodded slowly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. "You felt seen."

"Yes. Exactly." Ilya's voice dropped. "He did not treat me like superstar or celebrity or the showman that I am for the press. He treated me like… like a rival. Like an equal. …and when he chirped me, when he said I was slow, " Ilya laughed, shaking his head. "I wanted to prove him wrong so badly. Wanted to show him what I could do. I was so inspired to try my hardest, and when I scored hat trick, when I saw his face… Mama, I felt alive. Really alive."

"That is a good feeling," Irina said, softly. "To feel alive."

"Is best feeling." Ilya picked up his tea, taking a long sip. "…and after game, I could not stop thinking about him. About the way he moves on ice, way he talks, way he looks at you like he is seeing through all your bullshit." He set the cup down. "I want to know him. Not just sleep with him and be physical like with Sasha, but really know him. I want to hear what he thinks about, I want to make him laugh, and I want to see what he is like when he is not being Captain Perfect."

Irina smiled, warm and proud. "Then you must keep trying." She squeezed his hand. "Darling, love can be scary. Love can be hard. Especially with a broken heart and 10 years of a relationship behind you. Just know that your Mama will be here to catch you, no matter what happens."

Ilya felt the icy doubt start to melt away. "You think I can do this?"

"I think," Irina said, reaching for a scone and handing it to her son. "…my son is the most handsome, bright, wonderful man in the world. So, I am confident that everyone will see you that way too. Or else!"

Ilya laughed, took the scone, and chewed slowly.

Then, a few moments later, his phone buzzed. Not a social media ping, but a text message.

Ilya nearly dropped his scone.

He fumbled for the phone, heart hammering as he swiped the screen. A text message.

Unknown number.

Unknown: It was a thoughtful gift. You did a good job wooing.

Ilya stared at the message, reading it three times to make sure it was real.

"What is it?" Irina asked, leaning forward.

"It's him." Ilya looked up as excitement bloomed over his face. "It's Shane."

Irina's face lit up. "What does he say?"

Ilya read the message aloud, then kept reading as a second text appeared.

Shane: It's the first time anyone ever really threw themselves at me like that.

Ilya's chest tightened. He typed quickly, fingers fumbling over the keys.

Ilya: So… does this mean you will go on date with me?

He hit send, then immediately regretted the phrasing. He'd been way too eager and desperate.

Before he could correct himself, three dots appeared and disappeared on the phone.

Shane: I still need to sort out my feelings. There's a reason I don't date, but lately… those reasons don't seem as important anymore. The teddy bear and flowers helped. :)

Ilya frowned, rereading the message. "He is thinking about it. But something is holding him back."

"Then give him space," Irina said, gently. "Do not push too hard."

Another text came through before Ilya could respond.

Shane: Can I ask you something?

Ilya: Anything.

Shane: What's your opinion of hockey?

Ilya blinked at the screen. "He wants to know what I think about hockey."

"Strange question," Irina murmured.

Ilya thought for a moment, then started typing.

Ilya: Hockey is means to end for me. Is not everything, but is important. Hockey got me to North America. Hockey gave me friends, new life. Hockey let me be close with my father, even though we are very different people. Hockey let me bond with my mother. Hockey gives me money so I can do good things for myself, for people I love, and for those that need me. So hockey is not most important thing in my life, but hockey is what got me to most important things in my life. I will always respect it. Will always do my best with it. But is just one part of me.

He read the message over twice, then hit send.

The three dots appeared immediately.

Shane: I understand where you're coming from. That was a good answer. Glad to see you respect hockey.

Ilya exhaled, relief flooding through him.

Shane: I need a little more time. I'm a basket case over stuff like this. Is that okay?

Ilya's fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to say yes, take all the time you need. He wanted to say please just give me a chance.

Instead, he typed:

Ilya: Can I keep wooing you? Or should I stop?

The response came faster than he expected.

Shane: You can keep wooing me. I've never been wooed before. It felt nice.

Ilya grinned so wide his face hurt.

Ilya: Then I will woo you bigger and better than ever before. You will see. I will cast away the doubts you have with the woo.

Shane: You can't top the bear and roses.

Ilya's smile could not be contained.

Ilya: Watch me.

He set the phone down, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

Irina was watching him, eyes wide with amusement. "So?"

"So," Ilya said, picking up his tea again, "I have work to do."

"More grand gestures?"

"Grand is not big enough of a word for it." Ilya took a long sip, already thinking up his next plan. "He said I cannot top the bear. He is wrong, Mama, very wrong."

Irina laughed, soft and warm. "Just remember, darling, grand gestures are nice, but sincerity is what makes them matter."

"I know." Ilya met her eyes. "I will not forget."

Shane Hollander hadn't said yes.

Shane Hollander hadn't said no, either.

…and that, Ilya thought, was more than enough to keep going.

Chapter 3: I'll Show You Mine After You've Shown Me Yours

Shane woke up the morning after Ilya's first wooing, curled up in his bed around a six-foot teddy bear he hadn't let go of since he'd fallen asleep. He was bombarded with the smell of roses, and as he opened his eyes, the twenty-four bouquets he’d put in glass vases around his room came into view.

"Not a dream," Shane thought to himself. A big smile washed over his face and he reached for his phone on the nightstand. He swiped away the notifications from social media and focused on his text messages.

Voyageur Chat

Coach: We are leaving the stadium at 10 AM for Pittsburgh. If any of you are late (Berkes), we will LEAVE you behind (Berkes) and you will get bumped down a line (Berkes).

Berkes: ONE TIME.

Laine: Three times.

Renaud: Three times.

Koch: Three times.

Pike: I'm counting four, because we waited on you for an hour on the team bus that one time in Florida, man. >:(

Shane rolled his eyes and gave a thumbs up emoji to the chat, confirming he knew their departure time. Then he scrolled through the spam and got to the texts that were important to him.

The first was from his mom, Yuna.

Mom: Ran a full background check on Ilya Rozanov. Clean record. No scandals. Lives with his mother (who is very sweet). Never been arrested, never done anything stupid that could damage your image. He's a good boy, Shane. :)

Shane chuckled. Of course she'd run a background check on Ilya. His mother would support him no matter what, he knew that and would always know that, but as his manager, Yuna Hollander was among the most cut-throat sharks in the league. If Ilya had been a threat to Shane's image… Well, he was just grateful Ilya wasn't, and he'd leave it at that. He texted her back and thanked her.

The next message was from his dad, David.

Dad: Hope the interview wasn't too overwhelming, kiddo. That was a hell of a gesture and a lot of noise you weren't prepared for. Thoughtful, though. Your mother cried when she saw the bear. She remembered how much you loved Bobo. If you need to talk or decompress, I can come up and we'll do a puzzle night whenever you need. Let me know! Seems like a nice boy, though! I hope it all works out, no matter what you choose.

Shane smiled. Few people understood him like his dad did, and he appreciated the offer. He texted back and admitted a puzzle night would be nice when they finished up the next week of games. Maybe they could all have dinner together.

He kept scrolling.

At the bottom of his texts, one last message was waiting for him.

Ilya: Your next wooing will be ready for you when you get to hotel in Pittsburgh for next game. Enjoy it before game. :) <3 <3 <3

Shane stared at the message for a long time.

His heart raced and the giddy smile he hadn't been able to put away since the TV interview somehow managed to get even bigger. He clutched the phone tighter, rereading the message twice and flopping himself into the arms of the giant teddy bear.

"He really likes me. I'm not a joke!" Shane now buried his head into the teddy bear's chest. The smile softened but didn't vanish completely this time.

Doubts still plagued Shane's mind. He was especially worried about when Rozanov got to know him and not the persona he put on for the public, but… Maybe he could give it a chance.

Shane: Can't wait. Going to be hard to top the bear, man.

Ilya: Just wait and see. Pike told me to spoil you rotten, so I am.

Suddenly, the idea of playing against Pittsburgh wasn't the usual slog it felt.

Shane packed up for the 2-day trip to Pennsylvania and made it to the airport with a real spring in his step and minimal grumpiness with the usual airline bullshit. The entire time he went through security, he started thinking about what Rozanov was going to do next.

Still daydreaming, Shane spotted most of the team scattered across the gate’s departure lounge, waiting to board their flight. Laine sprawled across three seats with headphones on, Berkes paced near the windows on a phone call with his situationship, and Drapeau meditated in the corner with his eyes closed. Roy slowly stacked things on Drapeau's shoulder with an impressive amount balanced.  The rest of the Voyagers were either half asleep or scrolling on their phones.

Shane took a seat in the middle of the lounge.

Hayden dropped right at his side moments later, with big, pleading eyes that was dying for a scoop.

"Alright, spill!" Hayden leaned in, eyes narrowed. "What did you and Rozanov talk about after you texted him? After the amount of ginger ale I had to load into and then out of my truck yesterday, I deserve some details."

Shane kept his face neutral. He turned to Hayden and tried not to spill too much. "Nothing much. I told him I wasn't ready for a date yet, he was cool with that, I asked him what he thought about hockey, he gave a respectful answer, and then he asked if he could keep wooing me until I was ready for a date, and I said yes. So, yeah, nothing much."

"Nothing much?" Hayden's voice carried throughout the lounge. "You texted the guy! You actually texted him! You had a legit human to human conversation with someone that wasn't a teammate or your parents! That's huge, man!"

"It was just a thank you," Shane said, ducking his head away. He couldn't fight back his embarrassment, because… Yeah, he was a bad texter. Notoriously bad.

"Bullshit, I know you, man. You don't text people unless it's answering a question or getting information. You text like one or three words, max. For you, of all people, to have a conversation? Dude, this has GOT to be love! Or at least, the first spark of it!"

"Shut up, dude."

"No, you shut up."

"You!"

"You!"

"Pike, leave the Captain alone!" Comeau called from across the lounge, grinning wide. "He's trying to process his feelings! Give him space! I'd need some time too if I was about to get dicked down by that giant Russian!"

Laughter rippled through the group. Not from a place of anger or hatred, of course. Just the usual ball-busting they gave each other. They'd all piled onto Pike the same way when he and Jackie first started dating.

Shane still groaned, however, and sank lower in his seat. He wasn't used to being the target of all the guys' shit.

Drapeau cracked one eye open. "Feelings about what?"

"Rozanov," Berkes said, returning from his call. "Sent Shane a six-foot teddy bear yesterday and roses. On live TV."

Drapeau's other eye opened. As he shifted, all the stacked things on his shoulders fell behind him, and he gave Roy a narrow glare. "The bear thing wasn't a joke? I thought it was some stupid meme I didn't understand."

"Nope. Real bear. Real roses. Real ginger ale. Canada Dry, boys, Rozanov didn't skimp out!" Hayden clapped Shane on the shoulder. "Our boy here got wooed."

"Fuck that must be nice. I've always been the wooer, not the wooie," Gagnon piped up from the side.

"Same," Couillard, Andropov, and Stedlund all said in unison.

"Look, let's just all take a moment and appreciate what's happening here," Laine said, pulling off his headphones. "Someone had the balls to actually go after Hollander. Maybe when he gets laid, our practices won't suck so much and he’ll have some joy in his life!"

Shane shot Laine a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means you're scary as hell, Cap." JJ grinned. "Nobody wants to get rejected by Shane Hollander, Canada's golden boy and sexiest man in the NHL. That's like getting cut from the team in front of your mom and dad."

"Agreed," Comeau said. "You've got that whole 'I'm judging your life choices with every word you say' kind of vibe. Like, you are one intimidating motherfucker, you know that, right?"

Shane frowned. "I don't have a vibe."

"You absolutely have a vibe," Berkes said. "It's like… perfection. Like if anything’s not picture perfect, they've failed you. Honestly, it makes people nervous. People say you've got a resting bitch face."

Drapeau nodded. "You do have that energy."

"See?" Hayden gestured at the group. "Everyone agrees. Rozanov's either brave or stupid. Probably both."

"He's not stupid," Shane muttered, very quickly.

Too quickly, in fact.

The lounge went quiet.

Hayden's grin stretched wider. "Oh? So he's brave, then? You were uh… Quick on the take there. Did we hit a nerve?"

Shane's face heated. "I didn't say that."

"You kind of did," Laine said.

"Definitely did," JJ added.

"He's catching feelings, boys…" Koch said.

The guys all gathered in a unified "awww" that was just as mocking as it was sweet.

Shane crossed his arms, giving them a real "vibe" to deal with. "We haven't even gone on a date yet, guys. I don't know anything about Rozanov except his stats and that he's a hopeless romantic. Hell, Rosanov doesn’t know a lot about me, either. There's a lot of blank space there to fill in."

Berkes leaned against the window. "For what it's worth, Cap, Rozanov's a solid guy. I played with him a few years when I was in Boston. He's loud, yeah, and definitely an asshole, but he's genuine. Ilya's the kind of asshole that's fun to be around. Like Pike."

"HEY." Hayden shouted.

"Good teammate too," Laine said. "Heard he took a pay cut in Ottawa to keep Marlow on the roster when they were in cap trouble over Haas joining their team a few years back. Actually, I heard he even helped Haas get his first big marketing deals and sponsorships. Dude is like a Dad figure to the rookies, wherever he goes."

Drapeau stood up, stretching out his legs from the long meditative stance. "I heard Marlow followed him from Boston to Ottawa, right? Marlow was a Boston native. He left his home to be with Rozanov."

"Yeah." Berkes nodded. "That's loyalty. You don't follow someone across the league unless they're worth it. I sure as hell wouldn't follow Pike if he moved to the US."

"HEY! Why am I catching strays here!?" Hayden yelled.

Comeau stretched in his seat. "Oh, another thing, the guy's funny as hell too. Saw him at that charity event last year. The man had everyone in stitches with every other word out of his mouth. Not to mention he dropped like a quarter of a million to the Children's Hospital when he heard some of their funding got chopped."

"He sponsors the local leagues. Pays for gear for all the kids in the Ottawa training camps and lets them keep it afterwards. Do you know how expensive that shit is these days?" Schneider quipped.

"Too expensive. I almost didn't get to play in Juniors way back when because of it," Taylor said.

Shane listened, not looking at any of them. His chest tightened with each new wonderful thing he learned about Rozanov.

Kind. Loyal. Loving. Funny. Smart.

All the things you could ever hope for in a partner. Hell, hearing these compliments come from the Voyagers, who treated Ilya like a villain during game day, must have meant they really did mean it, too.

Hayden nudged him. "What I'm hearing is… you should give him a shot."

"I should," Shane thought to himself.

Yet… The problem wasn't Rozanov, the problem was Shane.

Shane wondered if he, himself, had any of those good qualities. He wondered what the Centaurs thought about him, or if anyone would be that complimenting of him in a random airport lounge.

Because at a surface level… What was Shane at all? Good at hockey. Attractive, he guessed, based on the shirtless photo shoots he always got to do. Per his own team, he had a "vibe" and it wasn't a good one. He was bitchy, and judgmental.

"Great. Just… Great… I'm the lucky one here, it sounds like. Not Rozanov," Shane thought to himself.

"Look, I didn't ask for your opinion or the opinion of the peanut gallery," Shane said, waving everyone's words off.

"Yeah, but I'm giving it anyway." Hayden's voice softened. "Look, man. You've spent the last eight years saying you don't have time for dating. Maybe you did and maybe you didn't. …but someone just dropped a six-foot bear in your lap and asked you out in front of millions of people. Maybe… Just try? Like, in the worst-case scenario and you two don't hit it off… What's the big deal? Nothing happens and you both go back to your lives! What do you have to lose here, really?"

Shane glanced at him, tried to find some kind of argument that would make sense to people that lived outside his head, couldn't find one, and promptly looked away.

Laine shrugged. "I mean, at the very least, he's not some random guy trying to date a hockey player for clout or money. He is a hockey player, and he gets the life. Knows the hell that comes with our schedules and training. Plus, you're both well paid, so it's not like there's any awkwardness around the money."

Drapeau leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You deserve to be happy, Cap. To find real balance in your life, you've got to find room for something else besides hockey and tapes."

Shane couldn't find his voice. He stared at the floor, unable to really argue with any of them. Hell… He didn't want to argue anymore. At this point he was just being stubborn, he knew, but that stubbornness came from a place of fear.

The airport speakers crackled overhead, announcing their flight.

The team gathered their bags, moving toward the gate, the conversation finally cut off. Shane stood slowly, slinging his duffel over his shoulder and heading off to whatever awaited him in Pittsburgh.

After landing in Pittsburgh, Shane and his team were on their chartered bus and headed to the Marriot for the night. Their game against the Penguins would be the next day.

They all crowded into the lobby, tired and cranky from the flight. While the admin started straightening out the room assignments, a well-dressed man in a suit and tie approached Shane.

"Mr. Hollander?"

"Yes?"

"Good afternoon, sir. My name is James, and I am a representative of the Marriot. I am here to let you know that your room has been paid for in advance, so you do not need to wait to check in. You've been given one of our Studio Suites on the top floor, paid for by Mr. Ilya Rozanov," He said, handing Shane a room key.

Shane blushed, and the rest of the guys on the team immediately started slapping him on the back, egging him on, or making kissy faces.

"I was also informed to give you this card and let you know that a car will be by in thirty minutes to pick you up. Thank you for staying at the Marriot," James said, before giving a quick nod, handing over said card, and returning to the front desk.

"Well, go on, Hollander, don't keep us in suspense!" JJ said.

Most of the team was now crowding around and trying to make out what was on the card.

Shane sighed, realizing he was surrounded and had no easy way to make a clean getaway. He opened the card, this one much more formal than the last one, in the red and black of the Ottawa team. The cover was blank, but on the inside was a folded sheet of paper, and Ilya's handwriting on the card.

"Have a relaxing experience before your game tomorrow. A room all to yourself, so you can get the peace and quiet needed to focus, and a little something extra to spoil you rotten. ;) - Ilya"

The folded paper turned out to be a reservation for a high-end spa in the area. He'd been booked for a full body massage, hot stone treatment, and the "all inclusive" package, meaning Shane could do as much or as little as he wanted from their extra services. The list of options was impressive, and…

"Oh my God a full facial cleanse, mud mask, AND ice treatment!" Shane couldn't help but shout out the words, and there was no fighting the way his face lit up.

One of the greatest pleasures of his life had been his skincare routine, and this was the kind of stuff he always wanted to try but never seemed to have time for.

Though the mani/pedi could go fuck itself, he was not letting anyone touch his toes or fingers. That was… Gross.

"Holy shit Rozanov… You can't do this to us. How the hell will we ever compete as men again!?" Liane said, grumbling.

"Fucking hell… Nobody tell my wife!" Koch shouted.

"We take this to the grave, boys. Nobody make a goddamn tweet about this, or I'm going to throw you in the river!" Berkes announced.

While the team began to have internal meltdowns over their own romantic lives, Shane slipped away and headed to the elevator. He was going to shower, dress in a fresh outfit for his spa retreat, and go have a relaxing evening all to himself without the rest of the team's usual shenanigans at loud bars.

Shane got to the top floor, walked to the door of his suite, and when he opened it, he yelped.

Ilya had paid for someone to decorate the suite’s walls in Voyageur banners, homemade posters from fans, alongside balloons and streamers in the Montreal colors.

On the desk in the corner was a beautiful pair of orchids (signs of good luck), whose stems and blooms had been shaped into the numbers 2 and 4, for 24. Surrounding those flowers was a fruit, cheese, and vegetable tray cooled within a portable ice tray and laminated until he was ready to use them. Beside that was a bottle of sparkling juice (non-alcoholic, but still a respectable vintage brand), sitting in an ice bucket.

On the bed lay a brand-new blue outfit, complete with his name and the team logo stitched onto it. The outfit was just his size, with a long sleeve hoodie, a white undershirt, and soft sweatpants. Shane could tell the fabric was not cheap, and from the tags on them, they were all name brand stuff he'd never considered shelling out cash for. Everything felt like a mix between leisurewear and silk between his fingers.

Sitting on top of the outfit was a small black box.

"Oh my God, what did you do, Roza…" Shane was speechless as he popped open the box and found a silver and blue Rolex watch. One that matched his spa day outfit perfectly.

Shane laughed.

He laughed, hard.

Because how fucking ridiculous could Ilya Rozanov actually be?!

"You haven't even had dinner with me yet, Rozanov… What the fuck… You're going to be so mad at the money you spent when you realize who I really am."

Shane fell on the bed, letting out a long sigh.

Then, Shane screamed, nearly falling to the floor as he realized that a poster-sized picture of Ilya Rozanov had been taped to the ceiling, right above his bed.

A picture of just Ilya, in a tight black jockstrap, on a bearskin rug, lounging on his side with one arm up over his head. In the image, Ilya was winking, with a cocky grin and his tongue sticking out just barely past his lips. 

Shane gulped. "Oh… Oh wow. That's not 12 inches, but… Fuck, Rozanov… You're packing…" he muttered, unable to take his eyes off the picture.

He stared so long that the front desk had to ring him twice before he came out of the daze, almost missing his spa day entirely.

…and as he hopped into the car waiting for him at the entrance, he pulled out his phone and started a series of emergency google searches.

Because he could no longer let his bad texting skills get in his way of what he had planned next.

How to text good?

How to text confidently?

How to talk to other people you have a crush on?

How to text good to a guy you like?

What do you text to a guy you like?

What do bi guys like getting texted to them?

What do bi guys like getting text to them by other guys?

What is a bussy?

What is sexting?

How do I sext good?

What is a good first sext?

A day after arranging the events at the Marriot (and tipping an exorbitant amount of money to make them do it) Ilya sprawled across Cliff's couch. His feet were propped on the coffee table, watching the Pittsburgh versus Montreal game.

Ilya and Luca came over to Cliff's place after practice that night, ordered pizza, and settled in to watch Montreal play. Cliff had broken out the good beer halfway through the first period. Luca, who apparently couldn't handle his alcohol to save his life, was three deep and giggling at everything. He practically had to hold onto Cliff to keep sitting up.

"Holy shit," Cliff said from beside him, words slurring just slightly from his abundance of alcohol that night. "Did you see that deke? Hollander just made their guy look like a fucking training cone!"

Luca laughed, leaning heavy against Cliff's shoulder, face flushed bright red from trying to keep up with Cliff's drinking. "Training cones are more useful. At least they don't fall over!"

The Pittsburgh player had, in fact, fallen over. Cliff and Luca both cackled at the timing of Luca's words and both clinked another set of beers together.

On the screen, Shane glided past the defender, stickhandling through two more Penguins before snapping a wrist shot at the top shelf. The goalie didn't even have a chance to move.

The arena erupted.

Montreal was up 3-1 with ten minutes left in the third.

"That is his second goal tonight," Ilya muttered, leaning forward. "He is destroying them!"

"Your boyfriend's having a great night. You were right on the money, man. Spa day before a game? Man like Hollander's got a lot on his shoulders, I bet he appreciated getting out of his head for a while," Cliff said, grinning wide. "Maybe your wooing is working."

"He is not my boyfriend…" Ilya said, but feeling his face flush as he kicked back another beer of his own. He didn't mind the word.

"Yet," Luca repeated, giggling. "Key word there Rozy."

Ilya shook his head, fighting back a smile.

On screen, Shane lined up for another faceoff. The camera zoomed in, catching his face beneath the helmet. The man's face, despite three periods of sweat and exertion, looked baby smooth and fresh.

"Must have gotten the facial options…" Ilya thought.

The puck dropped. Shane won the draw, passed to Pike, then drove hard toward the net. Pittsburgh's defense collapsed on him. He spun, found some space between, took the pass back from a wing, and made a shot.

Goal.

No, not just a goal. Shane's first hat trick in two seasons.

"Oh my God," Luca said, sitting up too fast and nearly toppling off the couch. Cliff caught Luca and yanked him back onto his lap. "That was insane."

The broadcast cut to the announcers, who were losing their minds.

"Shane Hollander with three goals and an assist tonight," the first announcer said. "This is a career performance. Hollander is absolutely dominating this ice, and his team has clearly got his back!"

"He's playing like a true veteran," the second added. "Pittsburgh has no answer for him."

"Think he's showing off for you?" Cliff asked, nudging Ilya's shoulder.

"Maybe." Ilya grinned. "Or maybe he is just very good."

"He's both," Luca said, words running together. "He's good and he's showing off. That's how you know he likes you."

Ilya glanced at him. "You think?"

"Totally." Luca nodded, very serious despite the flush on his face. "When people like you, they try harder. They want to impress you. Like keeping up with them at the bar on a number of drinks.  It's science."

"Is not science."

"Emotional science," Luca corrected, waving a hand. "Trust me, Rozy. I know things, I’m European."

Cliff snorted, throwing his arms around Luca and pulling him into a hug. "You're drunk."

"I'm tipsy."

"You're three beers in and can't sit up straight."

"Details."

The game continued. Montreal coasted through the final minutes, shutting down the last remnants of Pittsburgh's spirit, winning 4-1.

When the final buzzer sounded, Cliff raised the last of his beer. "To Shane Hollander. Best performance of his career!"

"To Shane," Luca echoed, clinking his bottle against Cliff's.

Ilya lifted his own drink, smiling. "To Shane."

They drank and finished up the pizza, until the screen cut to post-game interviews.

Shane appeared on camera, still in full gear, hair damp from effort. He answered questions, as usual, deflecting praise to his teammates.

"Pike and Berkes set me up perfectly, and Drapeau made save after save all night in the net," Shane said. "I just had to finish."

The reporter pressed. "Three goals and a hat trick, Shane. It’s been a while since you performed like this. How does it feel?"

Shane got a bit bashful, for once. "Feels good! I uh… I had a great time in town before the game. That really helped me relax and get out of my head a bit."

Ilya was unable to look away. Even through the practiced media persona, there was something different tonight. Something looser in Shane's posture. Something almost… relieved. He didn't seem to use the same repeated lines he did in each interview.

"He looks good," Ilya said quietly.

"He looks like he got laid," Cliff said.

"He did not get laid."

"Might as well have, you sent him to a spa. That's basically foreplay."

Luca giggled again, head lolling against Cliff's pecs. "Foreplay. Good one. I bet he got a "happy ending" when he got back to the hotel. Right? Am I right?"

Ilya rolled his eyes.

The interview wrapped and the broadcast cut to highlights. Ilya watched Shane's goals on repeat, each one more impressive than the last.

"I should text him," Ilya said.

"You should," Cliff agreed.

"…but what do I say?"

"Tell him he looked hot."

"Cliff!"

"What? He did."

Ilya pulled out his phone, staring at the screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

"Just say congrats," Luca mumbled, eyes half-closed. "Don't overthink, Rozy."

Ilya typed.

Ilya: Congratulations on hat trick. You played beautifully tonight.

He hesitated, then added:

Ilya: Very impressive all night. You made Pittsburgh look like junior league team.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself.

The three dots appeared almost immediately.

Ilya sat up straighter. "He is typing."

"What's he saying?" Cliff leaned over, trying to see the screen.

"I do not know yet. He is still typing."

The message came through.

Shane: Thanks. You topped the bear and the flowers, by the way.

Ilya blinked. "What?"

Shane: The spa day was exactly what I needed. The hotel room was perfect. The outfit was great and is my new favorite thing to wear. The watch is… a lot, but I love it. I'll have to start caring about fashion, I guess. My mom's going to be thrilled. She keeps trying to hire me a stylist.

Ilya's grin spread wide. "He loved it."

"Told you," Cliff said, smug. "The woo is working."

A third message appeared.

Shane: I'm sending you some pictures. I took them last night during and after the spa treatment.  Hope you like them.

Ilya's heart kicked up. "Pictures?"

The first image loaded and it was Shane in a white bathrobe, face covered in a green mud mask, with cucumbers over his eyes. He was holding up a peace sign.

Ilya laughed out loud.

The second picture was Shane on the massage table, looking blissed out, eyes half-closed, with a big fluffy towel over his backside.

The third was Shane in the hotel room, wearing the outfit Ilya had sent, holding up the watch with a big goofy grin.

The fourth turned out to be Shane lying on the bed, grinning at the camera, the giant poster of Ilya visible in the background.

"Oh my God," Cliff said, craning his neck to see. "He kept the poster?"

"He kept the poster," Ilya repeated, stunned.

Luca stirred, blinking blearily. "What poster?"

"The one of Rozy in his jockstrap," Cliff said. "The one he sent to Shane's hotel room."

"Oh. That's bold."

"Is very bold. I'm a bold man, after all," Ilya agreed, still staring at the pictures.

Another message came through.

Shane: Hope you like this one. It's only fair. You showed me yours, so I'll show you mine. ;)

Ilya stopped breathing.

The image loaded slowly.

Too slowly.

The top of the frame appeared first, Shane's face, flushed, lips parted with a strawberry in them, juices flowing over his lips. Then his bare, sculped chest.

Then…

Ilya's phone nearly slipped from his hand as he yanked it FAR away from Cliff and Luca's eyes.

Because what he'd been sent was Shane in nothing but his team-issued Bike jockstrap, white and tight. He was lying on the bed, one arm behind his head. With his legs parted, you could see the curve of his ass.

Shane: Thought you might appreciate this.

"Holy shit," Ilya whispered.

Ilya couldn't respond. He couldn't think, let alone vocalize anything.

Shane Hollander, the Shame Hollander, had just sent him a half-naked picture.

His phone buzzed again.

Shane: I'm going to appreciate your poster later. Already did a few times in the bathroom. My dick's going to be raw before the week is over if you keep this up. Taking the poster home, so I hope airport security doesn't see. ;)

Ilya choked on nothing.

"What?" Cliff asked. "What did he say?"

"Nothing," Ilya managed, voice tight. "Is nothing."

"Bullshit."

Ilya stood, phone clutched in his hand. "I need… bathroom. Be right back."

He didn't wait for a response and didn't hear Cliff's laugh or Luca's sleepy drunken commentary.

Ilya walked straight to Cliff's guest bathroom, in the guest room all the way on the other end of the condo, locked the door, and leaned back against it.

His hands were shaking.

He looked at the picture again. Shane's body. The curve of his waist. The lines of muscle along his stomach. The way the jock clung to him, leaving just enough to the imagination while showing everything that mattered.

Ilya's breath came faster.

He palmed himself through his sweats, already half-hard.

The image of Shane, flushed and teasing him, burned into his mind.

Ilya pulled his phone closer, zooming in on Shane's face. He got heated looking at the way Shane’s lips wrapped around the strawberry and how Shane’s eyes looked directly at the camera, daring Ilya to look.

"Fuck," Ilya whispered.

He shoved his sweats down, wrapping a hand around himself. He was already leaking, already desperate. He stroked slowly at first, eyes locked on the picture.

Unfortunately, his stupid phone screen wasn't big enough.

He couldn't see everything close up but close up he couldn't see everything. So, he fumbled with the phone, swiping back and forth with the zoom feature between Shane's sultry face, his gorgeous chest, and the outline of Hollander’s hard dick straining against his jock.

Ilya's pace quickened. He sat the phone down on the sink, using his free hand to brace himself, knuckles white. In his other hand, he jerked himself off, hard and raw.  He bit down on his lip to keep quiet, but a low groan escaped anyway.

He imagined Shane beneath him. Imagined pulling Shane’s jockstrap off with his teeth like a feral dog. He imagined the sounds Shane would make, the way he'd look, the way he'd feel when they finally had a chance to touch and explore each other.

Then… He imagined the chirping.

"You call that fucking, Rozanov? I’ve had dildos get me off faster. You're glacial."

Ilya came hard, spilling ropes over his phone screen, his hand, and the edge of the sink. He gasped, legs shaking, vision blurring.

When he finally caught his breath, he looked down.

His phone was a mess.

"Shit," he muttered.

He grabbed toilet paper, wiping the screen clean.

Then, without thinking, he opened the camera.

He took a picture of his hand, still spotted with cum, the droplets of his seed all over the sink, and the tip of his dick just at the bottom of the frame. The evidence of what Shane's picture had done to him. He'd sent it before he could stop himself.

Ilya: You did this to me.

He stared at the message, heart pounding.

"Oh no. Oh no, what did I just do?"

Panic set in immediately. He'd just sent Shane a picture of his cum. A dick pic, too, basically. What if Shane thought he was disgusting? What if this was too much? What if….

His phone buzzed.

Shane: Good.

Ilya exhaled, relief flooding through him.

Shane: If you woo me one more time, I might just show you what you do to me, too.

Another message came through. An image. One of Shane pulling the jockstrap down just slightly. Not showing anything explicit, but displaying the curve of his ass, the dip of his lower back, and the hint of his neatly trimmed bush.

Shane: A preview. But you'll have to earn the rest.

Ilya's hands shook as he typed

Ilya: If I get to see that beautiful cock, I will woo heaven itself. I will make angels jealous. I will move mountains.

Shane: Then you better start planning, Rozanov. Because I'm starting to think about that first date a lot more.

Ilya grinned, leaning back against the bathroom door.

He stayed there for a long while, catching his breath, letting the reality of what just happened sink in.

Shane Hollander was flirting with him.

Actually flirting.

When Ilya finally returned to the living room after thoroughly cleaning the bathroom up, Cliff and Luca were both asleep on the couch. Luca snored softly, curled up on Cliff's lap, using his chest as a pillow. Cliff's arm was draped over Luca, protective even in sleep.

Ilya grabbed a blanket from the closet, draping it over them both. He stood there for a moment, smiling at the sight.

Then he grabbed his phone, looked at Shane's picture one more time, and headed to the guest room to sleep off the night.

He had another wooing to plan and at least two more rounds of jerking off to some newly discovered fantasies before his dick would start to get angry at him.

Chapter 4: Romeo (Ilya) Take Me Somewhere We (Ilya and Shane) Can Be Alone

By the next morning, Ilya was still reeling from Shane's flirting, no, scratch that, his sexting. Shane Hollander had been sexting him.

During practice at the Ottawa Stadium that next day, Ilya struggled to keep focus, because his mind clung to the image of Shane's bulge being hidden by a flimsy layer of fabric.

He couldn’t take his mind off it and of all the inappropriate and erotic things about it…

Ilya thought about how it must have smelled… How Shane smelled… He could imagine the deep, manly musk of a professional athlete, combined with something… Flowery. Call it a hunch.

The thought of sniffing Shane then turned into a daydream about pouncing on top of him, nuzzling his nose into that crotch, gently biting at the outline of Shane's cock, before tearing the fabric away and sucking that man off until he screamed "Rozanov" loud enough for the entire city of Montreal to hear.

About the same time as imaginary Ilya was tongue-fucking imaginary Shane's hole, he skated straight into the rink’s boards at full speed, face first.  He fell back on his ass, hockey stick flying into air and slamming down on his helmet for just that extra bit of punishment.

"You with us today, Rozanov!?" Coach Wiebe shouted, while the entire Centaur team laughed at the scene unfolding.

"I GOT THAT ON FILM!" Harris screamed from the press seats.

Ilya didn't feel the least bit embarrassed, with a dopy grin still on his face.

He tried to keep his head in the game for the rest of practice, only tripping once when he thought about Shane sitting on his face and riding him, and only whiffing the puck the two (or three) times that he pictured Shane going down on him with that pretty mouth of his.

"Fucking hell, Hollander… Look what your pictures do to me… That man is like Helen of Troy, the modern face that forced a thousand jerkings." Ilya thought to himself, grateful he had another two days before he'd have to play in a game. He was pretty sure playing under the influence of Hollander was as bad, if not worse, than playing under the influence of drugs or alcohol.

After practice, it was just a little past noon that day.

Ilya showered with the guys, threw on a towel around his waist, uncaring that water dripped from his curls and covered the floor wherever he walked.

He stood in front of the whiteboard in the locker room, the one the team used for play planning. Ilya wiped away the nonsense that Gen posted about photo shoot schedules and got to work.

He picked up a dry-erase marker, uncapping it with his teeth, and started writing on the board.

WOOING IDEAS

• Flowers (24 different flowers?)
• Ilya sings duet with Taylor Swift to chorus of Love Story to post on social media (Mine or Belong With Me is also acceptable) (Is Shane a Swiftie?)
• Dinner Reservation At High-End Resorts
• Animated billboard in New York Times Square of Shane putting Scott Hunter in retirement home before next game
• Skywriting love message over Montreal (can you say "nice ass" in public skies?)

Behind him, the locker room was its usual chaotic self.

The guys stripped out of their gear, towels snapping against bare asses, laughter echoing throughout the walls over jokes. Boodram and Hayes were talking about the next team barbeque. Someone's phone, probably Dykstra’s, blasted music. Another pair were arguing about last night's game between Toronto and Boston. Cliff and Luca were still in the showers together, stuck in a long conversation, neither really wanting it to end and soaping up the same parts of their bodies over and over again.

Ilya ignored it all.

He added "Private Chef / Nutritionist" to the list. He remembered hearing on one of Shane's interviews that he had a hard time keeping his diet to taste good and be healthy at the same time.

"What are you doing, Cap?" Boodram's voice cut through the noise. The winger appeared at Ilya's side, towel draped over his shoulders and fresh from a shower. He squinted at the board. "Wooing ideas? We're still at the wooing phase of this thing with Hollander?"

"Yes. I am stuck." Ilya sighed, gesturing at the list. "Nothing is good enough! How do you go higher without being called a crazy man?"

"Good enough for what?" Troy Barrett joined them, pulling a clean shirt over his head and slipping into a pair of boxer briefs. His dark hair stuck up in every direction.

"For Shane, man. Who else?" Boodram said, grinning. "Rozy's trying to out-woo himself."

"Impossible task," Troy said. "You already sent the man a six-foot bear, a spa day and left a picture of yourself to jerk off to. What's left? A yacht?"

Ilya frowned. "Yacht is stupid. He does not need yacht, he likes lakes, not oceans."

"Neither did he need a six-foot bear," Dykstra called from across the room, dialing down the music on his phone while he pulled on socks. "…but here we are probably going to have to talk you out of skywriting something inappropriate."

Laughter rippled through the group.

Wyatt Hayes wandered over, still half-naked, holding a protein shake. "What about jewelry? Chicks love jewelry. It's what I get my wife and sisters every year for their birthdays."

"Shane is not chick, and I have never seen him ever wear jewelry. Besides, already got him a watch…" Ilya said flatly.

Dillon padded over, still naked from the shower as he toweled himself off. "Why are we helping Rozy woo someone again?"

"Because it's entertaining," Boodram said.

"Because he's our captain and we love him," Troy added, with a sarcastic tone.

"Because he's a good man that deserves nice things, even if he is a stubborn tyrant of a captain and an asshole to boot," Cliff said, walking into the room with Luca at his side.

"This is a team project," Luca said, pulling up his underwear and grabbing his t-shirt. "Because when Rozy's happy, we're all happy. When Rozy's not happy…"

Luca didn't need to finish the sentence. Everyone on the team shuddered in agreement.

Ilya set the marker down, turning to face them. He sighed. "Okay, I admit, I need help. Real help. Shane said I topped bear and roses with spa day. Now I must top spa day. …but how?"

"Go bigger," Hayes said immediately. "Buy him some real estate! I heard he's bought up like TONS of Real Estate."

"Or go smaller," Luca countered. "Go personal! Like, uh… A new hockey stick!"

"Or go weird," Boodram said. "How do you feel about ASMR porn videos? I bet you'd be great at that, especially with that sexy Russian accent."

Ilya groaned, pressing his palms to his face. "You are all useless."

"Hey!" Cliff smacked his shoulder. "We're brainstorming here, this is a process. There are no bad ideas. Except for whatever the hell Boodram just suggested."

LaPointe, one of the team's younger rookies, finally spoke up from his corner locker. He'd been quiet the whole time, the only one actually dressed among them. "What does Shane like?"

Ilya looked up and thought about the conversation he'd had with Shane's friend, Hayden. "Hockey. Ginger ale. Teddy bears. Skincare. Winning. Stress Relief. Yoga."

"Riveting. He's a boundless ocean of whimsy," Boodram muttered.

"No, seriously," LaPointe continued, pushing through to the rest of the crowd. "What does he like? Not what you think he likes. Actually, scratch that, what does Shane actually want?"

Ilya paused, a new fear suddenly growing deep within him.

He didn't know.

He knew Shane's stats, his favorite drink, about a teddy bear as a kid named Bobo and that hockey meant everything to him.

…but what did Shane want?

Sure, it was hard to answer that because they actually hadn't been on a date yet, but… He felt like, given all the trouble he'd gone to thus far, he should have known more.

"I… do not know," Ilya admitted quietly.

The room was dead silent.

Troy broke the calm first, blunt as always. "Rozy. You've been wooing this guy a week and you don't know what he wants?"

"I know what he says he wants," Ilya said defensively. "He wants to be impressed. He wants big gestures. He wants…"

"No," Cliff interrupted. "That's what he's asking for. Doesn't mean it's what he actually needs."

Ilya stared at his buddy, a bit confused.

Cliff shrugged. "Just saying. Sometimes people don't know what they want until someone gives it to them. Or… You know, sometimes they have a hard time admitting what it is they want.  Or they’re embarrassed about what they want, so they make up something that’s more believable."

Luca nodded. "Like when someone brings you soup when you're sick. You didn't ask for it, but it's exactly what you needed."

"Or when someone remembers your coffee order," Boodram added.

"Or when someone listens to you vent about your shitty day without trying to fix it," Troy said.

Ilya nodded along. These ideas were much better than the previous ones.

His gaze drifted to the far corner of the locker room, where Harris Drover sat on a bench, scrolling through his phone and doing whatever he did best. The Centaurs' communications director was stocky, perpetually exhausted, and somehow always in the locker room at the perfect times.

Harris was also dating Troy, over the last few years. He might have a valuable perspective.

Ilya walked over, towel slipping slightly. "Harris."

Harris glanced up, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, Ilya?"

"What would you want most from Troy, before you started dating. If he was going to try and woo you?" Ilya asked.

Harris blinked. "Uh… why?"

"Research," Ilya said seriously.

Harris looked past him to where the rest of the team had gathered, all watching with varying degrees of amusement, everyone waiting for his answer.

"This is for the Shane thing, isn't it? More of your wooing?"

"Yes."

"Do I get exclusive access to whatever this wooing is, and do I get to use it to go viral?"

"You will be first one to get pictures of our first date to use for marketing. Even over Montreal, this I promise."

Harris flashed a greedy smile. He loved putting Montreal's social media guy in his place. He sat his phone down, fully focused on Ilya. "Alright. Honest answer?"

"Please."

"So besides sex, which I was fucking starved for, and that Troy is VERY good at…"

The guys wolf-whistled immediately, slapping Troy on the ass and ruffling his hair. Troy grinned, smug as hell.

Harris rolled his eyes and waved the guys off. "…I just wanted someone who knew me. Like, really knew me. Not the social media guy. Not the chonky rugged short dude that follows around the sexy hockey players all the time. Just… me. Just Harris Drover."

Ilya frowned. "I do not understand."

Harris stood up from the bench and stretched his limbs. "Okay. So… example. One time, I had a shit day at work. Got yelled at by a player's agent, had three posts get flagged, and our website crashed because accounting forgot to pay the bill. I was ready to quit, scream, cry and throw up all at the same time. Troy showed up at my place that night, after knowing how much of a shit day I had, with a tub of my favorite cookie dough ice cream and just… sat there. Didn't try to fix anything. Didn't tell me it'd be okay. Just listened to me rant, scream, and cry for three hours while he held me. That was the day I knew he was my forever guy."

A wave of "awws" echoed in the locker room.

Troy scratched the back of his neck, looking bashful. "You needed to vent. I know your tells these days."

"Yeah," Harris said softly. "I did need it and you did know it." Harris looked at Ilya. "Sometimes the best gift isn't something big or expensive. It's just… being there, being present, and listening. So, if you're asking me how to woo Shane Hollander, I think I'm the wrong person to ask. Out of everyone that you should be asking, if you ask me, it should be Shane himself."

Ilya stared at Harris, and slowly, he started to let it all sink in.

Harris continued, voice quieter now. "My family never really listened to me. I was the baby of the family and I had a congenital heart defect. They loved me, don't get me wrong, but I always got treated like I was fragile. Like I didn't know what I wanted, and needed to be protected, watched, and fussed over all the time. Even today, the first thing on the phone with my folks is asking about my heart or my health. Troy was the first person who just… let me be me. That meant a lot to me."

The locker room went quiet, and it was Hayes that broke the silence. "Damn, Barrett. Why haven't you married him yet?!"

Troy's face went red. "I… I mean…"

"Seriously," Boodram said. "What are you waiting for?"

"An engraved invitation?" Luca added.

Troy opened his mouth to respond, but a jockstrap hit him in the face, followed by socks, towels, and Boyle's helmet.

The locker room descended into violence. Guys started throwing whatever they could find, water bottles, tape rolls, a stray shin guard. Troy ducked, laughing, while Harris covered his face with his hands, trying not to smile.

Ilya stood there, letting everything sink in, while Harris's words echoed in his head.

"Sometimes the best gift is just being there and listening."

Ilya thought about how Shane always gave perfect media answers. He considered how Shane deflected praise, how the Montreal Captain always had a practiced speech and an answer thought out days in advance.

Shane was always performing.

Always controlled.

Always perfect.

…but what if he didn't want to be?

What if Shane just wanted someone to listen?

Ilya turned back to the whiteboard. He picked up the eraser and wiped it clean in one long stroke.

The team noticed, ending their assault on Troy.

"What are you doing?" Cliff asked.

Ilya capped the marker, turning to face them. "I know what to do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Ilya smiled. "Thank you. All of you."

"Wait, what's the plan?" Boodram called.

Ilya didn't answer. He grabbed his towel tighter around his waist and headed toward the tunnel that led to the parking garage.

Behind him, the guys started shouting again.

"Cap!"

"You can't just leave!"

"What's the plan?!"

Ilya kept walking, grin spreading wider.

He made it three steps into the tunnel before his towel slipped.

It dropped to the floor, leaving him completely bare-assed in the fluorescent-lit corridor.

"ROZANOV!" Harris's voice echoed from the locker room. "You're still not dressed!"

Ilya froze.

He looked down at little Rozy and his boys swinging in the breeze and then turned back to the locker room.

The entire team was staring at him through the doorway, various stages of laughter and horror on their faces.

"Shit," Ilya muttered.

He grabbed the towel from the floor, wrapped it back around his waist, and sheepishly returned to the locker room.

Cliff was doubled over, wheezing. "You were just gonna walk to your car like that?"

"I forgot," Ilya said defensively.

"You forgot you were naked?" Harris asked, in horror.

"I was thinking about Shane!  I was a little busy!" Ilya shouted, as if it explained everything.

Shane was sprawled on his couch, wrapped around the life-sized teddy bear that he'd finally decided to name Roz, for all the obvious reasons. His legs were tangled with the bear's plush limbs, one arm thrown over its enormous torso. The thing smelled faintly of roses.

"What the hell was I thinking?" Shane muttered into Roz's fuzzy chest.

He'd sent Ilya Rozanov a picture of himself in a jockstrap. Not even a sexy jockstrap, just the basic bitch Bike jockstraps from his uniform, the kind that the boomers always wore in ye olden days when dinosaurs like Scott Hunter still walked the earth.

Not just any picture, either.

No, it was a good picture. One where he'd angled the camera, just right, where his body looked its best, where the lighting made his skin glow. He'd taken at least forty shots, compared them to other sexy photos and porn on the internet, before settling on the one he'd eventually send.

In his head, he knew, if that picture ever leaked, it would do real damage to his brand and incur the wrath of both Yuna the manager and Yuna the mom.

Shane groaned, pressing his face harder into the bear.

The worst part of it all?

He'd enjoyed it.

Enjoyed the thrill of hitting send, the rush of adrenaline, the way his pulse had kicked up waiting for Ilya's response. There was something about showing off his body, letting someone see the real, vulnerable, naked version of himself that was… Hot.

For a brief moment, Shane had worried more of his "freak" status had been let out a little too soon, but…

…when Ilya had sent back that picture, the evidence of what Shane had done to him, seeing Ilya's cum covering the sink and the Captain's hands, and then had the privilege of seeing Rozanov's half-hard cock just out of frame? Shane nearly combusted on the spot.

He'd shucked off his clothes in the hotel that night, put the phone to the side, jerked off with one hand while another lubed set of fingers slowly dipped in and out of his hole. His eyes never left the image on his phone, staring at the cum stains until his vision blurred. He'd jerked off twice that night and still couldn't get the image out of his head.

Fuck, he'd fallen asleep with his phone pressed to his chest.

Now, in the harsh light of early afternoon, back in Montreal and back to his normal life, reality crashed back.

"Stupid," Shane whispered. "You are so fucking stupid, Shane. Now he probably thinks your some kinky sex deviant or something!"

His phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Shane didn't move.

He couldn't.

If he looked at his phone and saw Ilya's name, he'd spiral again. He'd start imagining what came next, what Ilya thought of him now, whether he'd ruined everything before it even started or turned their potential relationship into "just sex".

The phone buzzed again.

Shane squeezed the bear tighter.

"Maybe he's regretting it," Shane whispered to Roz. "Maybe he thinks I'm desperate. Or weird. Or…"

The bear didn't respond.

Shane's thoughts raced. He replayed the moment he'd sent the picture, the way his hands had trembled, the way his heart had hammered. He'd felt bold in the moment. Confident. Like he was someone who knew what they wanted and wasn't afraid to show it. Like Ilya was the kind of man who could take all that Shane could give and give it back just as hard.

Now?

Now he just felt exposed.

"God, what if he shows someone?" Shane's voice cracked. "What if the whole team sees? What if it gets leaked?"

He knew that was irrational. Ilya wouldn't do that. Nothing Shane had learned about him suggested he was that kind of person. Hell, the man had followed through on every promise he'd made so far. The bear, the roses, the spa day, the hotel room...

Still. The doubt gnawed at him.

In his head, he was still that awkward kid at school, getting laughed at by Bradley for being "the weirdo" and everyone agreeing on it.

Shane finally reached for his phone, fingers closing around so he could throw it across the room at a moment's notice. He unlocked the screen, squinting at the notifications.

Ilya: What is your favorite snack?

Shane blinked. Stared at the message. Read it again.

"My… favorite snack?"

That was it. No follow-up to the pictures. No teasing. No acknowledgment of what they'd done last night.

Just… a question about snacks.

Shane's chest loosened slightly. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He wanted to lie. Wanted to say something exciting, something that made him sound interesting. Ice cream. Açai bowls. Literally anything other than the truth.

Instead, he typed…

Shane: Dark chocolate.

He hit send before he could overthink it.

Ilya: Why dark chocolate? May I ask why it's your favorite?

Shane hesitated.

Shane: It's good for muscle nourishment. High in antioxidants. Plus it's sweet, which I don't get to have often on my diet.

Ilya: You deserve sweet things.

Shane's face went hot and he buried it back into the bear.  Another message appeared.

Ilya: Can I come over if you're not busy? I'd like to talk for a while. I want to hear your voice and get to know you better. I'll bring dark chocolate. :)

Shane's breath caught. He stared at the screen, heart hammering.

Ilya wanted to come over.

To drive, for two and a half hours, from Ottawa to Montreal, or maybe go through the hell of a flight.

To come to Shane's condo.

To talk.

Shane's first instinct was to say no. To make up an excuse, to push it off, to keep things safe and controlled.

…but then he thought about the bear in his arms, who he couldn't help but love and hold onto every time he walked through the front door of his home. He considered the roses in his bedroom, which he tended to and tried to keep alive for as long as possible. Then… He considered the spa day that had left him boneless and relaxed for the first time in months.

Ilya had given him all of that. He'd given him many sweet things already.

"The least you could do is let him in…" Shane thought.

Shane: Yeah. Come over.

He sent his address, the code to the gate and his apartment, and then immediately panicked.

"Oh my God…" Shane sat up, nearly knocking the bear off the couch. "He's coming here. To my place. Right now."

He looked around his condo. It was clean, thankfully, he had a maid service take care of things every other day. Even without them, Shane kept everything tidy out of habit. ….but was it too clean? Did it look sterile and unwelcoming?

Shane grabbed a blanket from his closet, unfurled it, and threw it over the sofa to make it look like it was a normal part of the decor. He rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a few clean dishes from his cabinets and put them in the sink, washing them out with water and set them to dry on the rack, to make his place feel a little more lived in.

Then, Shane ran to his bedroom and gulped. Ilya's poster had been put up on the ceiling over his bed the second he'd gotten home from Pittsburgh. He declared the room a lost cause and just shut the door, deciding he just wouldn't let Ilya in there for any reason.

About half an hour later, as Shane was considering asking the neighbors for some magazines to put on the coffee table so that it looked like he had the ability to read more than just stat reports, something inside him finally shut down.

"Stop," Shane told himself. "Just… stop."

He paced the length of the living room. His hands flexed at his sides. He tried to remember how to breathe like a normal person.

"If you have to put on an act for this to work… It's not real." Shane thought.

His phone buzzed, as if sensing his plight.

Ilya: I am bringing the dark chocolate. Many kinds from many stores. We will taste test together and find the best!

The text came with a picture of Ilya in one of his sports cars, with several plastic bags from many different stores in the passenger seat.

Shane laughed. The sound surprised him, bubbling up from somewhere he'd forgotten existed.

Shane: You didn't have to do that. One store and one brand would have been fine.

Ilya: I want to. It's something you love. :)

Shane stared at the message for a long time.

Then he set the phone down, ran his hands through his hair, and flopped back into the arms of Roz, letting his fluffy arms anchor him until the time came.

The knock came a little while later.

Shane opened the door to find Ilya standing in the hallway, holding a bunch of shopping bags that looked ready to burst.

"Hi," Ilya said, grinning.

"Hi," Shane barely managed.

Ilya was dressed casually. Jeans, a black henley, in a leather jacket. His hair was messy and frizzy, like he'd been running his hands through it. He looked… real.

Not like the polished version Shane saw in interviews, on the photo shoots, on his sexy poster, or on the ice.

"Can I come in?" Ilya asked.

"Right! Yes!" Shane stepped aside, holding the door open.

Ilya walked in, glancing around curiously. His gaze landed on the bear, still sprawled on the couch.

"You kept him," Ilya said, voice soft.

"Of course I kept him." Shane shut the door, leaning back against it. "He's… nice. I named him Roz. Been a long time since I had a teddy bear, and… He's a good cuddler."

Shane gulped. Had he really just admitted to cuddling a teddy bear? Him, at his age?! How immature could you be!?

Ilya's grin widened. He set the bag down on the coffee table, pulling out bar after bar of dark chocolate, each one a different brand, different percentage of cacao distribution, and even different countries of origin.

"That is sweet. I understand how it can be hard to sleep sometimes at night. I fall asleep many times hugging my own pillow these days," Ilya said. He finished presenting the chocolate, and laughed a bit as it took up most of the coffee table. "I brought many."

Shane crossed his arms, fighting back a smile. "That's a lot of chocolate."

"Is never too much chocolate."

They stood there for a moment in a quiet that was, surprisingly enough, not uncomfortable.

Then Ilya gestured to the couch. "Can we sit?"

"Yeah," Shane moved to the couch, pushing the bear to the side. Ilya sat beside him, close but not too close. The table of chocolate sat in front of them.

Ilya picked up one of the bars, turning it over in his hands. "Today, for my wooing, I just want to talk. To get to know you. To hear your voice and understand you more."

Shane's throat tightened. "That's… it?"

"That is it." Ilya met his eyes. "No big gesture. No performance. Just us."

Shane didn't know what to say. His hands twisted in his lap, restlessly.

Ilya unwrapped the first chocolate bar, breaking off a piece. He handed it to Shane. "Try this one first. Is from Switzerland. My hockey son Luca swears by it."

Shane took it, the chocolate smooth and rich on his tongue. He closed his eyes, letting the flavor settle.

"Good?" Ilya asked.

"Really good," Shane admitted.

They worked through the bars slowly. Shane talked about the differences in each bar's taste, how the percentages of cacao in the blends worked, and how some melted faster than others. As his favorite sweet, and as something he put into his body on a regular basis, he knew a lot about dark chocolate. Almost half an hour passed before they both patted their stomachs, overdosed on the stuff.

…then Ilya asked about hockey.

"You asked what I thought about hockey. What are your thoughts on hockey, Shane? Why is it so important to you?"

Shane's face lit up.

Shane started with the history of ice hockey, about when it was just a game with a stick and ball across the world before transitioning to the ice, and how its Canadian origins and with Montreal's Victoria Skating Rink as its birthplace shaped the very way the game is played today.

When the history lesson was over, Shane explained how it just "clicked" with him, having always loved the cold, loved ice skating, and loved pushing his body to the absolute limit and it paying off most of the time. He added that he just had a knack for it, and got praised for that knack, and made people look at him and respect him, even when they thought he was weird.

Out of nowhere, he transitioned to talking about the upcoming game against New York, about Scott Hunter's stats, about how the Admirals' defense had shifted this season.

Before long, Shane was rambling. Anything and everything about hockey in his brain was spewing out of him. By now, even his parents would have normally shut him up.

…but Ilya listened.

Shane complained about controversial calls from last season. rumors he'd heard in the league about trades and drafts, and plays he'd watched on tape that week, dissecting them down to the last detail.

When he got especially animated about a move that pissed him off, he pulled up his phone and shared it to the TV screen on the wall, using his hands to gesture and show it, frame by frame.

Ilya didn't interrupt. Not once. He just listened, nodding occasionally, asking questions when Shane paused for breath.

At some point, Ilya shifted. He stretched out along the couch, his head coming to rest in Shane's lap.

Shane froze for half a second as he registered Ilya's weight on him and then shook it off. Then he kept talking, one hand absently moving to Ilya's hair, fingers threading through the dark curls.

Hours passed.

The light from the window shifted, golden and warm.

Shane didn't notice. He was too busy explaining the intricacies of penalty kills, gesturing with his free hand, completely lost in the topic.

Then he glanced down.

Ilya was still there, eyes half-closed, a small smile on his lips.

Shane stopped mid-sentence. "Am I… boring you?"

"No." Ilya's eyes opened fully. "You are wonderful."

There was something in the way Ilya said those words that felt… Reverent. Shane was never good at reading faces or people, but… Deep down he knew Ilya wasn't lying.

Shane gulped. "I've been talking for three hours. I… I haven't shut up once…"

"Has been best three hours of my week." Ilya sat up slightly, propping himself on one elbow. "You are just as amazing as I thought you would be. Getting to hear you uncensored, without media training, without walls…" He reached up, brushing his thumb across Shane's cheekbone. "You have wooed me back, Shane Hollander. Here I thought I was the wooer, you sly devil."

Shane's heart raced. He smiled, unable to control it. "Really?"

"I love hearing you talk. I love hearing you be so passionate about something. I… I love how you want to connect on more than just a physical level," Ilya said softly. "I could listen forever."

Shane felt something break down in his chest.

His walls, the border of his heart and soul that he'd kept locked tight out of fear of being hurt again were quickly crumbling. He could feel them falling, piece by piece, leaving him exposed and raw....

…but Ilya was still looking at him like he was something precious.

Shane opened his mouth to say something, anything, that would be somewhat intelligent to say and instead… He felt his heart speak for him.

"If you're still up for wooing," Shane whispered, "I wouldn't mind being wooed with a kiss."

Ilya's eyes darkened. He sat up fully, shifting until he was kneeling on the couch, one hand cupping Shane's jaw.

"You are sure? I warn you, I am good kisser." Ilya asked.

Shane nodded, unable to speak.

Ilya leaned in slowly. He pressed Shane back into the couch, as the Russian used his body as a solid weight. Their lips met, soft at first, testing and teasing.

Then Ilya deepened the kiss, pressing deep in as Shane reciprocated.

It was the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt. Shane's hands came up, wrapping around Ilya's back and pulling him closer. Ilya angled his head for better access.

Shane made low, desperate moan as his lips opened and he felt Ilya's tongue slowly brushing against his.

A lifetime of yearning for connection was over. Like a dehydrated man about to shrivel up and die in the desert, Ilya had come just in the nick of time to toss him into an fresh, cold oasis.

Ilya swallowed Shane's moan, kissing him harder, deeper, until Shane felt like he was drowning in the oasis.

When Ilya finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard, faces red, and a little glimmer of sweat cresting over their bodies.

Shane's lips were swollen.

Ilya looked wrecked, hair mussed, eyes dark.

"Can I take you to dinner? I have had first kiss, now I simply must have first date." Ilya asked, voice rough, almost begging.

Shane nodded, still catching his breath. "Yes! Yeah, of course!" He laughed, nuzzling into the side of Ilya's neck as they shifted into a resting position on the couch.

Ilya grinned, wide and bright, holding Shane close and pressing soft kisses into the man’s hair. "When?"

"Whenever you want."

"Tomorrow night? I know you have game in New York day after tomorrow."

"Okay."

Ilya kissed him again, softer this time. "I will pick you up at seven."

"Sounds perfect," Shane repeated.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled together on the couch, the chocolate and wooing long forgotten.

@ShaneHollander

[A picture of Shane and Ilya on Shane's couch, watching an NHL game on the TV in the background, holding hands and their feet intertwined in front of a coffee table full of half-eaten chocolate bars.]

Close call in the third period, but Rozanov is getting his first date.

Chapter 5: Dessert to Go

Shane stood in his bedroom. Or at least what used to be his bedroom.

At the moment, shirts draped over his bed and dressers, while pants gathered on the floor. Sweaters hung from the bedpost, and his closet doors were open, filled only with empty hangers swaying in the breeze.  Every flat surface in his bedroom was now covered in clothes.

He'd pulled everything out. Every article of clothing he'd ever worn was now sorted around his bedroom as he played a nightmare version of "mix and match".

Shane stood in the middle of his room, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a layer of sweat from his rising panic.

"This is fine," Shane muttered. "This is totally fine."

It was not fine.

Ilya drove back to Ottawa the night before, to finish up some kind of team event that morning and give himself some time to get ready back at his own condo. He informed Shane that he would be at the front door at 7 on the dot.

"Dress fancy, but not too fancy. I have picked the perfect place for us. Imagine if you were going to industry event. A sexy industry event," Ilya had warned him with a wink and a wave as he walked out the door.

Ilya was unaware of the bomb he'd dropped on Shane (and his closet), who had been scouring an appropriate outfit since he'd woken up that morning.

"What kind of industry event are we talking? NHL? A team industry event? Awards show!? Gala? I don't know what that means!" Shane yelled, turning to Roz who sat in the corner. "…and what's sexy about an industry event? Those things suck!"

Roz flopped over onto the floor, clearly feeling the same disgust as Shane over Ilya's lack of proper instructions.

"Fancy". That was the first word that Shane thought of. So, he grabbed a navy suit jacket from the bed, held it up to his chest alongside a button up and pants. As he imagined himself in it, it felt way too formal for any kind of evening with Ilya. "Too much like a funeral," Shane thought to himself.

He tossed it aside in the pile of other discarded garments.

Next came a pair of dark jeans and a red button-down. Something casual, but nice, something he could imagine Scott Hunter or Hayden wearing to an industry event. Unfortunately, he'd look like every other guy in their late twenties if he wore that at best, or some stereotypical American frat boy going on his first big date.

"No." Shane threw it onto the growing pile.

A black turtleneck. "Too pretentious, too Steve Jobs…"

A grey Henley. "Too boring… I wear that everywhere…"

A striped, long sleeve, rugby polo. "Too British…"

"UGH," Shane shouted at the ceiling. As he glanced up, Ilya's poster stared back at him from the ceiling over his bed, the Russian’s cocky grin frozen in place.

Shane pointed at the poster. "This is your fault! Stupid sexy Ilya…!"

The poster continued to mock him as he went through more of his clothes.

"Why is nothing right?" Shane grabbed a blazer off his bed and hurled it across the room.

He cycled through combination after combination, each one worse than the last.

Nothing felt or looked right for the occasion.

By the time he'd tried on his twentieth outfit, it was already noon, with only about seven hours to go, and he'd gone through his entire wardrobe. A bead of sweat rolled down his back.

"What am I doing?" Shane groaned to himself.

This was supposed to be a simple dinner.  A normal date.

Why couldn't he be normal for once!?

Shane flung himself on the floor, which was now bare of options. He took in a deep breath and halfheartedly crawled to the bedside grabbing his phone at the nightstand.

There was only one person he could call for matters like this.

Shane ran through the contacts and stopped at "Mom". He tapped on it and waited for her to answer.

Yuna answered on the second ring.

"Hello?" Yuna asked.

"Mom, I need help," Shane blurted the second the call connected.

"Shane?" Yuna's voice came through a little concerned. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I don't know what to wear." The words tumbled out in a rush. "Ilya said to dress fancy but not too fancy, like a sexy industry event, whatever that means, and I've tried on everything I own and nothing works and I know you can't drive up here on such short notice, but I could really use some advice or help trying to figure out something because I'm…"

"Shane. Breathe."

Shane stopped, gulped air, and managed to lean himself against edge of the bed, still moping on the floor.

"I've already started driving," Yuna said, and Shane could hear the smile in her voice. "Should be there in about thirty minutes."

Shane's chest was flooded with relief in an instant, so quickly that his eyes stung with tears. "You… how did you…?"

"I'm your mother. I know you better than you know yourself sometimes." There was rustling on the other end, like she was adjusting her grip on the steering wheel. "I figured you'd have some trouble when I saw the tweet last night. I might also already be following Ilya on social media, so I know you two have a date tonight and imagined you'd have some trouble, one way or another."

Shane laughed shakily. "I'm that predictable?"

"You're that you." Yuna's tone gentled. "Remember the Rookie of the Year award ceremony? You had a full meltdown in your hotel room because you couldn't decide between a navy tie or a burgundy one."

"That was different…"

"You wore the burgundy and then changed to the navy in the car, and then back to the burgundy right before you walked the carpet."

Shane groaned, pressing his palm to his forehead. "I forgot about that."

"I didn't. Your father took pictures the whole time and documented it." Yuna paused. "Shane, honey, you stress about fashion because you want things to be perfect and fashion is one of those things that are hard to get perfect, but… I don't think Ilya will care much about what you wear, so long as you wear something."

"I know, but…"

"…but nothing." Her voice was firm this time. "You could show up in grey sweatpants and a tank top and that boy would still look at you like you hung the moon."

Shane gulped. He glanced at the poster on the ceiling, Ilya's winking, exposed body staring back at him. "Yeah, that tracks…" Shane thought to himself.

"I just… I want to look good," Shane whispered. "For him."

"…and you will," Yuna said softly. "We'll make sure of it. Together."

Shane closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "Thanks, Mom."

"That's what mothers are for, sweetheart. Now go take a shower and calm down. I'll be there soon."

The line clicked off.

Shane sat on the floor for a while, the phone still pressed to his ear, before he finally stood up.

Roz was still flopped on the floor in the corner, half-buried under a discarded sweater.

Shane walked over, picked the bear up, and set him carefully on the bed. He smiled, and did what his mother suggested.

He took a shower, got himself dressed in something casual, and immediately took the Ilya poster off the ceiling.  He hid it in his underwear drawer for safekeeping, as not to traumatize his mother, and waited.

Not long after, the door opened, Yuna using her code to let herself in and swept through with confidence that Shane wish he'd inherited from her. She carried multiple shopping bags, each one branded with names Shane recognized from high-end boutiques in Montreal. Her long hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and despite the long drive, she looked immaculate.

"Mom…" Shane was so happy and so relieved to see her, he didn’t know what to do at first.

She set the bags down, pulled him into a tight hug, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Good to see you, sweetheart. Now try these on! If anything doesn't fit or doesn't work for you, we've still got time to make adjustments." She thrust the handful of bags into his hands.

Shane felt his jaw drop. "You already bought something?"

"Called a stylist while I was driving, the one we've used before. She already had your measurements, and I told her what we needed. She guarantees it's the perfect outfit for Shane Hollander's first date." Yuna gestured toward the bathroom. "Go on now! Model it for me."

Shane disappeared into his bathroom, unpacking the bags with trembling fingers while his mother paced outside the door.

Inside the first bag was a brown leather jacket, butter-soft, and not the rough texture he hated. In another bag was a simple grey sweatshirt, high-quality fabric with a subtle texture. Dark jeans were rolled up in another sack, expensive, but not flashy. A leather belt accompanied the jeans, which matched the jacket's color and texture. In a shoe box, there were a pair of leather boots that would complement the whole look. The stylist even picked out a thin silver chain, understated but elegant, that looked like it had been made for the outfit.

Shane stared at the ensemble. He grinned. "It's perfect."

"Well?" Yuna called from the bedroom. "Everything fit?"

Shane started changing, pulling on each piece. The jeans fit like they'd been made for him. The sweatshirt draped perfectly over his frame. The jacket settled on his shoulders and was the perfect length to his waist.

When he emerged, Yuna's face lit up.

"Oh, Shane." Her voice went soft. "You look so handsome!"

Shane turned toward the full-length mirror on his closet door. The person staring back looked… good.

The brown leather made his body look warmer. The grey sweatshirt made his eyes pop. The whole outfit made him look like he really was going to an industry event and would be on the best dressed list.

"I actually look…" Shane trailed off.

"Like yourself," Yuna finished. "Only better."

Shane touched the leather jacket's collar, smoothing it down. "Think Ilya will like it?"

"Sweetheart, Ilya would like you in a potato sack." Yuna crossed her arms, smiling. "…but yes. He'll love it."

Shane exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

Yuna moved closer, adjusting the chain around his neck. "Now... Let's talk about tonight."

"Mom…"

"I know you're nervous." She met his eyes in the mirror. "…but Ilya seems like a wonderful man. From what you've told me about him, he makes you happy. So… I'm sure everything is going to be perfect."

Shane nodded, taking a deep breath to center himself.

"So tonight," Yuna continued, "…just be yourself. The real you. Not the media-trained captain. Not the perfect golden boy. Just be Shane for a little while."

"What if he doesn't like the real me?"

Yuna turned him around, hands on his shoulders. "Then he's an idiot and doesn't deserve you and I'll fucking end his career in three phone calls," She said, flipping on the shark switch. Though, just as quickly, she turned it off. "…but I don't think that's going to happen, do you?"

Shane didn't think so either, but… Something still nagged at him.

"I think… Ilya sees exactly who you are and what makes you so amazing," Yuna said. "…and speaking honestly, you've picked a winner, sweetheart. Way better than… Who was the little punk kid that turned you down in school? The dumbass who turned down my Shane, my superstar stud, and called him a weirdo? Oh my God, even thinking of that snot nosed brat makes me angry to this day…"

Bradley.

That was the nagging feeling.

Normally… Shane would have curled in on himself, felt small, but looking at himself in the mirror, and thinking about Ilya, his hot date… Something else sparked in him.

Anger.

"I'm so glad you never went out with that brat, Shane," Yuna said, shaking her head. "You were too good for him."

"Yeah," Shane muttered.

"Yeah, I am!" Shane thought to himself.

Why was that obnoxious little fucker, that dumbass who barely made it through Grade 12 with half a brain cell to show for it, even on his mind anymore? Ilya was worth a million Bradleys. No, fuck that, Ilya was priceless, and Bradley was….

"Nothing." Shane finally admitted to himself. A cocky, confident grin now warmed over his face. One that would have made Ilya's poster jealous.

Because why did he care about Bradley anymore? Shane was a NHL hockey star, voted sexiest man in the NHL three years in a row, and about to go out on a date with, arguably, the second-best hockey player and second sexiest man in the league. A man who wanted him, and liked him, ALL OF HIM, including the weirdo hockey bits.

A guy who jerked off to him. Who came buckets just from a picture over the phone.

"Thanks, mom," Shane said.

Yuna hugged Shane tightly. "Anytime."

After getting to know the real Shane, Ilya’s nerves started to get the better of him.  Because, in his eyes, there was no other man on this world as perfect for him as Shane Hollander.

Ilya went back to Ottawa for early morning practice, maybe paid attention to half of it, and then got scolded and punished into an extra set of drills by Wiebe. No amount of pouting or begging would change the coach's mind.

Then Ilya got stuck in stupid corporate meetings with admin he couldn't get himself out of, no matter how much he tried to bribe them.

It was already three o-clock by the time he was due for yet another meeting, but Harris took pity and rescheduled the social media interviews to give Ilya time to get home.

"You owe me!" Harris threatened.

"Yes, yes, I know! Owe big favor! Whatever you need! Interview, pictures, onlyfans, I do whatever later!" Ilya yelled, as he sprinted out of the stadium and drove through traffic to get to his condo.

Ilya showered, shaved, and manscaped. The latter two were in a bit of a rush and resulted in a few nicks in the worse spots imaginable. "FUCK!" Ilya bellowed, trying to treat them and praying they'd scab over before the date that night.

Four o'clock.

Ilya started to panic. The drive to Montreal took two to two and a half hours to get to Shane's place, assuming traffic didn't screw him over.

So of course, his closet and sense of fashion would betray him. He spent a good while looking for the perfect outfit to wear, throwing half of his closet throughout his room, swearing over each choice.

"Too slutty. Too casual. Too fancy. Too much skin. AH FUCK," Ilya shouted.

Irina appeared in his doorway without knocking or being sensed, a skill set she'd perfected over thirty years of motherhood.

"You are making a mess and shouting. Why have you lost your mind today?" she said in Russian, surveying the disaster zone that was Ilya's bedroom.

Ilya turned, half-dressed in a pair of dark jeans. "Mama, I cannot find right shirt! They don't look right!" He whined, replying to her also in Russian.

"Because you threw them all on floor like a spoiled child." She stepped over a discarded sweater, moving toward his closet. She sighed, giving him "the look" that usually came to mean "quit being so dramatic".

Ilya straightened up in an instant. "Sorry, Mama. I was frustrated."

"What are you trying to look like?" Irina asked, rolling her eyes and leaving Ilya the mess to clean up for himself, but glancing through what was left in his closet.

"Handsome. Not trying too hard but also not like I did not try." Ilya gestured at himself. "Are these good jeans, at least?"

Irina studied him, head tilted. "Turn."

He turned.

"Again."

He turned again, slower this time.

"Yes. Good jeans. They are dark blue, so they will look good with black. All Russian men look good in black." She pulled a black button down from the closet, checked the fabric, then handed it to him. "This one, no arguments, no fussing. Roll sleeves to here." She tapped just below his elbows.

Ilya pulled the shirt on, fumbling with the buttons.

Irina swatted his hands away. "Stop. You are rushing. Here, let me do it. So dramatic, my darling."

She buttoned the shirt herself. When she finished, she stepped back, adjusting his collar and helping him roll up the sleeves. Irina made sure a good amount of chest was still showing with his collar exposed.

"There, perfect. You look like playboy, but respectable playboy. The kind you can take home to meet mother and not be embarrassed about," Irina teased, using her hands to slowly adjust some of Ilya's curls.

Ilya looked at himself in the mirror. He was satisfied that he looked good.

She was right, as always.

"Good?" he asked.

"Very good," Irina smoothed the fabric across his shoulders. "Now. Come with me."

"Mama, I need to leave soon…"

"You have time for this, trust me." She grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward the door.

Ilya followed, his eyes focused on the clock continuing to tick down.

They took the elevator down one floor to Irina's level of the condo that Ilya had bought out for her. She unlocked her door, and Ilya stopped in the entryway.

He was assaulted by a floral burst to his nose, and bright yellow colors lit up everything in the room.

Daffodils and sunflowers covered every surface he could see, from the kitchen counter, to the dining table, and even her sink. Bright yellows and soft whites, arranged in careful bunches.

"Mama, what is this?"

"I bought them this morning," Irina said, moving toward the dining table. "Sit."

Ilya sat.

She set a bundle of daffodils and sunflowers in front of him, along with gardening shears, floral tape, and brown paper.

"You will make bouquet for this nice boy you like," she said. "Yourself. Not some florist who that you pay expensive money for. You."

Ilya stared at the flowers, frowning. "I do not know how."

"I will show you. That is what Mamas are for, darling," Irina pulled a chair beside him, picking up the shears. "First, you cut stems like this. See? At the angle, so they drink the water better."

She demonstrated, snipping a daffodil stem at a clean diagonal.

Ilya took the shears, copying her motion. The blade sliced through easily.

"Good," Irina said. "Now another. Keep them same length."

They worked together, as Irina guided his shaky hands when he hesitated. She showed him how to arrange the flowers, sunflowers in the center for height, daffodils around the edges for balance, and even some smaller wiry plants to add "texture" as she called it.

"Not too tight," she said. "Give them room to breathe."

Ilya loosened his grip and let the flowers settle more naturally around him.

When the bouquet was arranged, Irina handed him floral tape. "Wrap here. Three times, and pull it tight."

He wrapped, a bit awkwardly, using his teeth to cut it off when he was done.

"Good. Now the paper."

She placed a sheet of brown paper on the table, showing him how to fold it around the stems, where to tie the twine in a neat bow, and then how to fold at just the right angles to make it look more natural.

When he finished, Irina lifted the bouquet, inspecting it from top to bottom.

"Beautiful," she said softly. "He will love it, and now? Now, you can tell him you made this. A gift from the heart, my darling boy. Bright and beautiful flowers that represent hope for a better tomorrow."

Ilya's smiled. "Thank you, Mama. He will love them, you are right."

Irina set the bouquet in a glass vase filled with water until it was time to leave, then turned back to him, her expression shifting to something of concern.

"You are nervous," she said.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Ilya exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Mama, I do not want to mess this up. I do not want to be too cocky, or push too hard, or be asshole…"

"Ilyusha," She took his hand, squeezing tightly. "Your confidence is not a flaw. This is what makes you beautiful. People are drawn to your strength, to your joy, do your… Assholeness. Do not hide it. Do not ever hide yourself away from the world, do you hear me?" Irina grabbed his chin and pulled him to meet her gaze.

"Sasha wasn't drawn to it," Ilya said, quietly, unable to meet his mother's eyes.

Irina's expression hardened. She huffed, shook her head and gently pinched her son's nose to make a point. "Sasha wanted only pleasures of the flesh. You wanted pleasures of body, soul, and heart. You wanted connections and that is a very different thing. Do not let bad bitter feelings of the past ruin your future, and especially not right now, in the present."

Ilya looked down, as she took his hands once more, squeezing tightly.

"Shane is not Sasha," Irina continued. "This nice boy from Montreal, he sees you. Really sees you. I can tell from the way you talk about him that he makes you happy, happy in a way Sasha never did." She cupped his face, letting her thumbs brush his cheekbones. "Just be yourself, Ilyusha. That is more than enough, you hear me?"

Ilya nodded, gulping hard as he tried to get control of himself again.

Irina released him, stepping back. Her hands moved to her neck, unclasping the delicate gold chain she always wore.

A golden cross, Russian Orthodox, hung from it, worn smooth with age.

"Mama, no…"

"Hush," Irina draped the chain over his head, settling it against his chest, right in the blank space she'd made sure to leave when she adjusted his collar earlier. "Every day since I was little girl, I prayed into this necklace. Before me, my mother prayed. Before her, my grandmother. Almost three generations of prayers are here."

Ilya's vision blurred.

"I was not confident when you were dating Sasha that it would last forever. Perhaps that is cruel of me to say, but… Now? Now, I want you to have it." Irina said, with a steady voice. "So you can begin adding your prayers. So you have protection of our family, and my lifetime of faith to guide you. To guide your new future, with new man, and new love. The one that makes you smile like sun and bloom like sunflowers in summer."

Ilya's hands came up, fingers closing around the cross.

The metal was warm to the touch.

He pulled his mother into a tight hug, burying his face in her shoulder. "Thank you, Mama. I appreciate it more than you know."

"I know." She stroked his hair. "Now go. Your boy is waiting, and you'll be late! What are you doing hanging around old woman's home for so long? Go on, shoo!."

Ilya pulled back, wiping his eyes quickly.

He grabbed the bouquet from the vase, checked his reflection one last time, and headed for the door.

"Ilya?"

He turned.

Irina smiled. "You look perfect."

"Thanks, Mama," Ilya said, bounding out the door.

Ilya sat in his Porsche, parked outside Shane's building, and stared at the dashboard clock.

6:57 PM.

To his credit, he'd been there since 6:10 PM on the dot, with traffic (and just a teensy bit of speeding) getting him to his destination with plenty of time to spare.

He'd been sitting there since he parked, waiting.

Ilya knew he could have gone in earlier, but he needed to keep his hands from shaking before he did that, and… Well, they were still shaking and he had 3 minutes to make it up to Shane's door.

"This is ridiculous."

He'd faced down giants in the league. He'd gotten bruises and breaks that would have done in lesser men. He'd captained a team through injuries, losses, and OT that meant the difference between playoffs and defeat.

…and yet here he was, terrified of knocking on Shane Hollander's door.  Terrified of a first day.

6:58 PM, his dashboard blinked, reminding him of the time.

Ilya grabbed the cologne from the passenger seat, something expensive he'd picked out ages ago, and spritzed it once on each wrist, and then his neck. The scent was clean, like pine and outdoors. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, smoothing down his hair one last time.

6:59 PM.

"Alright, alright, I'm going!" Ilya yelled at his car, killing the engine.

Ilya grabbed the flowers from the passenger seat, stepped out of the car, and walked toward the building entrance.

His heart hammered.

"Breathe."

He entered the gate code, rode the elevator up, and stared at the flowers in his hands. He reached down, grabbing the cross that now sat on his neck.

"I pray this night is good. I pray this night is very good. For both of us…  I pray for love and understanding.  I pray for connection.  I pray that today is the start of a beautiful future together." Ilya thought to himself.

The elevator dinged.

Ilya stepped into the hallway, found Shane's door, and stood there.

7:00 PM, he checked the time on his watch.

Ilya knocked.

At first, there was just silence. Then, at last, footsteps approached from the other side. The lock clicked and the door opened.

Ilya's brain short-circuited.

Shane stood in the doorway. From the leather jacket, to the grey sweatshirt, all the way down to his boots… Shane looked…

"Perfect."

No. Better than perfect.

He looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine spread, the kind Ilya would have torn out and kept under his pillow as a teenager.

Even better? They matched. Different in styles, yes, but they looked like a couple, like they'd intended to match from the get go. They had the same "vibe" as Harris would say.

"Hi," Shane said, smiling.

Ilya's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"H…Hi…" He thrust the bouquet forward, nearly hitting Shane in the chest. "Flowers. For you. Because… flowers. Beautiful people deserve flowers. We… I… My mother helped me make the bouquet, just for you. Daffoflowers and Sundils… I MEAN… DAFFODILS AND SUNFLOWERS!"

Shane's smile widened. He took the bouquet, brushing his fingers against Ilya's. He laughed. A beautiful, sunny laugh that warmed Ilya from the core. "They're beautiful, Ilya. Thank you!" He took a smell of the flowers, humming in clear satisfaction.

Silence.

They stood, Ilya outside the door, and Shane on the inside.

"Say something else, idiot," Ilya thought to himself.

"You look…" Ilya gestured vaguely at Shane's entire body. "Very… good. Very handsome. I mean, perfect. You are perfect."

Shane's cheeks flushed. "T.. Thanks. Let me put these in water, man. I don't want to lose these."

He disappeared into the condo, leaving the door open.

Ilya stood in the hallway, rooted to the spot, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.

"Get it together."

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Shane's condo was immaculate as it had been before. Clean lines, minimal furniture, everything in its place. It looked like a magazine photo, except for the massive teddy bear sitting on the couch, its head laying down on a pillow and a blanket tucking him in for bed.

Ilya grinned at the sight of Roz.

Shane returned a moment later, the bouquet now arranged in a tall glass vase. He set it on the kitchen counter, then turned to Ilya.

"Ready?"

Ilya nodded, still unable to form coherent sentences.

They walked downstairs together, and Ilya guided Shane toward the car with a hand on his lower back. The contact sent a jolt through him, just the press of his palm against leather and the warmth of Shane beneath it.

Ilya opened the passenger door, gesturing Shane inside.

Shane paused, eyebrows raised. "You're really doing the whole gentleman thing."

"Is very important," Ilya said. "My mother would kill me if I did not open door for date."

Shane laughed and slid into the seat.

Ilya closed the door, walked around to the driver's side, and got in. He started the engine, letting it roar to life. He beamed, watching Shane laugh and yelp when the car took to the streets, smooth as butter, and maybe just a tad faster than was necessary.

They arrived at The Loon's Call about ten minutes later. The steakhouse was tucked into a quiet corner of downtown Montreal, the kind of place that didn't advertise and didn't need to. Ilya called ahead, requested the table in the back, their VIP private area, away from prying eyes and phone cameras.

He opened Shane's passenger door again when they arrived, held the restaurant door when they entered, and pulled out Shane's chair after they made their way through the rustic restaurant and to their seats.

Shane sat, looking amused. "You're really committed to this."

"Is first date," Ilya said, settling into his own chair. "Must be perfect.  Lots of wooing went into this.  Must respect the wooing, no?"

Their server recited specials and took their drink orders. Ilya ordered a steak, medium-rare. Shane ordered the same, and they both agreed for a nice vintage bottle of wine.

The waiter left.

Silence settled over the table.

Ilya stared at Shane.

Shane stared at Ilya.

Neither of them spoke. They were just content to gaze at each other and take in the moment.

"Is hard not to stare," Ilya said, finally breaking the silence. "We are both too sexy, I think."

Shane laughed, shaking his head. "That's definitely the problem."

The tension broke.

Shane leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the table. "I don't actually know what I'm supposed to do on dates."

Ilya blinked. "You… have not been on date before?"

"Not really." Shane's smile turned sheepish. "Unless you count dinner with Hayden during Juniors, and… Yeah, I don't count dinner with Hayden."

Ilya felt a pang of pity over the idea that no one had ever taken Shane out, shown him off, or treated him like he deserved.

"Criminal." Ilya thought.

"You do anything you want," Ilya said. "We talk. We eat. We enjoy each other."

…and that's what they did.

They talked about everything and nothing at the same time.

Shane asked about Ilya's favorite cities to play in. Ilya admitted he enjoyed going back to Boston when he could, even if the fans called him a traitor, because it made Cliff happy to be able to visit his family.

Ilya asked about Shane's pre-game rituals. Shane admitted he wasn't superstitious and liked to block out as much noise before each game, which was hard because the Voyageurs are a bunch of loudmouths, except for Drapeau, who was a chill dude he liked hanging out with outside of games.

They talked about their teams.

Ilya admitted that Ottawa was a band of brothers he'd always wanted, who support each other and egg each other on in equal measure. Shane said that the Voyageurs were so supportive of him that it was hard to think about ever playing for another team, and he hoped they all stayed together as long as they could.

Gossip, of course, was popular.

"I am beginning to suspect that Cliff and Luca… Are starting to fall in love. They spend all their time together nowadays, and Luca likes sleeping over at Cliff’s when he gets too drunk. I think they are so cute, but I worry Cliff thinks he's too old for Luca, or Luca deserves better, you know… Self-depreciating bullshit! They are perfect for each other, I won't hear anything else!" Ilya explained.

"Well, that's spicer than what we've got going in Montreal. Other than Hayden about to pop out his fifth kid with Jackie, or Berkes being on again off again with his situationship, I guess… Uh… Oh, I guess that JJ is going to be on Dancing With the Stars!"

"WHAT!?" Ilya shouted, with a wide pout. "That is not fair! I want to dance with the stars! Why does Montreal get such honor."

"Because JJ's got some great dance moves. He's practicing all the time, it's really awesome how seriously he's taking it."

Their steak and potatoes arrived, and they ate slowly, neither in a rush.

In time, their simple ice breakers turned into something much deeper, as they went over the more personal parts of their lives, neither the least bit shy to talk about them.

It was…  Natural, in a way, as their hearts opened up to each other fully.

"…my Mama, Irina, is so funny, and so strong. I can't wait for you to meet her, she is going to love you…"

"…my parents love going to the lake for the summer. You've got to come and visit in the off-season. Your mom can come too! I bet she'd love the lakeside and she'd get along great with my parents..."

"…my brother's rehab is doing good. He's healing, slowly, but drugs are… Are devil to Andrei. I hope that someday I get to see him again, like he used to be. I have hope and prayer, but… Is hard to keep hope when he's fallen so many times before..."

"…when I got diagnosed with being on the spectrum as an adult, my mom and dad both started freaking out when they looked over the diagnosis criteria and got themselves both diagnosed the same month, and it’s been a journey ever since…"

"…my father has lowered his drinking every day. Not gone, I don't think Russians ever stop drinking for good, but… My uncle says he is sober more often than not. I think losing Mama was wake up call he needed.  I think Mama saved his life in her own way..."

“…my mom is a great manager, but sometimes I wish she’d listen to me more.  I honestly think Reeboks look tacky...”

"…sometimes I worry I'm the boring friend people invite out of pity…"

"…sometimes I worry I'm too much of an asshole and don't know when to stop..."

"I'd like kids someday. I'd like to adopt, you know?"

"Me too. I want large, happy family, full of smiles and trust."

“I don’t want this night to end.”

“Me either.”

They finished dinner, but kept talking for a solid two hours afterwards. Most of the staff were starting to close the restaurant for the night. Ilya gave each of them a big tip to let them stay open just even thirty more minutes, so the night didn't have to end.

…but as all good things do, their time was eventually up and they were asked to finally leave.

Ilya walked with Shane, pausing at the front to pay the bill and thank the staff for their time. When the card finished processing, they exited the door, to a quiet and somber Montreal.

As the stars shone overhead, Ilya laced his hand with Shane's. He blushed. "I… I was supposed to take you to movie next. We missed it."

"That's okay," Shane said, with a quiet grin. He leaned on Ilya's shoulder, gripping his hand back. "I liked talking better."

"Me too…"

While they walked down the street to where they'd parked, Shane's face flushed. "I have a game tomorrow night, in New York. I've got a flight at 10 AM."

Ilya frowned. Their night was over, so it seemed.

Yet as they stopped in front of Ilya's car, Shane gulped and turned to face Ilya, eye to eye. "So, because of the game, we can't do… everything, but…" Shane paused, taking a long time to speak. "…but I'd like… I mean, if you want to come back to my place, we could… Do some things… You know?"

Ilya's pulse kicked up. "Could what?"

"Explore," Shane said quietly. "Explore each other, I mean… With more than pictures."

Ilya's grin spread slow and wicked. "You are asking me to come back to your condo?"

"Yes."

"To your bed?"

"Yes."

Ilya opened the passenger door to his car. "Then we go, now!”

Shane laughed, taking Ilya's hand and getting guided into the passenger seat. "What? You don't even want dessert? Not even ice cream on the way home?"

"You are the dessert tonight," Ilya said, slamming the door and getting into the driver's side in a split second. After he buckled up, he fired up his Porsche and was backing out of the spot and onto the street as fast as he could. "…and I am very hungry man."

Chapter 6: Poor Roz is Stuck on the Couch

 Shane barely remembered the drive back to his condo. All he could think about was Ilya's hand on his thigh, groping and teasing with that beautiful, confident smile.

"I cannot wait to see what you look like bare," Ilya whispered. A devilish, dangerous curve crossed his lips. "Your cock, your ass, your body… Fuck, the things you do to me… Cannot wait to taste you, all of you…"

Shane's head started to float, as he felt some kind of invisible switch flip in his head. An odd sensation, really, one he couldn't explain. He'd felt it before, when he took the sexting pictures. He got the same kind of high when he scored a goal in hockey or when he hit the ice.

Though this time, not only did he want to flirt back with Ilya, but… He wanted to beat him at it too.

"I've been waiting to suck that cock of yours since I first saw that poster. Think I can do that first, man? Think you can last longer than six seconds?"

Ilya chuckled, and his hand gripped harder on Shane's thigh. "Oh, I last longer than six seconds, I assure you. Question is… Are you going to cum just from sucking my cock with those pretty lips? I bet you make the sweetest sounds when you come… Oh, and will you be swallowing, or will I paint your face with my ropes? What do you wish for, my love?"

He shuddered. Shane imagined it, all of it. He could picture himself moaning on Ilya's dick and getting absolutely covered on his face and chest with Rozanov's seed.

Shane took Ilya's hand off his thigh and migrated it straight onto his massive erection. "Finish wherever you want man, but… I'll make you finish first, no matter what."

"Is that a challenge?"

"You bet."

"Then maybe we make this interesting?"

"What are you thinking?"

Ilya pondered for a moment, then licked his lips. "First one to cum loses. Loser has to wake the winner up in the morning with sexual favor. Loser's choosing on what kind of favor, so long as Winner agrees beforehand. Would that be alright?" Ilya proposed.

"Sounds good," Shane said, taking Ilya's hand off his cock.  He licked Ilya’s palm.

"Fuck, Hollander…"

"You like that, Rozanov?"

"Yes… Yes, I do…"

They swerved into the parking lot at Shane's condo. Both men slammed the doors behind them and were running at top speed for the elevator. When the elevator was too slow, they took the stairs, instead.

Ilya turned it into a race, "shoving" Shane at a few key points to get a lead, but Shane, ever the competitor, started taking the stairs two at a time and took the lead.

When they hit the hallway on Shane's floor, both of them were laughing their asses off, wheezing for air, and bursting for the finish line.

Shane hit the door first, fumbling his hands with the key code, with Ilya right behind him. Ilya bounded into him, hugging him from behind and pinching Shane's nipples through his shirt, earning a high pitched laugh that bordered on a moan.

"Fucking cheater, you took two at same time!" Ilya said.

"Asshole, you shoved me!"

"I give you tap on shoulders at best! Was love tap!"

"If that's a love tap, then you definitely are not making me come first."

Shane swung open, finally, letting them both inside. He barely had time to step inside before Ilya followed, closing the door with his foot and spinning Shane around.

Their mouths crashed together.

Shane gasped against Ilya's lips, hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt.

The kiss was hungry and desperate, nothing like the soft press of lips they'd shared on the couch the night before. This was need, some kind of raw and primal instinct of two horny creatures needing to fuck out their problems.

Ilya backed Shane against the wall, one hand cupping Shane's jaw, the other sliding down to his hip. Shane melted into it, into Ilya, every inch of his body now sweating from the contact alone.

When they finally broke apart, Ilya's eyes were dark.

"Shane," he said, voice rough. "You still want cock first, my love?"

Shane's brain scrambled for words and heat was flooding his face. He nodded, because at that moment, despite wanting to come up with something clever… The idea of Ilya's cock being his to taste was all he could think of at the moment.

Ilya stepped back, giving him space. "Show me how it's done. Suck my cock, and we'll see who lasts six seconds."

Before he could overthink it, Shane dropped to his knees.

Ilya groaned as Shane's face gently brushed the front of his crotch.

Shane reached for Ilya's belt and worked the buckle open. He popped the button on his jeans, and pulled the zipper down slowly.

Ilya didn't move, just watched, one hand braced against the wall above Shane's head.

Shane looked up at him, Ilya nodded his approval to continue, and Shane promptly pulled Ilya's jeans down.

The Russian's cock strained against his boxer briefs, already hard, a damp spot forming at the tip. Shane hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled the fabric away with all the strength he had, ripping them off Ilya's body.

Ilya's cock sprang free, thick and heavy, flushed dark at the head which poked out from a thick foreskin.

Shane's mouth was sopping wet. Rozanov's dick was here, right in front of him, real, and warm and his.

He wrapped his hand around the base and gave it several strokes. Ilya groaned and jerked his hips forward.

"Fuck," Ilya breathed hard and heavy.

Shane leaned in, licking a stripe up the underside, which was salty, bitter, and Ilya. He wrapped his lips around the head, sucking gently.

Ilya's hand came down to rest in Shane's hair, not pushing or forcing, just there, to assure him.

Shane took him deeper, mimicking the way he'd seen in videos he’d researched for this night, and remembering not to breathe as much, and when he did, he did it through his nose.  Mind over matter, as one reddit commentor had posted.

He didn't take it all at once, of course.  He used his hand to pleasure Ilya’s base, while his tongue and lips gave the head and upper shaft warm friction.

Still, he gagged almost immediately, pulling back with a cough.

"Easy," Ilya said, fingers tightening slightly in Shane's hair. "Go slow, there is no rush. Just enjoy it. Take what you need."

Shane nodded and tried again. This time he went slower, taking only what he could handle, which wasn't much, to his embarrassment. He used his hand to stroke what didn't fit, finding a rhythm that felt natural.

Ilya swore in Russian, hips rocking forward slightly. Shane moaned around his thickness, the vibration pulling another curse from Ilya's lips.

"Bozhe moy," Ilya muttered. "Your mouth… Shane, your mouth is…"

Shane pulled off with a wet pop, grinning up at him. "Good?"

"Very good." Ilya's hand cupped Shane's jaw, thumb brushing his swollen lips. "Too good… You keep going, I will finish too fast."

Shane flushed, oddly pleased with himself. "Told you."

"Was more than six seconds."

"You'd still come first."

"Oh really? Well, then I think it is my turn. Let's see how you fare."

Ilya pulled Shane to his feet and kissed him hard. Then Ilya bent, grabbed Shane by the thighs, and lifted him up in a quick motion.

Shane yelped, wrapping his legs around Ilya's waist and his arms around Ilya’s neck. "What are you doing?"

"Bedroom," Ilya said, carrying Shane down the hall like he weighed nothing. He kicked off his jeans and underwear that had pooled at his ankles off onto the couch, where Roz was sleeping.

Shane laughed, burying his face in Ilya's neck. "You don't even know where my bedroom is."

"I will find it. I have sixth sense of best places to fuck. Do not spoil, I shall find it."

He did find it, actually.

Ilya kicked the ajar door open with his feet, strode inside, and deposited Shane on the bed. Then he froze, staring up at the ceiling.

Shane followed his gaze.

The poster was gone. Shoved into his underwear drawer before his mother arrived. The ceiling was blank, boring white plaster.

"You took me down," Ilya said, sounding genuinely wounded.

"I didn't want my mom to see it!"

Ilya grinned, slow and wicked. "So, you were embarrassed of me?"

"No! I just didn't want to traumatize her."

"Mm." Ilya crawled onto the bed, caging Shane beneath him. "I thought you liked looking at me. I thought you liked touching yourself while staring at my picture. I guess I'm just… Not good enough for you anymore." He pouted.

Shane's face went hot. "Shut up, you're so dramatic"

"Make me."

Shane grabbed the front of Ilya's shirt, pulling him down into a kiss. Ilya laughed against his mouth, hands sliding under Shane's sweatshirt and jacket all at the same time.

"Off," Ilya said, tugging at the fabric.

Shane sat up just enough for Ilya to pull it over his head. The cool air hit his skin and he shuddered. Ilya's gaze dragged down his chest, hungry and appreciative at the curves of Shane’s pecs, which bounced when he moved.

"Krasivyy," Ilya murmured, pressing a kiss to Shane's collarbone. "So beautiful."

Shane shivered. Ilya's mouth trailed lower, kissing down his sternum, then over to one nipple. He sucked gently, then nipped it when Shane gasped.

"Ilya…"

Ilya switched to the other side, teeth grazing the sensitive bud. Shane arched into it, hands fisting in Ilya's hair.

"Sensitive," Ilya said, pleased. He pinched one nipple lightly, watching Shane's reaction. "Very sensitive. This is good to know. I'll be mapping your body very closely…"

"Stop teasing," Shane managed.

"Why? You make such pretty sounds."

Ilya worked his way down, kissing along Shane's ribs, his stomach, dipping his tongue into the man’s navel. Shane squirmed.

Then Ilya reached for Shane's jeans, popping the button open. He looked up, meeting Shane's eyes.

"Yes?" Ilya asked.

"Yes," Shane breathed.

Ilya pulled the jeans down, taking Shane's underwear with them. Shane kicked them off, suddenly very aware of how exposed he was.

The Russian sat back on his heels. His gaze raked over Shane's body, lingering on his cock, which was hard and leaking against his stomach.

"Bozhe," Ilya muttered. "Shane, you are…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Perfect." Ilya stripped off his shirt, the last of his clothes, and tossed it aside. He was crawling back up, his swinging manhood settling between Shane's legs.

Shane's pulse kicked up as Ilya's cock pressed against his, hot and hard. Ilya spat into his hand, lubed his dick up and thrust just a single time with his and Shane's cocks rutting.

"Wait," Shane said, voice cracking. "Wait, I…"

Ilya froze. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…" Shane swallowed. "I'm close. Already. If you… if we…"

Understanding dawned in Ilya's eyes. He grinned, ear to ear. "You are this close already? Not even one second?!" He laughed, but in a way that made butterflies flutter in Shane's stomach.

"Shut up!"

"From what? From kissing? From sucking my cock?"

Shane covered his face with his hands. "All of it. I'm… fuck, I'm worked up, okay? This is… My first time doing anything like this."

Ilya laughed, warm and genuine. He pried Shane's hands away from his face, kissing his palms, and then once on Shane's nose. "Is okay. Is good. Means I am doing good job, yes?"

"You're doing a great job," Shane muttered.

"Then I will go slow." Ilya shifted, positioning himself so their cocks lined up. He rocked forward gently, the friction pulling a strangled moan from Shane's throat.

"Fuck," Shane gasped. "Ilya, wait, I…"

"Breathe," Ilya said, slowing down. "Tell me when."

Shane nodded, focusing on his breathing. Ilya moved against him slowly, maddeningly slowly, keeping the pressure light.

It helped.

A little.

Then Ilya dipped his head, capturing Shane's mouth in a kiss. Shane melted into it, hands sliding up Ilya's back, nails digging in to the flesh, leaving marks.

Ilya made a pleased sound, deepening the kiss. His hips rolled forward again, and Shane broke the kiss with a gasp.

"Stop," he panted. "Stop, I'm gonna…"

Ilya stopped immediately, breathing hard. He pressed their foreheads together. "Okay. Okay, we pause."

They stayed like that for a moment, just breathing.

Then Ilya shifted, kissing down Shane's jaw and his neck. He sucked deep hickeys into Shane's flesh while they waited. His hands wandered, exploring the canvas beneath him. He found Shane's nipples again, rolling them between his fingers.

Shane whimpered.

Ilya's hands slid lower, over Shane's ribs and hips. One hand curved around to grab Shane's ass, squeezing.

"Ilya…"

"Just touching," Ilya murmured. "Just exploring. No thrusting, I promise. Just let me… Let me hold you."

His fingers dipped lower, brushing over Shane's balls and giving them a soft squeeze. Shane jerked, a startled sound escaping him.

Ilya paused. "Too much?"

"No," Shane said quickly. "No, it's… keep going."

Time blurred. Ilya's hands were everywhere, touching, squeezing, and pinching. Shane lost track of how many times he had to tell Ilya to stop before he came. Each time, Ilya slowed down, kissed him through it, then started again once Shane's breathing evened out.

At some point, Ilya found a spot on Shane's ribs that made him giggle.

Ilya froze. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Shane said flatly.

Ilya's eyes lit up. He pressed the spot again. Shane squirmed, trying to suppress the laugh.

"You are ticklish," Ilya said, delighted.

"Don't you dare…"

Ilya attacked his ribs mercilessly with his tongue. Shane dissolved into helpless laughter, trying to shove him off. Ilya grinned, relentless, until Shane was gasping for breath.

"Stop!" Shane wheezed. "Ilya, stop!"

Ilya stopped. He kissed Shane's forehead. "You have very nice laugh."

"I hate you," Shane muttered, still catching his breath.

"No, you do not."

"No," Shane agreed, pulling him down for a kiss. "I don't."

They kissed slowly, the urgency fading into something softer. Ilya's weight pressed Shane into the mattress and grounded him.

Then Ilya pulled back. "I have idea. We still have contest to win, yes?"

"What kind of idea?"

Ilya shifted, turning himself around until his head was near Shane's hips. He looked back over his shoulder. "You suck me. I suck you. Yes?"

Shane's brain short-circuited. "You mean…"

"Sixty-nine. A suck off. First to come loses, remember?" Ilya said, like it was obvious.

"I… yeah. That’s sounds…  Amazing."

Ilya settled into position, his cock right in front of Shane's face. Shane had a perfect view of Ilya's balls, his ass, everything.

Then Ilya's mouth closed around Shane's cock, and Shane forgot how to think.

"Fuck," he gasped.

Ilya hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks up Shane's spine. The Russian was already deepthroating him to the hilt. Shane grabbed Ilya's hips, steadying himself, then took Ilya's cock back into his mouth.

They found a rhythm together, messy and uncoordinated, but good, so fucking good.

Shane's hands wandered, squeezing Ilya's ass and thighs, amazed at how much muscle and bounce there were to them. Ilya held onto Shane’s ankles from his position, gently rubbing up and down his toned legs.

Shane felt his orgasm building again, faster this time. He tried to warn Ilya, pulling off to gasp out, "I'm close…"

Ilya didn't stop. He doubled down, sucking harder, one hand coming curling awkwardly to fondle Shane's balls.

Shane came with a choked cry, spilling into Ilya's mouth. Ilya swallowed, working through it until Shane was shaking.

Then Shane returned the favor, taking Ilya as deep as he could manage and stroking what he couldn’t. Ilya cursed, hips jerking, and came hard.

Shane swallowed, coughing slightly, but he got most of Rozanov’s cum down.

Ilya rolled off Shane, both of them panting from the exertion. He turned around, crawling back up to collapse beside Shane and tug him closer.

They lay there, sweaty and sated, the room quiet except for their haggard breathing.

Ilya turned his head, kissing Shane lazily. Shane could taste himself on Ilya's tongue, and Ilya on his.

It should have been weird.

It wasn't.

"That was…" Shane trailed off.

"Good?" Ilya supplied.

"Really good."

Ilya grinned, and pulled Shane against his chest. Shane went willingly, tucking his head under Ilya's chin and using his pecs as pillows.

"I am sorry we do not have more time," Ilya murmured. "Would love to explore more."

"Me too." Shane's fingers traced idle patterns on Ilya's chest. "…but I've got a game tomorrow, and… I'd need a lot of time to prep for us going… Harder, you know?"

"I know," Ilya kissed the top of his head. "Is okay. We have time. Lots of time.  Just not today, and that is okay."

Shane smiled against his skin. "I've got a long weekend next week. We could… do more then."

"Yes." Ilya's hand slid down Shane's back, squeezing his ass lightly. "I will make plans to woo. Many plans."

Shane laughed. "Of course you will."

They fell into comfortable silence. Ilya's fingers carded through Shane's hair, soothing the man closer to sleep.

"Ilya?" Shane said quietly.

"Mm?"

"Thank you. For tonight. For… everything. Tonight was a lot of firsts for me, and… They were better than I dreamed they would ever be."

Ilya tilted Shane's face up, and kissed him. "You do not need to thank me. Is what lovers do for one and other."

Shane's chest felt like it had been gripped, hard. He wanted to say more, wanted to put into words what he was feeling, but he didn't know how to. Not without… Saying a four letter word that was WAY too early to say. As socially awkward as he was, even Shane knew that much.  Even if he really was truly feeling it.

So instead, he kissed Ilya again, trying to say it that way instead.

Ilya seemed to understand. He held Shane close.

Eventually, Ilya reached over, fumbling for the lamp on the nightstand. He flicked it off, plunging the room into darkness.

"Sleep," Ilya murmured. "You need rest for game."

Shane nodded, already half-asleep. Ilya's heartbeat was steady under his ear, lulling him under.

Just before he drifted off, he felt Ilya's lips press against his forehead.

"Ya tebya lyublyu," Ilya whispered.

Shane didn't know what it meant. …but it sounded like a promise. A good one.

The next morning, Shane hadn't forgotten about the bet he'd lost, and owed a favor.  Ilya woke up to Shane blowing him, with Shane's cell phone playing a video tutorial next to Ilya's cock on how to give a good blowjob.

"I think I can get this to the base.  I figured out where I went wrong last night.  Give me a minute," Shane said with a muffled voice, with half of little Rozy still in his mouth.

Shane was playing the best hockey of his damn life.

Second period on New York Admirals' ice and the scoreboard read 4-2, with Montreal leading.

Shane already scored twice and had two assists under his belt.

He skated toward the bench during a line change, chest heaving, legs burning in the way that meant he was doing everything right.

"Good fucking hustle Hollander!" Theriault slapped him on the ass as he hit the bench. The rest of his team smacked him on the back, shoulders, and wherever they could reach.

The crowd's noise washed over him, half cheering and half booing. He dropped onto the bench, yanking his helmet off. Sweat dripped down his temples while the frigid air hit his face, sharp and clean.

"Hollander, what the fuck are you on?" Laine said, slapping his shoulder. "You're a machine tonight."

"Seriously," Berkes added from down the bench. "You're playing like a God."

Shane's face went hot. He grabbed his water bottle, squirting half of it into his mouth to buy himself time.

"Got a good night's rest after my date with Rozanov," he said, finally. Surely, that would have been enough to not make a big deal out of anything.

The entire bench went silent until JJ burst out laughing.

"Oh my God. It's happening! Finally!" Hayden beamed, hopping up and down on the bench like he'd been told it was Christmas.

"No way," Gagnon said.

"He got laid! GUYS, HOLLANDER GOT LAID!" JJ exclaimed.

"WE'RE SEEING THE COMING A NEW ERA OF MONTREAL SUPREMENCY!" Renaud yelled.

Shane's face burned hotter and he started smacking each of them with his stick. "I didn't say that! I just said I got a good night's sleep!"

"You didn't have to," Hayden said, grinning ear to ear. "Look at you. You've got that glow."

"What glow?"

"The afterglow," JJ said, wiggling his eyebrows. "That post-fuck radiance. You can't fake it."

"I'm not…" Shane stammered, immediately checking his skin for any kind of "glow" that wasn't sweat.

"You totally are," Comeau cut in. "You're loose out there. I've never seen you skate so relaxed like that before. You're not as rigid as you usually are."

Shane buried his face in a towel from the bench.

"This is Rozanov's doing, isn't it?" Hayden leaned closer, eyes sparkling. "That date last night. You two finally…"

"We… We didn't go all the way," Shane muttered into the towel.

"…but you did something," Laine said.

Shane didn't answer.

Then, sheepishly, he nodded.

The bench erupted in hoots and hollering.

"YES!"

"About fucking time!"

"Cap got some!"

"I'm sending Rozanov flowers," Hayden announced, pulling out his phone. "A whole damn bouquet. With a thank you card."

Shane's head snapped up. "Don't you dare."

"Too late... Already typing." Hayden's thumbs flew across the screen. "Dear Ilya, thank you for giving us the gift of post-fuck Shane Hollander on the ice. When we win the Stanley Cup this year, we will have a toast to your memory. Sincerely, the Montreal Voyageurs."

"I will bench you," Shane growled.

"You can't bench me mid-game, and you're not the coach! The Captain doesn't have that kind of power."

"I'll find a way."

The guys were still laughing when the whistle blew. Shane shoved his helmet back on, skating out for his next shift.

As much as he wanted to argue… They weren't wrong. His body felt lighter and faster. Every pass connected, and every shot found its mark.

Shane knew it wasn't "the power of love" or whatever bullshit, but… Maybe it was the weight of his life finally getting shared with someone else that made everything easier. Like, he'd finally been unshackled.

New York couldn't keep up with an unshackled Shane Hollander.

By the time the final buzzer sounded, Montreal had won 4-3, after New York tried (but failed) to mount a comeback.

The locker room in New York's stadium after the game was loud and dramatic, neither of which Shane minded that night. Music blasted while guys stripped down and showered for the night.

Shane sat at his stall, unlacing his skates. His phone buzzed in his bag.

He pulled it out.

Ilya: Congratulations on game. You were beautiful tonight.

Shane smiled, typing back quickly.

Shane: Thanks. You watching?

Ilya: Of course. Had to make sure my cock did not scramble your hockey IQ.

Shane: Your cock was not THAT good.

Ilya: How dare you. I seem to remember someone that kept moaning "stop, stop, Ilya, stop, your cock is too good, I'm going to cum soon!" ;)

Shane's grin widened. God, he loved this man. Ilya knew exactly how to push his buttons in just the right way. An asshole, but a fun one.

Though now… Shane needed his revenge.

He glanced around the locker room. Most of the guys were distracted, caught up in their own post-game rituals.

Shane opened his camera, walked out to the tunnel briefly, and angled it toward the jumbotron screen, still visible through the end. The final score glowed bright: Montreal 4, New York 3.

He snapped the photo, pulled it into his social media app, and typed out a caption.

@ShaneHollander: Rozanov's first date is a miracle worker to my game. I guess everyone was right about giving him a chance. 9/10 would date again.

He hit post.

Within seconds, notifications started flooding in.

@hockeyfan2844: ONLY 9/10???? WHAT DID HE DO WRONG

@sapphicpuckfan: SHANE HOLLANDER HAS A SENSE OF HUMOR????

@puckbunny2002: I'M SCREAMING

Shane scrolled through the replies, fighting back a laugh.

Then one caught his eye.

@cliffmarlow: why only 9/10 tho

Shane's fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He shouldn't.

He really shouldn't.

He typed anyway.

@ShaneHollander: He forgot to open the door for me when we got home from dinner. I had to open my own door! So ungentlemanly of him. >:(

He hit send.

The response was immediate.

@marlowsqueen: NOOOO ILYA

@haasfan4lyfe: this is the funniest thing I've ever read

@tsn_sports: Shane Hollander continues to roast Ilya Rozanov despite admitting date went well. Full story and New York higlights at 11.

Shane's phone buzzed in his hand. Not a social media notification this time.

A text.

Ilya: FUCK

Shane laughed out loud.

Another message came through. A GIF of someone screaming into a pillow.

Ilya: I am IDIOT. I was horned up by your sexy ass and daydreaming of beautiful manhood coming so fast, I forgot door! I am terrible! The worst! Please, forgive me beautiful, sexy, Hollander, I shall never forget door ever again. :_(

Shane rolled his eyes. The sarcasm of this guy was incredible.

Shane: You are so dramatic.

Ilya: Forgive me, please? I'll send you a present!

Shane: What kind of present?

A picture soon came through. Ilya was in the locker room in Ottawa, in a private shower stall. He was soaked wet, soap covering his body with a wet sheen and he was jerking himself off, using the suds as a makeshift lube.

Though the over-exaggerated pout and frown on Ilya's face made it less of a sext and more of a meme.

Ilya: You make me cry from three holes. Please forgive? Pretty please?

Shane smiled, shaking his head incredulously. He typed back a simple message.

Shane: I'll forgive you this time. ;)

Ilya: I have most perfect boyfriend of all time. :)

Shane zeroed in on the word "boyfriend". He grinned, texted Ilya that he'd call him when he got to their hotel room that night, put his phone away, and went back to rejoin his team.

Ilya sat with Cliff, Troy, Harris, and Luca at a bar in downtown Ottawa called The Tricky Moose. The place was packed for a Friday night, loud with conversation and the crack of pool balls from the back room.

Ottawa had a good game that night, another win, and their small group were the last remnants of the after-party.

Their table was wedged in a corner booth, sticky with spilled beer and a basket of half-eaten wings sat in the center, surrounded by pint glasses.

Ilya couldn't stop grinning.

"…and then," Ilya said, talking animatedly with his hands, "Before he left for flight, Shane pulled out his phone and showed me tape from last season. From memory, he had entire play memorized, down to second! He talked for twenty minutes straight and I just… I just listened. Was magical."

Cliff leaned back, arms crossed, smirking. "You didn't get bored?"

"Bored?" Ilya's eyes went wide. "No! Was amazing! Shane is so smart, so passionate. His brain is like… like beautiful hockey machine! …and his face when he talks, Cliff, his whole face lights up like Christmas morning."

Luca giggled into his beer. "You're so far gone, man."

"I am not gone. I am right here." Ilya pointed at himself.

"He means you're in love," Troy clarified.

Ilya froze mid-reach for a wing, struggling to pick it up.. "I…" He trailed off.

Harris raised an eyebrow. "You didn't realize it?"

"I mean…" Ilya set the wing down after biting into it, wiping his hands on a napkin. "I like him. Very much. …but is too soon for love, yes?"

"Even though you told him you loved him last night, dumbass." Ilya thought to himself. Though to be fair, he was pretty sure Shane didn't know Russian, so it didn't count. Right?

"Not necessarily," Troy said. "I knew pretty fast with Harris."

Harris smiled. "Same."

Luca nodded enthusiastically. "When you know, you know. That's what my mom always says."

Cliff clapped Ilya on the shoulder. "Dude. You drove two and a half hours just to talk to him. No, actually, with all the driving you did, you were in your car for 10 hours for this guy! You made him a bouquet with your mom, and your mom gave you her family heirloom because of how happy this guy makes you. You're texting him dirty pictures in the shower. Man… I think that's love."

Ilya stared at his beer, letting it sink in.

Love.

He'd loved Sasha, once. When they were young, when they were passionate, when they were both figuring out what kind of people they were. Once upon a time, Ilya thought he would have married Sasha by now, been a power couple, and probably had a cat.

Though… Sasha didn't "love" him back in the way Ilya wanted to be loved. It was never unconditional, and was always reciprocated by… A need.

This? This with Hollander? This was different.

He couldn't really put it into words, especially not into English, but at the very least, he understood that loving Shane meant that he would be loved back in equal measure, with or without wooing.

"I think…" Ilya said slowly, "…maybe I do love him."

Troy raised his glass. "To Rozy, figuring out what the rest of us already knew."

They clinked glasses, laughing at each other.

Ilya laughed too, warmth spreading through his chest.

"When do we get to meet him?" Cliff asked. "Face to face, I mean. Not just chirping on the ice."

"Soon, I hope." Ilya pulled out his phone, scrolling to the picture of Shane on his couch, chocolate wrappers scattered around them as they watched hockey together. "I want you all to meet him. The real him. Not just bitchy Captain."

Harris leaned forward, studying the photo. "You two look good together."

"We do, yes?"

Harris tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You know… the next time Ottawa plays Montreal, we should do something. Like… a team meet-up! Market it as a cheesy romance thing between you and Shane and do some short videos about how it feels to be boyfriends fighting each other on the ice, but really it's an excuse to get everyone together in the same room without it being weird."

Ilya's eyes lit up. "Yes! This is perfect idea!"

Cliff grinned. "Plus it'll piss off the other teams. They'll be jealous we thought of it first. Helps we have two really hot guys instead of the middle aged dinosaurs like Scott Hunter and will get plenty of views."

"Isn't Scott like… Just three years older than Ilya or something?" Harris asked.

Troy shook his head and kissed Harris' head. "Don't ask."

Ilya felt a wave of relief at the idea.

All that day, he'd been comparing their schedules, and… Like Shane thought the night before, they'd have to be a week or longer without each other. "Is just… hard, you know? Being so far apart. We have busy schedules. Games, practices, travel. I want to see him more, but…"

"Off-season," Troy said simply. "You'll have all the time in the world then. That's when Harris and I love bomb the fuck out of each other."

"You'll make it work," Luca said, patting Ilya's shoulder. "Relationships in the NHL are… Complicated."

"They sure are…" Cliff said, taking a glance over at Luca, with a soft, sad expression.

Harris cleared his throat. "Should we talk about the other romantic elephant in the room or…"

Troy took Harris' hand and kissed it. "Shhh, you'll scare them. They're not ready to say it yet. Give them a little more time to cook and they'll get it," as he gestured to Cliff and Luca with his head.

"…no, no, let's talk about it. Harris is right. Cliff, we need to…" Ilya said, cut off by his phone buzzing. Thinking it was Shane, finally back at his hotel, Ilya unlocked it without looking. An image popped up and Ilya tapped to full-screen it, bringing it close to his face so nobody else could see it.

Ilya's blood went cold as the image of a New York Hotel and Shane's beautiful body wasn't what showed on the screen..

It was Sasha.

The photo showed Sasha on a stripper pole in the middle of a packed club, hundreds of people in the background. He was completely naked, body oiled and gleaming under the lights, glitter covering him, mid-spin with one hand gripping the pole. His head was tilted back, lips parted in a sultry expression, and he was blowing a kiss toward the camera.

Toward Ilya.

A text followed immediately.

Sasha: Can we talk, sweetie? I miss you. :(

Ilya's hands started shaking. He dropped the phone on the table, where it clattered face down, as if it had burned him.

"Whoa," Cliff leaned forward, concern flashing across his face. "You good?"

Ilya didn't answer.

Cliff glanced at the phone, then back at Ilya. "What happened?"

"Sasha," Ilya managed, voice tight.

The table went silent. His entire team knew, about the breakup by now. A ten-year relationship, and a lifetime of memories, ended on good terms.

Harris reached over, locking the phone from the side as if it would protect them all from the nude Russian stripper. "What did he say?"

"He wants to talk," Ilya said, staring at the table. "He… he sent a nude picture, and said he misses me."

Troy frowned. "Do you want to talk to him?"

"No." The word left Ilya's mouth in an instant.

Cliff nodded. "Good. Then don't."

"Block him," Luca said firmly. "Right now. Block his number."

Ilya picked up the phone, hands still trembling. He stared at Sasha's name on the screen.

Memories flooded back.

Good ones, mostly. A beautiful image of Sasha laughing in the early morning light as they cuddled after a night of passionate sex. A thought of Sasha pulling him into bed after a long road trip and singing him to sleep at night. Or, them as younger men, when Sasha held him tight when his father got mean and yelled at every error Ilya made on the ice.

…but in the same manner, Ilya also remembered the bad ones. The ones that made him break up with Sasha in the first place

In the early days, when Sasha didn't want a "label", Ilya would watch Sasha disappear for days without explanation, coming back drunk and smelling of sex, acting like nothing happened. Or, when they'd decided to be mutual, he remembered the time Sasha pushed for an open relationship every other day through texts and calls even during hockey games, all while knowing Ilya wanted something deeper. When Ilya "settled" for threesomes every now and then and letting Sasha "have fun" in clubs, Sasha always complained about how "sex doesn't mean anything" so why did it matter who he got to fuck him?

The last one had been the cause of their breakup. Because he knew Sasha saw sex and relationships as something fundamentally different than he ever would.

"I wish he would not do this… I thought we were over." Ilya said quietly.

"Fuck 'em," Cliff said, putting his hand on Ilya's shoulder and squeezing. "You've got it good now. Don't even entertain whatever the hell is going on with him. Hell, it could be a drunk text, or something. He might text you in the morning and apologize."

Ilya didn't think that was the case, but he could hold out hope. He opened his messages, stared at Sasha's text one more time, then deleted it.

He didn't block the number.

Not yet. He'd give it until morning, to see if it really was just a stupid, drunken text. If it got worse, or if it wasn't a joke? He'd block Sasha immediately.

Deep down, though, he still hoped they could be friends. Hoped for… Something, anything, for the good memories to hold onto. 

"There," Ilya said, setting it face-down on the table. "Done."

Harris nodded approvingly. "Smart move."

Troy raised his glass again. "To not letting exes ruin good things."

They all clinked glasses, and Ilya drank deeply, letting the cold beer wash away the unsettling feeling in his chest.

Chapter 7: (Gay) Avengers Assemble

Chapter Notes

Hello all! I wanted to give a quick warning that the very first paragraph of this chapter has a racist comment being spoken by Sasha, regarding a stereotype of asian men. If you do not want to read that, you can skip to "Ilya woke the next morning to someone pounding on his front door."

@sashatheoneandonly

@ShaneHollander - I heard you've been insulting MY man? Who the fuck does this uppity little rice-dick wasian BITCH think he is? Let me show you EXACTLY the kind of man Ilya is, and why he's too good for your boring, bitchy, cardboard-cut-out,  personality hockey-obsessed freak ass.

[Below the text is a picture of Sasha flipping the camera off, holding a printed out picture of Sasha and Ilya in bed together, with Ilya's bare ass exposed and Sasha's body covered in hickies.]

Ilya woke the next morning to someone pounding on his front door. For a moment, he wondered if they were going to break through the wood.

He groaned, squinting at the morning light streaming through his bedroom window. His alarm clock read 7:24 AM, if his blurry vision could be trusted. Ilya's head still throbbed from last night's celebration, and the pounding on the door wasn't helping.

"Ilya!" Cliff's voice could be heard all the way through the house, barely muffled by the walls. "Open the fucking door!"

Ilya stumbled out of bed, still in his boxers, and shuffled toward the entrance. He unlocked it and pulled it open.

Cliff, Troy, and Luca threw themselves into his condo.

"Have you seen your cell phone yet this morning?" Troy asked immediately, scanning the room.

Ilya blinked. "No. Is morning. Why?"

Luca spotted Ilya's cell phone first, sitting on the kitchen counter where Ilya had left it overnight in a drunken stupor. Haas lunged for it, snatching it up and shoving it deep into his jean’s back pocket. "I've got it!"

Ilya frowned. "What are you…"

"Ilya won't hit me to get it," Luca said quickly, backing toward the wall. "He's my hockey dad. You've got all the time to explain, Cliffy."

"What?" Ilya groaned, rubbing his head. "If this is stupid social media trend for tiktok, I am going to murder all of you."

Cliff stepped forward with a grim expression. "You need to sit down for this one, brother."

Ilya's stomach dropped.  Cliff rarely got that serious. "What happened?"

"Sit."

Ilya walked to the couch and dropped onto it. Cliff and Troy flanked his right and left side and placed their hands on his shoulders like they were bracing him for impact.

"Whatever it is," Ilya said slowly, "…just tell me."

Cliff exhaled. "Sasha's been posting some nasty stuff online. Really racist and shitty stuff about Shane, and… You're sort of getting hit from the side too with the pictures he's posting, my man."

Ilya woke fully in an instant, as if they'd poured a bucket of ice water on him. His eyes narrowed, and he felt a deep fire start to build up in his chest. "What kind of stuff is he saying about Shane? What pictures?"

Troy squeezed his shoulder. "Pictures. Private ones. Ones that should never have been shared. Uh… You're sort of naked in some of them, and in… Compromising positions."

Ilya's mind blanked. He tried to process the words, but they didn't make sense.

Pictures.

Private ones.

He remembered all the times Sasha loved snapping selfies or getting one of their "fuck buddies" to take pictures of them. He hadn't cared at the time, he'd told Sasha to never post them, but he could keep him as part of his "spank bank" when Ilya had a busy season.

Ilya realized, quickly, that they weren't going to be harmless. In his youth, he'd done… Quite a number of “things”.

"No… No, no…" Ilya felt bile rise up in his stomach. He gripped onto his golden cross and uttered a set of swift prayers.

"…and," Cliff continued, voice careful, "Sasha has been posting them directly to Shane's social media feeds. Comments, replies, DMs, everywhere Shane is, Sasha's there. It is… Trending. Like, mega trending."

Ilya stopped breathing.

Shane.

"No," Ilya whispered.

"Take a breath…" Troy said quietly. "We've got you, brother. Harris has already been all over social media support sites trying to get it taken down and Centaur’s legal is already trying to get a handle on how to deal with the revenge porn. Our admin called Montreal, and they're doing all they can, too, since Sasha is basically harassing Shane at this point"

Ilya surged to his feet, breaking away from Cliff and Troy's embrace. "Give me my phone."

Luca shook his head, backing farther away. "Not until you calm down. We didn't want you to say something you…"

"Give me my fucking phone!"

 Luca backed away.

"Now!" Ilya took a deep breath, rubbed the bridge of his nose and gave it a moment or two. "Please. Give me my phone. I need to see with my own eyes, this betrayal."

Luca looked at Cliff, who nodded reluctantly.  He pulled the phone from his pocket and handed it over to Ilya.

Ilya unlocked it with trembling hands. Notifications flooded the screen, thousands of them. Instagram, Twitter, texts, missed calls.

He started with Sasha's texts. There were 60 of them, all long, rambling posts that ranged from "I love you, come back", “why aren’t you answering me?”, "Bitch, why are you no fun anymore?", and hitting a real high note with "How come you quit loving me just because I wanted to be free?  All you wanted to do was chain me and my spirit down! You're so controlling, you abusive asshole! I'll show you what happens to bad people like you!"

Sasha sent a nude, again, at the very end of the messages.

Though it was neither sexy or attractive. He was posed on the stained mattress of a shitty motel room with naked bodies flung all around him. Ilya could see the white powder under Sasha's nose, the drug paraphernalia on the nightstand, and the bottles of alcohol littering the picture's background.

"I thought you loved me.” Was the last message Sasha sent him.

Ilya's heart shattered, immediately.

A friendship, a love of 10 years was gone, in the blink of an eye. There was no going back from this, but… He pitied Sasha. He was clearly going through something, but that didn't excuse what he was doing. Not for a second.

With all the courage he could muster, Ilya then turned to social media feeds.

One after another, Sasha had posted a series of intimate photos across every big platform. One was of Ilya himself in bed, naked, taken during their relationship, and showing an uncensored view of his dick. Another had Ilya mid-kiss, caught off-guard, smiling at Sasha in a moment of brief happiness. Of course, Sasha had posted the one of Ilya asleep, vulnerable with his ass up, with Sasha snorting coke off his cheeks.

Though the worst had been a video recording of Ilya professing his eternal love to Sasha, and only Sasha, at the base of the Eiffel Tower.

Each picture was captioned with something cruel.

"See this, Hollander? This is what a man who's in TRUE love looks like. ;)"

"Ask him about the threesomes, Shane. Ask him how many men he's fucked, because it's a LOT. He'd do anything I asked of him, he loved me, and god he was so good on a leash. 10/10 would bang again :D.'"

"Why would he love you? Because of the "wooing"? Bitch, he bought me whatever the hell I wanted, all I had to do was ask. I didn't have to beg like a whore on social media for it."

Ilya scrolled down.

Sasha had commented on every single one of Shane's recent posts.

Under the photo Shane posted of them together after their first date was "Cute. How long until he gets bored? Three months? Six? Bitch, if he got bored with ME, he'll throw you to the curb well before anyone else."

Then, more words under Shane's most recent game highlights. "Does he send you nudes, too? God, I've got a phone full of him."

Ilya's hands shook so badly he nearly dropped the phone.

"Did Shane see this?" Ilya asked, his voice barely connecting the letters together.

Cliff nodded. "Probably. Everyone's seeing it."

Ilya scrolled to his DMs and checked Shane's profiles.

Shane hadn't replied to anything.

No messages. No calls. Nothing.

Ilya wanted to crawl under his bed and die.

"I need to call him," Ilya said, voice breaking. "I need to explain…"

"Give it a minute," Troy said gently. "Get yourself together, first.  Get some coffee, hug your mom, or…  Something."

"I can't." Ilya's vision blurred with tears and he felt lightheaded, like he could pass out at any moment. "Shane will think, he'll think I…"

"He won't," Cliff said firmly. "Shane's smart. He'll know this is bullshit."

Luca stepped forward. "Yeah! Hollander knows the score, shit like this just happens."

None of them had to wait for very long, as a new ping came to Ilya's phone.

A long set of tweets from Shane Hollander.

…Ilya read every last one of them.

@ShaneHollander

@sashatheoneandonly - You need to take all this down right away. Because you're not hurting me, you're hurting Ilya. If you love him half as much as I love him, you'd never want to ever hurt that amazing man.

@sashatheoneandonly - I don't know who you think you're intimidating or insulting, but… I'll be honest, I could care less about you. I don't even know you.

Yuna Hollander woke to her phone vibrating like crazy against the nightstand in the early morning. She reached for it, squinting at the screen.

 Notifications flooded in, tagged posts, mentions, screenshots forwarded by concerned friends and family.

The Devil himself shuddered as Yuna came to understand what happened. She sat up, reading through the vile comments, the leaked photos of Ilya, and the racist slurs aimed at her son.

"The fuck did you just call my boy?" Yuna said, gripping the phone with enough force to put its manufacturing limits to the test.

Beside her, David stirred. "What's wrong?"

"Someone made a mistake," Yuna threw back the covers and grabbed her laptop from the dresser. "Someone fucked with my boys and now the Shark is coming for their asses!"

David shuddered, and slowly turned away from his wife, knowing better than to interrupt her right now. There was no stopping the bloodshed, anyway.

Back on her bed, she opened the industry directories in her Outlook application, the one’s she kept for decades as a manager.

It took less than five minutes to identify Sasha Sidorov's modeling agency Enfants Visage Management, based in Montreal with satellite offices in Toronto and New York.

She pulled up the agency's contact page, scrolled past the generic inquiry form, and found the executive roster. Her eyes narrowed.

Gabrielle Chen. Senior Vice President of Talent Relations.

Yuna knew that name. They'd sat on an Asian Heritage Board together three years ago, and Gabrielle owed her a big favor, which she was going to immediately cash in.

She dialed Gabrielle's direct line and waited.

Two rings was all it took. Nobody made Yuna Hollander wait for three.

"Yuna?" Gabrielle's voice was groggy and confused. "What's going on, it so early…"

"Gabrielle. I need you to connect me with whoever handles Sasha Sidorov's contracts with your company."

Silence on the other line.

"Now, please." Yuna said firmly.

"What's going on? What has the little fucker done this time?"

Yuna's voice dropped, as cold as the ice her son skated on. "Gabrielle, I need to speak to someone in charge of Sasha Sidorov, to inform them of the legal nightmare I am about to put this young man through and would love to offer all of you a chance to reign in this fucking problem before I end all of your professional and creative lives. He came after my boy, Gabrielle. Insulted his heritage, claimed stereotypes over his manhood, and is downright harassing him."

Gabrielle inhaled sharply, and Yuna could tell immediately the balance of the conversation changed.. "Hold on. Let's skip straight to the top. Hold please, I'm going to connect with you once I get someone awake."

Yuna opened another tab and began drafting an email to her lawyer. Subject line: Defamation, Harassment, Revenge Porn, Immediate Action Required.

She attached screenshots. Time-stamped everything. Built the case in real time as Sidorov continued to tweet his demise .

The hold music cut off.

"Yuna." A new voice, male, clipped, nervous. "This is Marc Tremblay, Director of Operations. Gabrielle briefed me. What exactly are we looking at?"

Yuna smiled, sharp and cold.

"Good morning, Marc. Let me explain what your client just did to my son."

She began listing every post, every slur, every violation. Marc's breathing grew heavier with each one.

"We'll handle this immediately… Our social media team will turn off his account as soon as they can."

"You'll do more than handle it," Yuna interrupted. "You'll terminate his contracts. Publicly. You'll issue a statement condemning his behavior within the hour, you'll make this right with Mr. Rozanov AND my son, or I will ensure every brand and fashion label you represent learns exactly what kind of liability you're willing to protect."

"Mrs. Hollander…"

"One hour, Marc."

She hung up, satisfied that the worst of the damage control was over, and hopped out of bed.

"We’re going to Montreal. I'll call Shane on the way up there. Hopefully he hasn't seen any of that!" Yuna ordered to David.

David rolled out of bed, nodding.  A slow grin crossed his face.  God, he loved his wife.

@ShaneHollander

@sashatheoneandonly - You think I didn't know Ilya had a boyfriend before? Of course I did, that's just logical. Also, Ilya is 30, of course he's had sex and of course he's partied. Not my thing, but if you knew anything about him, you'd know that's not his thing anymore.

@sashatheoneandonly - He'd had nothing but nice things to say about you the whole time too. I bet he thinks that's a mistake now.

Irina finished brewing her morning tea when her phone lit up with notifications.

One after another. Dozens. Then hundreds.

She set down the kettle and picked up the noisy device, frowning at the flood of messages from distant relatives, and from people back in Russia she hadn't spoken to in years.

The first message she opened was from her cousin in Moscow.  “Have you seen what that brat did to Ilya?”

Her stomach dropped.

She opened Twitter.

The posts loaded, each one worse than the last. Photos of her son, private, intimate, vulnerable, splashed across the internet for millions to see. Sasha's words under them dripped with venom, aimed not just at Ilya but at Shane, the boy Ilya had spoken of with such light in his eyes.

"That little weasel tried to hurt my boy and my boy's lover?"

Irina's hand tightened around the phone.

She scrolled further. News outlets had picked it up.

Former Boyfriend Leaks Private Photos of NHL Star Ilya Rozanov.

Rozanov Caught in Social Media Scandal.

Anger was a rare thing in her life. Only on one occasion had she ever let anger take her from being a respectable woman of faith and forgiveness, and that had been to divorce her alcoholic and verbally abusive ex-husband.

Now, she would have two occasions to remember moving forward.

Because this was not just betrayal. This was desecration. This was treason.

Irina paced the room and scrolled through her phone's contact list. She moved past names she hadn't touched in years until she found the one she needed.

Grigori Rozanov.

She hesitated only a moment before pressing dial.

Three rings passed. Then his voice, rough and familiar.

"Irina?"

"Grigori." Her tone was ice. "Have you seen what Sasha Sidorov has done to our son? If I had gun or noose, I would kill him"

A long silence, followed by an angry growl ripped from Grigori's voice. "I am looking now."

She waited, heard the faint sound of scrolling on Grigori's end, and heard the sharp intake of breath, followed by something glass breaking against a wall.

"Suka," Grigori muttered. "This little backstabbing whore…"

"He has scarred Ilya's honor," Irina said, voice steady but lethal. "Publicly. He posted private photographs. He insulted Shane, the boy our son adores now. He tried to destroy what Ilya is building. He tries to take my son's own life and happiness!"

"I see it."

"Then you understand," Irina continued, "that nobody fucks with a Rozanov."

Grigori's voice darkened. "I will speak to Sasha's father and his grandfather. They will take care of problem."

"Good." Irina's grip on the phone tightened. "…and Grigori, make sure the family knows that if Sasha ever bothers my son again, if he so much as breathes near Ilya, I will chop his balls off and throw him into a freezing lake. Do you understand me? Sasha's family better handle this appropriately and my son best receive something for the pain he has suffered.."

"I will handle it," Grigori said firmly. "You have my word."

Irina exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

A pause grew between them, heavy with years of distance.

"How are you?" Grigori asked, his voice softer now.

Irina was surprised to hear him ask. "I am… better. Life in Canada is grand. Quiet. I have tea in few days with new friend, Yuna. She wanted to meet and talk about our children's 'marketing.'"

Grigori gave a rough chuckle. "Of course..."

"…and you?" Irina asked carefully. "How is Andrei?"

"He is doing well. Rehab is good for him. I am… also well. I would say both of us struggle with illness of our vices, but… Better."

Another long, drawn-out silence came, with neither quite sure how to speak to each other anymore.

"Irina," Grigori said quietly, "I am sorry. For breaking us apart."

Before she could respond, the line went dead.

Irina stared at the phone, with a lot of complicated feelings growing in her chest that morning. She set her phone down gently, then turned toward the television.

She switched it on and tuned to a screen of a Sportsnet studio. Two anchors sat behind a polished desk, the network logo glowing behind them.

The lead anchor, Marcus Laurent, adjusted his papers, with a serious, somber expression. His co-host, Amara Singh, sat with her hands folded, face drawn tight.

"We're following a developing story this morning involving Ottawa Centaurs captain Ilya Rozanov," Marcus began. "Private photographs and videos have been leaked online without his consent by his former partner, model Sasha Sidorov. The images, which are explicit in nature, were posted across multiple social media platforms early this morning and have been circulating widely."

Amara leaned forward. "This is, unequivocally, revenge porn. What Sidorov has done is not only deeply unethical but illegal in both Canada and the United States. These images were shared without Rozanov's consent, and they were weaponized to cause harm."

Marcus nodded. "We want to be very clear about something. If you come across these images, do not save them. Do not share them. Do not engage with accounts posting them. What you're looking at is a violation of someone's privacy, and by participating in its spread, you become complicit."

"Absolutely," Amara said. "Rozanov deserves privacy. He deserves dignity. No one, regardless of their public status, should have intimate moments weaponized against them."

Marcus gestured to the camera. "If you or someone you know has experienced revenge porn or image-based abuse, there are resources available." He gave out a long list of numbers and agencies.

Amara picked up where he left off. "You can also report content directly to platforms like Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Most social media companies have policies against non-consensual intimate imagery. Use them."

Marcus's voice softened. "Ilya Rozanov, we are so sorry this has happened to you. Though, not just to him, but on his partner, Shane Hollander, who has also been targeted with racist and defamatory language."

"Shane responded publicly this morning," Amara said, pulling up a screenshot of his tweets. "…and his words were clear: 'You're not hurting me, you're hurting Ilya.' That's the reality here. This isn't gossip. This isn't drama. This is harm."

Marcus turned back to the camera. "We stand with Ilya Rozanov. We stand with Shane Hollander, and we ask our viewers to do the same. Respect their privacy. Don't participate in the spread of these images. Let the legal system handle this."

Amara nodded. "Our thoughts are with both players and their families. This kind of violation… it's unconscionable."

Irina nodded along with agreement, and shut the TV off. She gathered her teacup with trembling hands. She rose, smoothed her skirt, and walked toward the door. She would go to Ilya, and give him the support he needed from his Mama.

Ilya needed to know that his honor would be upheld, and that his mother would not allow this disgrace to stand unanswered.

Nobody touched her son and walked away unscathed.

@ShaneHollander

@sashatheoneandonly - I don't know why you're saying and doing all this, but if you're wanting to get Ilya back from me (?), then you've done a real bad job of that.

@sashatheoneandonly - Why would he go back to someone who just hurt him this much? Do you have any idea what stunts like this do to someone's career? To their sponsorships? To everything they've worked for? Not to mention what it would feel like to have someone you love break your heart like this?

@sashatheoneandonly - Also, in case you missed it, Ilya and I are in a relationship now. He is my boyfriend. No amount of pictures or bullshit you are spewing here is going to change that.

@sashatheoneandonly - Ilya makes me feel like I'm a whole person when I'm around him. I've never, in my whole life, had someone that I could just be myself around. Nothing you say or do is going to change that feeling.

Harris sat in Ottawa's media operations office, hunched over his laptop with his phone pressed to his ear.

His third cup of coffee for the morning sat cooling beside him, untouched for the last twenty minutes. Chiron was cuddled up on the dog bed at his feet, whining as he sensed all the negativity in the room.

"Yes, I understand your policies," Harris said, trying his best to sound patient. "I'm telling you these images violate your own terms of service. They're non-consensual intimate images. Revenge porn. That's grounds for immediate removal! We shouldn't even have to talk about this."

The support representative droned through another scripted response.

Harris's jaw clenched. "No, I don't need you to explain what constitutes a violation. I need you to remove the content. Now. Can I please speak to your manager? I… I don't want these staying up any longer than they have to."

Hold music started to play.

Harris groaned. He pulled up the full list on his second monitor. Fifty-three posts. Thirty-seven comments.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing out an email to legal if this got any messier.

Harris leaned back, rubbing his eyes. His phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Troy: You still at it?

Harris: Fourth platform. Instagram's down. Facebook's down. Twitter's being difficult, because fuck Musk.

Troy: Need anything?

Harris: Coffee. Maybe a brick to throw at my computer or through Sasha's window.

The hold music cut off.

"Mr. Drover?" A new voice answered, a woman's, and quite authoritative. "This is Clara Mendez, Senior Content Moderation. I've been reviewing your reports."

"…and?"

"The content's being removed as we speak. We've also suspended the primary account for term of service violations."

Relief flooded through him. "Thank you so much!."

"We're sorry this happened to your organization. We take these situations seriously and we'll make sure to send you a report you can use for any legal needs."

Harris finished up a few last-minute issues with Clara and ended the call. He immediately dialed Montreal's communications office.

"Berger."

"Michael, it's Harris. Twitter's confirmed the removal. Instagram and Facebook are already done. How's your end?"

Michael Berger, Montreal's social media director, sounded exhausted. "Same. Most platforms are cooperating. Shane's mentions are still a nightmare from the public, but we're filtering."

"Legal involvement?"

"Both teams want to send a message that shit like this isn't tolerated. I'm sure all the other major sports organizations want to avoid something like this too. Oh, and uh.... Yuna Hollander's brought in her own attorneys too. She's..." Michael paused. "She's terrifying, man...."

"Good." Harris pulled up a shared document. "I'm drafting a joint statement for both organizations, the rest of our team here agrees on it. Figured we should coordinate messaging."

"Send it over. I'll run it past our PR director."

Harris shot the message over via email.

The Ottawa Centaurs and Montreal Voyageurs stand united in condemning the distribution of private, non-consensual images. This behavior is harmful, illegal, and will not be tolerated. Both organizations are working with legal counsel and law enforcement. We ask that fans respect the privacy and dignity of all involved. Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are pillars of the NHL community, who have spent countless hours and donated untold amounts of money to charitable organizations and frequently visit children's hospitals. Do not allow out of context postings from an abusive ex-partner change your opinion of these honorable, kind, and strong men.

"Sent," Harris said.

"Got it. Oh yeah, this works. I'll get full approval within the hour. I'll text you when we can post."

Harris hung up and stared at his screen. The flood of notifications had slowed. Most major platforms had acted…  …but the damage was done. Plenty of people had already seen and… Well, there were a lot of opinions to be had.

His office door opened. Boodram, Dykstra, and Hayes filed in, followed by half the team.

"We’re here to help Rozy!" Boodram said.

Harris blinked. "Uh… You guys don't need to…"

"We're here," Hayes said firmly. "What do you need?"

Harris looked at them. Rozanov's team.  Of course they’d want to help.  Ilya was their brother.

"Posts are down," he said. "…but we need positivity. A lot of it. Social media's still toxic. If you guys could post something supportive, for both Shane and Ilya, it'd help drown out the noise. No jokes, try and keep it positive, uplifting, and professional. We don't want to downplay this by being funny right now."

Dykstra was already pulling out his phone. "Say less."

"Nothing inflammatory either! No threats of violence!" Harris warned. "Keep it clean. Keep it supportive."

Boodram grinned. "We know the drill."

Within minutes, the Centaurs were posting.

@boodramzane: The Centaurs stand with Rozanov and Hollander. That's it. That's all you should care about.  Give them  your love, Ottawa!

@dykstraeven: Privacy matters. Consent matters. Support your team and support your loved ones.  Make a stand here and now and help us wipe this crap off the internet.

@hayeswyatt: Real fans don't share revenge porn. Be better. Delete anything and everything. What if that were your brother? Or your sister? Or your parents?!

Harris watched the posts go live, each one gaining traction immediately.

His phone buzzed.

Troy: You're doing great. Don't forget to breathe. Tonight, we'll get the good ice cream, and whatever you want in bed tonight, I'm going to deliver. Anything. ;)

Harris smiled.  Meanwhile, his computer pinged. An email from Montreal's PR office. The joint statement had been approved.

Harris hit publish as quickly as he could.  Within seconds, their statement was everywhere. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

The posts were down, the statements were live, and the teams were united.

Most of the major teams were even reposting the statement, Boston especially, making a big call out to stamp that shit out.

"Now we just wait for the fallout to settle," Harris thought.

@ShaneHollander

@sashatheoneandonly - To everyone who's seen these posts, let me tell you who the real Ilya Rozanov is.

@sashatheoneandonly -Ilya Rozanov is the kind of man who learns what my favorite flowers are, hears about my childhood teddy bear, and discovers my addiction to Canada Dry, and sends them all to me on National TV with a love letter.

@sashatheoneandonly - Ilya Rozanov is the kind of man who gets me a private hotel room, food and drink appropriate for a pre-game evening, and spa day massage treatment to calm my nerves before a big game, because he's thoughtful like that.

@sashatheoneandonly - Ilya Rozanov is the kind of man who drives 10 hours just to talk to me and spend the night with. Who buys my favorite candy bars, listens to me ramble on about hockey, and at the end of the night, kiss me like I'm the most precious person in the world.

@sashatheoneandonly - When Ilya and I spent our first night together, we laughed, we loved, and we listened to each other. I could not ask for a better man, a better partner, or a better friend to have in my life.

@ilyarozanov - I love you, Ilya. I know we've just met, but… Right now, I just wanted to say that. I love you. :)

Shane sat cross-legged on the New York hotel bed, phone trembling in his hands as he typed out the final tweet. The words blurred together through unshed tears, but he kept going anyway.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

Around him, the Montreal Voyageurs had gathered in various states of undress, with Hayden in boxers and a wrinkled T-shirt, JJ still in his pajama pants and bare chested, Berkes wearing just one sock, Laine with his hair sticking up at odd angles and Drapeau in a white thong.

They'd all abandoned their rooms the moment the news broke, crowding into Shane's space like a defensive wall to protect him.

Shane took a deep breath, double checking the last line, just one more time.

@ilyarozanov - I love you, Ilya. I know we've just met, but… Right now, I just wanted to say that. I love you. :)

He hit send.

The dam broke.

Shane's face crumpled as rolls of hot tears spilled down his cheeks. His shoulders shook with the force of holding everything in for his whole life.

Never before had he felt such fear, such anger, and the overwhelming protectiveness that came with it.

Right now, Sasha was Ilya's Bradley. Like fucking hell was he going to let Ilya get called out for being a weirdo and have nobody in his corner. Not a fucking chance.

"Hey, hey, c'mere." Hayden moved first, wrapping an arm around Shane's shoulders and pulling him close.

JJ mirrored him from the other side, sandwiching Shane between them. "I'm proud of you, man," JJ continued, voice rough with sincerity as he held back a choked sob. "That took guts. Real guts."

Shane buried his face against Hayden's shoulder, phone still clutched in one hand. "I just… I couldn't let people think he was... He's not. He's…."

"We know," Hayden said quietly, squeezing him tighter. "Everyone who matters knows."

Across the room, Berkes and Laine hunched over their phones, scrolling rapidly through feeds on the room's sofa chairs.

"Dude, you're blowing up," Berkes announced, eyes wide. "Like, good blowing up. People are sharing your posts everywhere. They're cheering for you! You ratioed the FUCK out of Sasha. Like 10:1 slaughter!"

Laine looked up, grinning ear to ear. "Well, look at that. Sasha got banned. Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, all of them. Account suspended across the board. Bet it was that Harris dude from Ottawa, I hear he's a wizard."

"Good," Shane muttered into Hayden's shirt, voice muffled.

Drapeau leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, expression thoughtful. "I hope Sasha finds some peace eventually. There are clearly demons eating at him. Demons that caused him to lash out."

"I hope he chokes on a dick," Comeau said flatly from the armchair.

Drapeau sighed. "Gilbert."

"What? I said what I said."

A few scattered laughs broke the tension, and Shane lifted his head, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. His phone buzzed in his palm.

FaceTime request.

Ilya Rozanov.

"Answer it," Hayden urged, releasing him.

JJ gave Shane's shoulder one last squeeze before pulling back.

Shane steadied himself and accepted the call.

Ilya's face filled the screen, hair disheveled, eyes red-rimmed, exhaustion carved into every line of his expression. Behind him, Shane could make out the familiar walls of Ilya's living room, with Luca, Cliff, and Troy just off the screen, and Irina cooking breakfast for them all in the distance.

"He's not alone. Good,” Shane thought.

"Shane, I…." Ilya started, voice cracking. "I am so sorry. I did not know he would do this. Last night, he texted me, I didn't answer him, I didn't block, I did not think for a minute that…"

"Stop," Shane cut him off gently. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. You didn't do anything wrong, Ilya. Not a single damn thing!"

Ilya blinked, clearly not expecting that response. "…but he said terrible things, he showed me when I…"

"Crazy exes happen," Hayden called from beside Shane, loud enough for the phone to pick up. "Not your fault, Rozanov."

The rest of the Voyageur team crowded closer, faces appearing at the edges of Shane's screen.

"Yeah, man, don't sweat it," Roy added, leaning over Shane's shoulder.

Koch nodded. "We've all got skeletons. Yours just decided to rattle really loud."

Ilya's expression softened slightly, though the guilt still lingered. "You all are… very kind."

"How's everything on your end?" Shane asked, searching Ilya's face.

Ilya exhaled slowly. "Posts are down. All of them. My lawyer is filing charges, revenge porn, harassment, defamation. We will get restraining order. My Mama says Sasha's family in Russia will have strong words with him. I… I just want this chapter closed." He paused, and something warm crept into his tired eyes. "I have beautiful new chapter to worry about now."

The Voyageurs collectively went "awww."

Shane felt his cheeks heat up, and he couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips. "Ilya…"

"Yes?"

"I love you," The words came easier this time, steadier. "…and I'm sorry you had to go through all that, but just know… No matter what Sasha said or what those pictures showed… I love you."

Ilya's entire face shifted from stressed and anxious to pure relief and joy. "I love you too, moya lyubov'. So much."

They both leaned forward at the same time, pressing kisses to their respective screens.

The hotel room cheered in support.

"YES!" Berkes shouted, fist-pumping the air.

"THAT'S OUR CAPTAIN! GO GET YOUR MAN!" Laine hollered.

The chant started low, building in volume as more voices joined in.

"Hollanov! Hollanov! Hollanov!"

Shane laughed through fresh tears, half-mortified and half-delighted as his teammates stomped their feet in rhythm with the chant. Even Drapeau, the calm and collected of their group, was grinning like an idiot.

On the screen, Ilya laughed too, bright and unguarded. "What is Hollanov?"

"Your ship name, dumbass! Don't you see the thirsty people on Twitter and Threads?" Comeau yelled.

Shane shook his head, smiling so wide his face ached. "I can't wait for our long weekend. Maybe we can see each other for a few hours before then. Though it’s my turn to drive up to Montreal though. We'll rotate.  We’ll do everything, together."

Ilya's expression softened again, all the noise fading into background static as they looked at each other through the screen. "I would love nothing more."

@sportsnet

BREAKING: Enfants Visage Management has terminated all contracts with Sasha Sidorov, effective immediately. Full statement: "We do not condone harassment, racism, revenge porn, or any behavior that violates the dignity of others. Mr. Sidorov's actions do not reflect our values."

reply @hockeyfan2844 - GOOD. Now send him to JAIL.

reply @sapphicpuckfan - this should've happened HOURS ago but I'll take it

reply @puckbunny2002 - Yuna Hollander really said "fuck around and find out"

@MontrealMorning_Official

Sasha Sidorov has reportedly left Canada and returned to Russia following termination from his modeling agency. Sources say he's entering a private rehabilitation facility for "multiple addictions" at the behest of his family and loved ones. Full story developing.

reply @marlowsqueen - good riddance

reply @haasfan4lyfe - hope he gets the help he needs but also never comes back

reply @depeaupatrice - I hope he finds peace and healing. Everyone deserves a second chance, but far away from Ilya and Shane and far away from those he can hurt.

@user_deleted_4738

Y'all really gonna pretend Rozanov's some angel? The pictures don't lie. Man's a fucking whore. Just look at this man's coke dusted ASS. Man is a freak.

reply @harrisdrover - This account has been reported to platform moderators and law enforcement. Distributing non-consensual intimate images is a crime. Delete this immediately.

reply @montrealvoyageurs - Reported.

reply @ottawacentaurs - Reported.

reply @bostonbears - Reported.

reply @torontoroyals - Reported.

[Account suspended]

@user_anonymous_2947

Still got the pics saved if anyone wants them lol. Dude has a gorgeous cock and a fat ass!

reply @RCMP_Official - This is a criminal offense under Canadian law. We have been notified and are investigating. Cease distribution immediately.

reply @user_anonymous_2947 - [Account deleted]

@jackiepike

To everyone sharing or saving those images: You're not edgy. You're not funny. You're complicit in a crime. All of the PALs in Montreal AND Ottawa AND Boston are watching you freaks like a hawk. If you think we don't see you, you're wrong. We're reporting ALL of you to law enforcement.

reply @haydenpike - My wife is terrifying and I love her.

reply @shanehollander - Thank you, Jackie. <3

@rozanovfanclub

Ilya Rozanov has been through enough! Shane Hollander went out and said "THATS MY MAN, STFU!". That's love. That's loyalty. That's what matters. Forget all the other noise!

reply @sapphicpuckfan - LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK

reply @puckbunny2002 - if someone loved me the way Shane loves Ilya I'd simply fall over dead

@ShaneHollander

Finally got to introduce our families. Best afternoon I've had in a long time. Thanks for everyone's support in the last week! Love always wins in the end.

[A photo of Shane and Ilya at "The Lily of the Valley" tea garden in Ottawa. They're seated at a small table under a canopy of wisteria, laughing. Irina sits beside Ilya, hugging him from behind. Yuna and David are on both sides of Shane. Yuna's arm is around Shane's shoulders and David is focused on a difficult crossword puzzle. The table is covered with teacups, pastries, sandwiches and a vase of sunflowers and daffodils.]

reply @ilyarozanov - My heart is so full

reply @yunahollander - Irina is a treasure. We're already planning brunch and a girl’s day out shopping! David will carry our bags! :)

reply @cliffmarlow - LOOK AT THEM. LOOK AT HOW HAPPY THEY ARE. I'M CRYING.

reply @lucahaas - Cliffy you're crying at EVERYTHING today

reply @cliffmarlow - First you asked me out on that date, now I see my best friend happy, and New York lost to Boston! This is the best day ever!

reply @scotthunter - Why are we catching strays on this fucking post?

reply @haydenpike - I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU SOMEONE WOULD COME ALONG.

reply @shanehollander – Yeah, you did Hayd.  Thanks for pushing me.  Glad you're my best friend in the world.  :)

Chapter 8: Part of Your World (Forever)

Chapter Notes

Shane reclined happily on a beach chair on the pristine sand of Clearwater Beach, Florida. He sipped something pink and fruity through a colorful straw, with a neon blue cocktail umbrella.

The sun blazed overhead, turning the Gulf waters into something between a sapphire and an emerald. He wore nothing but a black speedo and aviator sunglasses, taking the rare chance to soak up the sun. His skin was already bronzing.

"This is perfect," he whispered, stretching his arms and legs out.

Beside him, Ilya sat hunched beneath an enormous beach umbrella, slathered in what had to be beyond the legal limit of sunscreen. Despite his efforts, his shoulders and chest had already turned a suspicious shade of pink. He wore a truly horrific red Hawaiian shirt, with white flowers and palm trees, unbuttoned over swim trunks that reached all the way to his knees. On his head, he wore a straw beach hat.

"I am melting," Ilya groaned, fanning himself with a laminated itinerary he'd been looking over. "How are you not melting?"

"I actually go outside," Shane said, smugly. "You know, during the off-season? When normal people vacation?"

"I vacation! I go to nice places! Places with shade. Places that aren't hell! Why is this the devil's armpit?"

Shane laughed, taking another sip of his drink.

The playoffs had ended two weeks ago, neither Montreal nor Ottawa had made it past the second round. Normally, Shane would have been moping in his condo, obsessing over tapes, but honestly?

Shane wasn't upset about it. Not even a little.

For the first time in his career, he'd felt relief when their season ended instead of crushing disappointment. Hell, both he and Ilya got out of the season three weeks earlier than normal and could finally have an extended period of time with each other.

…and really, Scott Hunter deserved the Stanley Cup that year with the Admirals. Poor guy wasn't getting any younger.

Not long after the loss, Ilya surprised Shane with this trip as his "greatest act of wooing yet". He showed up at Shane's condo with plane tickets, a rental car reservation, and an entire binder full of activities.

"Florida?" Shane had asked, confused.

"Yes, it's warm, sunny, and so big! Nobody will know who we are, because Florida has such bad hockey! Oh, and Cliff says it is perfect place to have fun in America and see all kinds of crazy people! We might even see Florida Man!"

"What's a Florida Man?"

"I don't know… Cliff says we will know when we see them!"

Shane smiled, having always enjoyed the warm weather. "So… What do we do when we're there?"

Ilya got animated, unfurling his itinerary and showing Shane a map. "We fly down, drive all around place, visit all interesting places we want, stay as long or as short as we want, go see Mr. Michael Mouse at his castle, visit a private beach resort, go to concerts, anything and everything! Whatever we want, we do! Whatever we want to skip, we skip! You deserve it," Ilya had said, kissing him. "We both do."

Now, sitting here on the sand with his ridiculous boyfriend slowly turning into a lobster, Shane couldn't have asked for a better wooing.

Ilya flipped through the laminated pages of his itinerary of all the wooings that he had planned, squinting at the tiny print. "Okay, so. I have planned many things. Parasailing at two. Jet skis at four. Dinner reservation at seven at this place that has fresh seafood, like, they catch it that morning. Then tomorrow, we do the aquarium, the botanical gardens, and…" He looked up, eyes bright. "…there is a place that does sunset sailboat tours! Very romantic!"

Shane watched Ilya get more and more excited with each idea, and affection swelled in his chest. Ilya had probably spent weeks planning all this. He could picture it, Ilya at his kitchen table, laptop open, cross-referencing reviews and booking times, determined to make everything perfect, probably calling Cliff every ten minutes.

"What do you want to do first after all our plans here?" Ilya asked, lowering the itinerary.

Shane took another sip of his drink, considering the options. Then he set the glass down in the sand and looked at Ilya over the top of his sunglasses.

"The wooing is your job."

Ilya blinked. "What?"

"You planned all this, you organized all this, so the least I can do for you is let you pick what's fun." Shane gestured at the itinerary. "So, you pick. This is your vacation too, you know! If I hate the idea of something, I'll let you know, but… We're partners. We should both get to have fun here."

Ilya's mouth curved into a grin. He leaned over, bracing one hand on Shane's armrest, close enough that Shane could smell sunscreen. "You trust me that much? With your only vacation for whole year?"

"With my life," Shane said.

A rare vulnerability that Ilya usually kept hidden behind bravado began to form. He leaned in and kissed Shane's cheek, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

"The wooing will be great, then," Ilya murmured against his skin.

Shane smiled, eyes drifting shut as the sun warmed his face. "I know it will."

Ilya pulled back, settling into his chair. He glanced at the itinerary, then at Shane, then back at the itinerary.

"Okay," Ilya said decisively. "First, we stay here. You get more sun. I get more shade. We drink ridiculous drinks and do nothing until our bookings."

Shane laughed. "That's your big plan?"

"Is perfect plan." Ilya adjusted his hat, squinting out at the water. "You have been stressed all season. I have been stressed all season. We deserve to do nothing for once. Today, the sun does all the work."

Shane couldn't argue with that.

They sat, watching waves rolling in comforting rhythms. A few beachgoers wandered past, kids shrieking as they chased seagulls, a couple walking hand-in-hand along the shoreline.

Ilya shifted in his chair, pulling out his phone. He snapped a picture of Shane, relaxed, drink in hand, totally at peace, and grinned at the screen.

"What are you doing?" Shane asked.

"Sending to Cliff. He asked how vacation was going."

"…and you're sending him a picture of me lounging?  Why not one of both of us?"

"He will be jealous." Ilya typed quickly, then showed Shane the screen.

Ilya: Look at my beautiful boyfriend. Very sexy. Very relaxed. You wish you were here. You wish you were me.

Cliff:  Yes, yes, Shane is gorgeous. Have fun, asshole.

Then, not that much longer, another picture came through.

One of Cliff, still in bed, hiding under a thin sheet with Luca, someone's skimpy underwear hanging from a bedpost. Luca's neck was covered in hickies, but Cliff's scratched shoulders told an equally loud story.

Cliff: Look at MY beautiful boyfriend. Very sexy. Very naked under these sheets. We've been FUCKING, Rozy.

Ilya screamed dramatically, averting his eyes from the phone.

Ilya: No! My son! I thought you had better taste than old hairy man!

Shane snorted, shaking his head while he watched Ilya and Cliff have a texting war.

Disney World was something Ilya had always wanted to go to when he first came to Boston in his rookie season and started learning more about American culture.

He'd heard stories about how it was the happiest place on earth, and he'd seen plenty of Disney films and had yet to find one he didn't like, but…

Sasha had never been one for "kid things", and he'd never wanted to go by himself, along with a million other excuses, so… For the longest time, he just assumed it would be one of those things he'd miss out on.

"Can we drive to Disney World first?" Ilya had asked Shane, sheepishly in their hotel room in Clearwater after a long day of activities and a romantic seafood dinner. He'd been worried, at first, that Shane would veto it, but..

"Yeah, man, that sounds great. I've never been. Do you like Disney?" Shane said, nuzzling closer onto Ilya's chest.

"I do," Ilya said, blushing from head to toe. "I… I have wanted to go for long time."

"Then let's see it all. As long as you want."

Thus, Ilya now stood at the entrance of Main Street USA with Shane, both staring at Cinderella's Castle. The peaks of the castle gleamed white and gold against the cloudless sky, while flags snapped in the breeze. Around them, the crowd surged, families with strollers, teenagers in matching shirts, couples holding hands.  One family already arguing about turning around and going home.

Shane's eyes were wide behind his sunglasses. "It's bigger than I thought."

"Is very big castle," Ilya agreed. He pulled out his phone. "We take picture. For memories."

They positioned themselves with the castle framed perfectly behind them. Ilya wrapped an arm around Shane's waist, tugging him close. Shane leaned into him, grinning.

"Say cheese!"

"Cheese!"

Ilya snapped the selfie, then reviewed it. Shane looked happy, relaxed, the castle glowing behind them like something out of a fairy tale.

"Perfect," Ilya murmured.

Shane grabbed his hand. "Come on. Let's get ice cream before the lines get worse."

They wandered down Main Street, past shop windows displaying vintage Mickey ears and glass figurines. The scent of fresh-baked cookies wafted from a bakery, mixing with the sweet smell of cotton candy.

Ilya spotted the ice cream parlor, its striped awning and cheerful music calling to them.

Inside, the shop was packed. Kids pressed their faces against the glass display case, parents debating flavors, Cast Members scooping with "smiles".

Shane studied the menu board. "What are you getting?"

"Chocolate. Is classic." Ilya leaned closer to the case. "You?"

"Vanilla with caramel swirl."

"Boring."

"Simple," Shane corrected.

They ordered, paid, and stepped back outside with their cones. Ilya took a bite, the cold chocolate melting on his tongue.

"Good?" Shane asked.

"Very good." Ilya watched Shane lick his cone, the caramel streaking across vanilla. His tongue caught a drip before it fell but smudged a bit on his cheek.

Shane caught his stare. "What?"

"Nothing." Ilya grinned as he leaned over and licked the caramel off Shane's cheek. "Just admiring view."

Shane rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed.

They walked slowly, savoring their ice cream, pausing occasionally to watch street performers, get autographs from characters, or snap more photos.

By the time they reached Adventureland, both cones were gone.

The Tiki Room sat tucked in a corner, its thatched roof and tropical plants promising shade and air conditioning. They joined the queue, which moved quickly, and were seated inside the circular theater.

The room was dim, cooler, the scent of pineapple and rain forest foliage heavy in the air. Around them, families settled into benches, kids bouncing with excitement.

The lights dimmed further. Music swelled, bright and cheerful, as the animatronic birds came to life overhead.

Shane leaned back, smiling. "This is cute."

"Is very cute," Ilya agreed, watching a parrot flap its wings in time with the song.  “Not as cute as you, though.”

“Ilya…”

“Is true.  You are cuter than mechanical bird.  A thousand times more.”

“Aww.” An elderly woman said, who’d been in the seats behind them.  “Such a lovely young couple,” she whispered to her grandchild, gesturing to them.  “One day I hope you find someone nice like that.”

The fountain in the center began to glow, water sparkling under colored lights. The birds sang, their voices blending in harmony, and Ilya found himself relaxing into the absurdity of it all.

Shane's hand found his and their fingers laced together.

When the show ended, they shuffled out with the crowd, blinking in the sudden brightness.

After hitting up the Pirates of the Caribbean and Jungle Cruise, they made their way to Frontierland, the Wild West taking center stage with wooden storefronts and banjo music. Splash Mountain loomed ahead, its log flume winding through artificial rockwork.

"Can we?" Ilya asked.

"Of course, babe."

They joined the standby line, which snaked through the queue. The wait wasn't long, maybe thirty minutes, and soon they were climbing into a hollowed-out log.

Ilya slid into the front seat. Shane settled behind him, gripping the sides.

"We are going to get wet," Ilya warned.

"That's the point."

The log lurched forward, carried by the current. They drifted through scenes of animatronic animals, upbeat music playing from hidden speakers. Ilya waved at a mechanical rabbit and Shane laughed.

The first drop came suddenly, a gentle plunge that sent water splashing over the edge.

"That wasn't so bad," Shane said.

"Wait for it," a Disney Adult Veteran said in the row right behind them.

The log climbed higher, the mechanical chain pulling them up with click after click. Ilya could see the park spread below them, the crowds tiny from this height.

Then the chain was released.

They plummeted.

Ilya screamed, hands thrown up, water exploding around them in a massive wave. Shane's shout mixed with his, both drenched as the log crashed into the pool below.

They floated to a stop, dripping, laughing, completely soaked.

"Bozhe moy," Ilya gasped, wiping water from his face.

Shane pushed wet hair out of his eyes. "That was amazing."

They stumbled off the ride, squishing with every step. Ilya wrung out his shirt. Shane shook water from his hair like a dog, trying to get some on Ilya, who shook right back and tried to drench Shane in turn.

After The Country Bear Jamboree and Big Thunder Mountain, they wandered into Fantasyland next, letting the sun dry them as they walked. The area in Fantasyland was more whimsical, with pastel colors and fairy tale architecture.

"Ariel's Grotto," Ilya read from a sign and gasped. "We meet the small mermaid!"

"You want to meet Ariel?"

"Of course. Is part of Disney experience. Also, I hear if you eat flesh of mermaid, you become immortal!"

"Ilya… Don't say that around the kids. Also, what the hell are you reading these days?"

They joined the short line, waiting their turn. When they reached the front, a cast member ushered them into a cave-like room decorated with shells and coral. Ariel sat on a rock, her red hair bright, tail shimmering green and purple.

"Hi!" she said, waving. "Welcome!"

Ilya stepped forward, grinning. "Hello, Ariel. We are on vacation."

"How wonderful!" She gestured for them to sit beside her. "Where are you from?"

"Ottawa and Montreal. We play hockey."

"Hockey! That's wonderful! I've always wished I could play hockey, but… Alas, I haven't the feet for it." She gestured to her tail.

Shane hung back, smiling awkwardly. Ariel waved him over. "Come on, don't be shy!"

Shane sat, and Ariel launched into conversation, asking about their trip, their favorite rides, while the cast members took pictures. Ilya answered enthusiastically, Shane adding quieter comments.

Then Ariel said, "Do either of you like to sing?"

Ilya's eyes lit up. "Yes! I know Part of Your World. In Russian."

Shane groaned. "Ilya, no…"

"Ilya, yes." He stood, clearing his throat dramatically.

...and then he sang.

His voice was rough, accented, but earnest. He gestured wildly as he sang, much to the amusement of the other kids in line, who were impressed by hearing the song sang in another language.

Ariel clapped along, laughing. The cast member filming them with a camera was grinning.

Shane buried his face in his hands, but was smiling like a goofball the entire time.

When Ilya finished, Ariel applauded. "That was beautiful! Do be careful that a sea witch doesn't steal your beautiful voice!"

"Thank you, thank you." Ilya bowed.

The small crowd that had gathered outside the grotto clapped too, and a little girl had even tried to join in singing at the end.

They left Ariel's Grotto, Shane still teasing him. "I can't believe you just did that."

"Why not? Was fun. Live a little.”

So as they walked, Shane started singing Part of your World in French, and added his own theatrical tilt to it.

Tomorrowland came next, its sleek architecture and futuristic vibe a sharp contrast to Fantasyland's whimsy.

"Space Mountain," Ilya said, pointing.

"You sure?"

"Of course. Is space. I love space."

They joined the queue, winding through the dark interior. The walls glowed with stars, planets projected overhead. Music pulsed, building anticipation.

When they reached the loading platform, they climbed into the front seat of the rocket-shaped car.

"This will be fun," Ilya said confidently. "This is like Splash Mountain, yes?"

Shane grinned, like a devil. "Yeah, man… Just like Splash Mountain.  Real slow." He turned around, silencing someone behind him who tried to correct them.

The car lurched forward, plunging into darkness.

Music blared. Lights flashed. The coaster whipped through sharp turns, sudden drops, complete blackness broken only by streaks of white light mimicking stars.

Ilya screamed.

"BLYAT!"

The coaster climbed, dropped, spun. Ilya clung to the safety bar, his knuckles white by the time they finally rolled to a stop. Ilya stumbled off, legs shaking.

"That was…" He braced himself against the railing. "…very fast."

Shane rubbed his back. "You good?"

"Is that what it feels like to jump off building before you splat?" Ilya asked, still catching his breath.

Shane burst out laughing. "I think it’s the adrenaline, actually.  Like, you’re safe, but your body doesn’t know that, and your brain tries to catch up.”

Ilya straightened, grinning weakly. "I survive. Barely."

"You did great."

"I screamed like child."

"You screamed like you were having fun."

Ilya sighed, and was still a bit wobbly, but kissed him anyway. "Because I was."

By the time the sun began to set, they made their way back toward the castle. The sky was streaked with orange and pink, the park's lights flickering to life, one by one.

They found a spot near the castle, had a nice dinner together at a nice restaurant, got to meet Pluto and Donald, staying away from the thickest crowds, and waited for the park to reach its climax.

Music began to play, soft at first, then swelling. Fireworks burst overhead, painting the dark sky in brilliant colors. Gold, red, blue, green, cascading sparks rained down.

"When You Wish Upon a Star" filled the air, the melody familiar, comforting.

Ilya turned to Shane, cupping his face. "Anything my heart desires did come true."

Shane's eyes softened. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Ilya kissed him, slow and gentle, the fireworks exploding above them. "…but I did not need silly star, though. I just needed you."

Shane kissed him back, arms wrapping around his neck.

There really was something magical about Disney World. For about the span of 5 days, Shane went to each and every major park in the area, and throughout all of it, he was convinced Ilya hadn't stopped smiling the entire time.

Shane enjoyed the rides, the good food, and all the shows and shops they went to. The crowds and screaming children could go straight to hell, but… Ilya made that part bearable and was good about giving them quiet when he needed it.

"What do you want to do next my love?" Ilya asked.

There was only one thing Shane wanted at that point. The thing he'd wanted since the first time he and Ilya spent a night together.

"Let's go to the spa resort. I'd like a couple of days to chill out." Shane said. Which wasn't a lie, but was definitely laced with ulterior motives.

Which led to the present.

Shane stood in the middle of their 5-star resort bathroom, buck naked, fresh from a shower and a thorough cleaning. He hissed and slowly adjusted to the large plug currently occupying his backside.

"I need about an hour to shower and soak in the tub. Think you can keep yourself busy for a bit? I'm going to zone out with some music." Shane had asked Ilya that, about an hour ago.

"Of course, my love."

Through the bathroom door, he could hear Ilya fumbling around with their luggage, unpacking for the both of them. Shane had played music from his phone to block out noise, and the moaning from his fingers as he stretched himself out.

"Ilya!" Shane shouted, as he cut off the phone and finished drying himself off.

"Yes?"

"Can you get the lube ready?" Shane said, without any preamble.

Shane opened the door to the bathroom, where hot steam rushed out. He stood at the door, leaning against the frame as his steamed skin still glistened with perspiration.

Ilya, who'd been hanging up clothes, immediately dropped a shirt and stood dumbfounded.

Shane grinned. He felt his pulse kick up, and the switch within him flipped again. The one that made sex feel like a high to chase, another contest to win.

"Fuck," Ilya breathed.

Shane grinned, striding across the room. He propped himself at the end of the bed, laid down on his back, kicked his legs up, exposing his ass and letting Ilya get a good view of his plug. "Poor form, Rozanov. You haven't even moved and I’m already on the bed.  You’re falling behind."

Ilya ran to the bed and chucking his shirt off. He dove onto the sheets like a man starved, hands already reaching in between Shane's legs, licking his lips.

"Can we…?" Ilya asked, fingers trailing between Shane's cheeks and gently teasing at the plug.

Shane nodded, breath hitching as Ilya tugged at the plug gently. "Yeah, babe. You've got my hole all day long…"

Ilya groaned, pulling the plug out, and tossing it aside, while Shane moaned from its release. "You are going to be death of me."

"Not yet." Shane shifted, adjusting himself to give Ilya a better angle. "Still need you to fuck me first."

Ilya dove head first between Shane's cheeks and licked a long stripe up and down Shane's hole. He groaned, closing over Shane's entrance and devoured it.

Shane's entire body jolted, a choked gasp tearing from his throat as Ilya's tongue pressed flat against him, wet and warm and relentless.

"Fuck," Shane breathed, legs trembling as Ilya then licked a slow stripe from taint to rim, up to his balls, and then back down again.

Ilya hummed, letting the vibration do its magic. His hands gripped Shane's thighs, spreading him wider, holding him open, taking what he wanted.

Shane's fingers grasped at the bedspread, searching for somewhere to hold onto. His breath came in shallow bursts, each stroke of Ilya's tongue dragging him closer to the edge.

Ilya circled the rim slowly, teasing, before pressing the tip of his tongue inside.

Shane's hips jerked forward. "Oh my God,"

"Relax," Ilya murmured against him, while his breath ghosted over wet skin. "Let me take care of you."

Shane tried. He forced his muscles to loosen, forced himself to breathe, but every time Ilya's tongue pushed deeper, his body wanted to clench, to chase the sensation.

Ilya pulled back, replacing his tongue with a thumb, rubbing slow circles. He leaned in again, this time sucking gently at the rim. Shane's vision blurred, a broken moan spilling from his lips. His tongue worked Shane open until Shane was writhing, incoherent, begging without words.

When Ilya finally backed away, Shane whined from lack of contact.

"Relax, my love…" Ilya whispered. He shucked off his pants and underwear, now just as naked as Shane was. He leapt for their travel bag, grabbed their bottle of lube and slowly slicked his cock up and down with the familiar rose-scented brand.

"Hurry up!" Shane demanded. "Fuck me, already! Like I said months ago, you're GLACIAL, Rozanov!"

Ilya chuckled. "Almost there… Don't worry, you're going to get my big cock. No need to be so bitchy," He said, nipping a bite at Shane's neck. The Russian flipped Shane over, ass up, face down. He stuffed pillows beneath Shane's stomach and got him into a comfortable position. "I'm about to fuck you hard, Hollander. Think you can keep up this time? Or should I put towel down for when you come?"

"Fuck you, you're going to come the second that cock gets inside me."

"Fuck you! It'll be other way around!"

"Just get on with it already! Our vacation will be over by the time you get started."

Ilya lined himself up, slowly sliding his dick up and down Shane's crack, just to tease him. When he could hear Shane about to chirp at him some more, Ilya pushed in, letting the tip of his cock slide in easily.

Shane felt the blunt pressure, the slow stretch as Ilya pushed inside, and clenched.

"Breathe," Ilya murmured, one hand steadying Shane's hip.

Shane exhaled, relaxing into it. The burn faded, replaced by fullness, by the weight of Ilya behind him.

After Shane settled, Ilya bottomed out with a curse, forehead dropping to Shane's back. "You feel… Bozhe."

"Move," Shane said, voice tight. "I'm ready…"

Ilya pulled back and then immediately thrust forward. Again. He established a simple rhythm that had Shane gripping the sheets, biting down on a moan.

"Louder," Ilya said, snapping his hips harder. "Want to hear you."

Shane let the sound out, unfiltered, echoing off the high ceilings, all alongside the slap of Ilya's balls against Shane's undercarriage, and the slick, wet sound of Ilya's cock thrusting in and out.

Ilya reached underneath Shane, wrapping his lubed hand around Shane's cock, and stroked him in time with his thrusts.

"Who's coming first?" Ilya asked, breathlessly, teasing.

Shane turned his head, meeting Ilya's eyes over his shoulder. "N.. Not me."

"Oh?" Ilya grinned, slowing his pace to something torturous, something that was barely a fuck. "So confident."

"You're the one who can't…" Shane gasped as Ilya hit that spot, vision whiting out for a second. "…can't last six seconds."

Ilya laughed, low and dirty. "I lasted much longer than six seconds last time. You were one begging me to slow down."

"Because your dick's too big, asshole."

"You love my big dick."

"Didn't say I didn't."

They fell into bickering, half-laughing, half-moaning, while Ilya's thrusts grew erratic.

"You going to finish already?" Shane asked, clenching around him deliberately each time Ilya tried to slow down and pace himself.

Ilya swore in Russian, hips stuttering. "You, fuck, you are cheating."

"Not cheating. Strategy."

Ilya tried to pull out, but Shane unclenched at just the right time. His cock slipped in and out, hitting the head of his dick perfectly, and… Ilya came with a shout, spilling inside Shane, grip tightening on his hip hard enough to bruise. He slumped forward, his chest against Shane’s back, panting, cock still twitching.

Shane grinned, smug. "I win."

"Not yet," Ilya pulled out carefully, flipping Shane onto his back. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, pulling Shane to the edge. "You have not finished."

Ilya swallowed him down.

Shane's head slammed back into the mattress, a strangled noise tearing from his throat. Ilya worked him over, one hand pressing against Shane's lower belly. With his free hand, he slid in and out of Shane's hole, letting his fingers curve to find Shane's sweet spot.

"Fuck, Ilya, I'm…"

He came hard, screaming Ilya's name.

When he finally came back to himself, Ilya was wiping his mouth, grinning like he'd won the Stanley Cup.

"Still counts as my win," Shane muttered.

"You came second. Is still Silver. So embarrassing to come in second."

"You came first."

"Never said first was winner. You just assumed."

Ilya climbed onto the bed, pulling Shane against his chest. "We both win. Is better this way."

Shane huffed a laugh, nuzzling into Ilya's body. "Fine. Tie."

They lay there, catching their breath, sweat cooling on their skin.

Yet… Not long after, Shane shifted, pushing off on Ilya and sitting up. He straddled Ilya's hips, hands braced on Ilya's chest.

"What are you doing?" Ilya asked, amused.

"Round two." Shane reached back, guiding Ilya's half-hard cock to his entrance. "Today's fuck day for our itinerary. Maybe fuck week, if you're up for it."

Ilya's eyes darkened, hands gripping Shane's thighs. "I am always up for it."

“We’ll see how “up” you are a few days in,” Shane teased.

Shane sank down slowly, head tipping back as he took Ilya in again, down to the hilt. The stretch was easier this time, familiar. He slowly bounced up and down, taking Ilya for a ride.

Ilya's hands slid to Shane's hips, guiding the rhythm, watching his lover ride him, like he was witnessing a work of art being carved from marble.

"Beautiful," Ilya murmured. "Moya lyubov'."

Shane leaned down, kissing him slow and deep. "I love you too."

Fuck day did indeed turn into fuck week, neither man visiting any of the resort's spa or amenities, and surviving on room service alone for the entire period.

Ilya and Shane sat on the dock of their luxury resort, overlooking the ocean at sunset.

After fuck week, neither of them wanted to be far from each other. They cancelled a lot of things on the itinerary, content to hold onto each other and spend days lounging, never separating from each other's touch.

The wooden planks were warm beneath them, still holding the day's heat. The Gulf stretched out before them, rippling gold and orange as the sun sank toward the horizon. Waves lapped against the dock, occasionally spraying them with mist.

Shane rested his head on Ilya's shoulder, eyes half-closed. Ilya's hand moved in slow circles on Shane's knee, thumb brushing the fabric of his shorts.

They'd been sitting like this for half an hour, maybe longer.

Neither of them had spoken much.

Because it hurt too much to say anything.

Tomorrow, they'd fly back home. Back to their separate cities, their separate lives. Back to schedules and obligations and the long stretch of pre-season training that would keep them apart more often than not.

Ilya's chest ached at the thought. He didn't want this to end.

Ever.

"Shane?" Ilya said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Did you… did you enjoy vacation?" The words came out hesitant. They were uncertain in a way Ilya rarely allowed himself to be.

Shane lifted his head, turning to look at him. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

Ilya couldn't meet his eyes. "I just… I wanted to make sure. That it was good. That I was good."

Shane's expression softened. He reached up, cupping Ilya's jaw and turning his face gently. "Ilya. This has been the best time of my life."

Ilya felt tears growing in the corner of his eyes.

"I mean it," Shane continued. "I got to just… be myself. Do what I wanted. With the person I love. There were no expectations, no pressure, just us. We spent a week fucking because that's what we wanted to do. We spent three days just holding onto each other because we know we'll have to be apart again. I… I never second guessed myself once, this whole trip, or worried about being "too much". I… I've waited a long time for that."

Ilya exhaled shakily, and his hand stilled on Shane's knee. "For me too. Is best time of my life. I cannot imagine…" He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.

"Can't imagine what?"

Ilya looked out at the water, the sun dipping lower, painting everything in shades of amber and rose. "I cannot imagine spending rest of my life without you."

Shane went still.

Ilya stood abruptly, pulling Shane to his feet. Shane blinked, confused, but Ilya's hands were steady as they held his.

"Shane Hollander," Ilya began, the man’s voice rough but sure. "I know we have not been together long. Not even a full year has passed yet, and I know this is… fast. Maybe too fast. …but I also know that I have never been more certain of anything in my life."

Shane's eyes widened. "Ilya…"

"When I am with you, I am whole," Ilya continued, words tumbling out faster now. "You see me. Not the captain. Not the showman. Not the superstar. Just me. Sometimes, I am boring and want… Boring things. Other times I am selfish or needy, and you let me be selfish and needy. You love me anyway. You let me love you back. You let me be loud and ridiculous and too much, and you never ask me to be less than what I am. You never push me to be more than what I am."

Shane's hand shook, gripping hard onto Ilya's.

"I cannot see world where we are not together," Ilya said, voice cracking. "I do not want to see that world. So I…"

He dropped to one knee.

Shane laughed, a bright and happy sound that made Ilya grin.

Ilya pulled a small black box from his pocket. He flipped it open. Inside sat a simple band of rose gold.

"Shane Hollander," Ilya said again, looking up at him. "Will you marry me?"

Shane's face crumpled. Tears spilled over, hot and fast, streaking down his cheeks. He nodded, once, then again, then over and over until he couldn't stop.

"Yes," Shane choked out. "Yes, yes, yes."

Ilya surged to his feet, sliding the ring onto Shane's finger with trembling hands. Shane threw his arms around Ilya's neck, holding him so tightly Ilya thought his ribs might crack.

Shane kissed him hard, and Ilya kissed him back with just as much strength. Ilya spun Shane around, laughing through their kiss, both of them blubbering at the same time.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were crying.

Shane laughed through his tears, wiping at his face. "You're an asshole."

Ilya blinked, startled. "What?"

Shane reached into his own pocket, pulling out a black velvet box. He held it up, pouting. "I was going to do it tomorrow morning. Over breakfast. At dawn. New beginnings, you know?"

Ilya stared at the box.  "You… you were going to propose?"

"Yes, you big dramatic, romantic idiot, and you beat me to it and I know you're never going to let me live it down!" Shane opened the box, revealing a silver band. "I've been carrying this around for the whole trip! I… I thought I was asking too fast, too!"

Ilya laughed, hard and fast. He took Shane's face in his hands, kissing him again. "Then we propose together.  That way it’s not too fast for either of us. Another tie, yes?"

"Yes," Shane whispered. He slid Ilya's ring onto the Russian's finger, the metal cool against Ilya's skin. They stood there, hands clasped, rings glinting in the fading light.

The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky deepening to violet and indigo. Stars began to glimmer through the twilight.

Ilya pulled Shane close, resting their foreheads together.

"Ya tebya lyublyu," he murmured.

Shane smiled. "I love you too."

They kissed as the first stars emerged, the ocean whispering against the dock, as the world was quiet and perfect around them.

@ShaneHollander

[An image of Shane and Ilya in first class seats, flying home to Ottawa, with wedding rings on their hands. Shane is kissing Ilya's ring and Ilya is kissing Shane's]

Wooing works.

reply - @IlyaRozanov can I have 10/10 now?

Chapter End Notes

First of all, thank you all so much for reading and supporting this goofy, happy world, which was so nice to write after coming off of Second Chances and Winter's Haven! I hope you enjoyed it. :) Comments are appreciated, let me know what you liked about this fic, so I'll know what to focus on in my next stories I write!

Secondly, I've become more active on Threads, and if you want to chat or see me scream into the void about stuff I'm writing, my account is tylerreeda03.

Now I'm going to head off to work on my next WIP and will start publishing once I get the rough draft to a good point (usually 50-75% complete), so I'll see you all in the next story. :)