Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Wyatt Hayes, Luca Haas, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Background Scott Hunter

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Tattoo Artist Ilya Rozanov, Hockey Player Shane Hollander, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros (Game Changers), Fluff and Smut, Banter, POV Alternating, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Shane Hollander Has a Praise Kink, Ilya Rozanov Has Good Gaydar, Ilya Rozanov Has a Big Dick, Meet-Cute, Autistic Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov's Bear Tattoo, Hockey Injuries, Shane's canonical concussion, Texting, Shane Hollander's Freckles, Shane Hollander's Cottage, Minor Angst, Coming Out, down bad shane hollander, Down Worse Ilya Rozanov, this gets so fluffy and sappy

Language:

English

Collections:

ICE OUT HR 2026

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-07 Completed: 2026-03-31 Words: 35,773 Chapters: 3/3

Permanent Reminder

Summary

So here he was. About to walk through the door into the empty-looking tattoo shop. Which he had researched extensively and had the best reviews. And he’d specifically called and asked if they could accommodate a private, after-hours appointment. So it would be really rude for him to bail now. He just needed to move his legs...

As he contemplated calling and cancelling and offering to just pay over the phone as an apology for wasting their time, Shane saw someone walk up to the glass door and open it, sticking his head outside.

“Want to come in, or are we doing tattoo out here?” The man asked, startling Shane out of his thought-spiral. He was tall, broad, and a lopsided smirk pulled at his left cheek, dimpling it. Shane swallowed hard.

OR: Shane's whole team is getting Stanley Cup tattoos. Ilya's a tattoo artist. Bon appetit.

Notes

Prompt fill for the ICE OUT - HR fundraiser!

Started writing a cute, short meet-cute + hook up, ended up with almost 10k words and a bit of a meditation on Shane Hollander Hockey Player™️, plus smut, because that's just what I do.

Thank you Nico, Heather, and dntat for beta-ing, I would literally be lost without you in the wilds of my google docs!!

Chapter 1

Looking at Shane Hollander, most people wouldn’t assume he would be the type of guy to have lots of tattoos. And they’d be right not to — he’s 25 years old, and until last month, he’d never even seriously considered it. But here he stood, outside of Irisha Tattoo Studio in downtown Ottawa, heart beating hard in his chest, hesitating to walk through the glass door of the shop.

This whole thing started a year ago. J.J. had announced to the dressing room that everyone on the team would be getting Stanley Cup tattoos, amid the shouting and cheering and spraying champagne. The whole team cheered except Shane, who was stopped in his tracks. There was no way he would be getting a tattoo of any kind.

“Hell no, man, I’m not getting a fucking tattoo of the cup!” Shane had yelled over the din.

“You ruin all the fun, capitaine!” J.J. had yelled back, and the rest of their teammates started booing at Shane and chanting “Captain boring! Captain boring!” which was a nickname Shane had probably rightfully earned by rarely going out drinking with the team and insisting on his performance diet at every meal. 

Shane had rolled his eyes and sighed, “Okay, fine! I’ll get a tattoo of the cup!” 

He cut off a roar of cheers with, “I’ll get a tattoo of the cup if we win it all again next year!”

Of course, Shane had probably sealed his fate with that promise. Because The Voyageurs won the cup again this year, and J.J. had reminded him of it within minutes of the final buzzer ending the game against Edmonton. Shane had reluctantly conceded and agreed to the tattoo, but said he needed to do it alone. 

So here he was. About to walk through the door into the empty-looking tattoo shop. Which he had researched extensively and had the best reviews. And he’d specifically called and asked if they could accommodate a private, after-hours appointment. So it would be really rude for him to bail now. He just needed to move his legs. 

As he contemplated calling and cancelling and offering to just pay over the phone as an apology for wasting their time, Shane saw someone walk up to the glass door and open it, sticking his head outside. 

“Want to come in, or are we doing tattoo out here?” The man asked, startling Shane out of his thought-spiral. He was tall, broad, and a lopsided smirk pulled at his left cheek, dimpling it. Shane swallowed hard.

“Um,” was all Shane managed. 

The guy opened the door wider, holding it open for Shane expectantly, and the fear of being rude outweighed Shane’s desire to walk away. Going through the door wasn’t committing to anything, after all. 

“Sorry about that,” Shane said as the guy locked the door behind him and lowered the blinds of the large front windows. “I’m a bit nervous, I guess.”

“Is normal to be nervous, but I promise you are in good hands,” the guy said, and Shane realized he had an accent of some kind. Maybe Russian or Ukranian? “I am Ilya. You’re Shane Hollander, yes?”

Ilya stuck out a hand, and it did look good; large, with long calloused fingers and a tattooed vine snaking up the wrist. Shane stared at it for a second before finally reaching out to shake it. As he did, he said, “Yes. Nice to meet you, Ilya. I appreciate you staying here late and making the space available for me.” 

“Well, is not every day that I get Stanley Cup champions in my shop,” Ilya said, that smirk tugging on his cheek again. “Is an honor. As long as you do not hold it against me that I’m a Centaurs fan.”

Oh good. Hockey talk. Shane felt a bit more at ease in this comfortable territory. 

“I would expect no less,” Shane smiled wryly at Ilya, who gestured for Shane to follow him farther into the shop. “Even though they’re awful. But I grew up a Centaurs fan, so I get it. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I would never.” Ilya turned back to look at Shane and winked. Fucking winked. 

This guy was far too sure of himself, and Shane didn’t quite know what to do with that. 

Ilya held aside a curtain that led to a smaller room, and as Shane walked through, he felt the slight brush of the other man’s hand on his lower back, which made Shane’s stomach do a little flipflop and goosebumps prickle across his skin. 

He was just nervous. This was nerve-wracking. He was about to permanently alter his body, and that was a big deal. It had nothing to do with the way this guy’s shoulder muscles rippled under his t-shirt or his sharp, stubbled jawline, or his ridiculous crooked smile. Shane absolutely had not noticed any of those things. 

“Please, sit. I will be right back. Would you like something to drink?” Ilya asked.

“Oh, uh, no thanks,” Shane hiked up the backpack that was on his back. “I brought some water. Snacks too. All the websites said to bring snacks and stay hydrated, so…” he trailed off.

With a soft chuckle, Ilya nodded, “You come prepared, I like that. Be right back.”

Shane sat on the chair/bed thing in the room and looked around. There was a bright overhead light, which he didn’t love, but was probably necessary for such detailed work. His eyes trailed over the walls, painted a deep oxblood red, but almost completely covered in artwork and photos of what he assumed was Ilya’s past work. 

It was all very impressive and intricate, and Shane suddenly felt silly for getting the simple outline of the Stanley Cup from an artist who could do all that. Not that he wanted a giant snarling bear permanently on his body — like the one spread across some guy’s chest in the photo closest to him. Fuck no. But it was a nice chest, he could admit.

Nerves crept up Shane’s throat and he busied himself with taking his water bottle out of his backpack and placing it on a counter next to the chair. He chewed on his lip and was just about to start questioning all of his life choices again when Ilya swept back in with his own water in hand. 

He sat down on the rolling stool in the room and slapped his thighs, which were wide and muscled, straining against the black jeans he wore. “So, what brings Mr. MVP Shane Hollander into my shop?” 

“I haven’t won MVP this year,” Shane pointed out, leaving the “yet” unsaid.  

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, I can predict the future.” 

Shane smiled at that. “We’ll see.”

“We will.” Ilya winked again and Shane’s stomach flipped again. Fuck. “So. You are getting a tattoo, yes? Or are we just here to talk?”

With a sigh, Shane said, “Yes. A tattoo. The whole team is getting them, all the Voyageurs. It was kind of a pact we made last year, that if we won the cup again, we’d all get one.”

“Wow, very bold.”

“I know,” Shane huffed. “We’re lucky that didn’t jinx us. I mean… I guess I’m kind of unlucky either way, because now I’m here.”

“Oh, so sorry you have to be here,” Ilya laughed.

“No, sorry!” Shane corrected. “I just mean… I’m not really the tattoo type. I never thought I’d get one. But I can’t let the team down. So. Here I am.”

Shane’s eyes locked on Ilya’s and they just held each others’ gaze for a beat. The longer Shane looked, the more shades of gold and green he noticed in his eyes — they were hypnotizing. Ilya smiled again, but this one was softer, less of a smirk and more comforting than anything.

“Well, Shane Hollander, I will do my best to make this easy and painless. Well, not painless,” he chuckled again. “It will hurt. But, you know what I mean.”

Shane nodded, trying to be less nervous. He didn’t know why, but he trusted this guy. 

From the shop’s website, Shane had seen that he was the owner, and he had to be talented and reliable if he was able to keep this place open. The dozens of photos on the walls of happy customers showing off their inked bodies didn’t hurt either. 

But what really put Shane at ease wasn’t the empirical evidence that this guy — Ilya — was good at his job. No, it was more the confident way he moved around the space and the way he knew who Shane was but didn’t fawn over him, like he was in on a secret with Shane.

***

Ilya wasn’t the kind of person to be starstruck. And he definitely didn’t get flustered in the presence of someone he was attracted to. Normally, he was the hot person that made other people flustered. But Shane fucking Hollander was sitting in his chair, nervously picking at his cuticle, eyes scanning over all of Ilya’s art on the walls, looking anywhere but at him. 

Ilya had adopted Ottawa as his team when he’d moved here a few years ago to open his shop, but you’d never know Shane Hollander played for a rival team with the way this city fawned over their hometown hero. Especially now that he’d won a second Stanley Cup, you’d think the Centaurs didn’t even exist with how everyone was celebrating. 

So Ilya was knee-deep in Shane Hollander mania, and it was surreal to have him sitting here, looking like a scared teenager here for his first tattoo. Even this nervous, he was undeniably beautiful — the dusting of freckles across his cheeks were charming in photos, but they were absolutely breathtaking in person. Ilya needed to get himself together though, he was here to do his job, not drool over the NHL star in his chair. 

“So. Stanley Cup. A bit on the nose, no?” Ilya teased. That was his comfort zone, and he’d take refuge there to hide his rapidly-developing crush. 

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Shane's eyes went wide. “Why, is that stupid? Should I not?”

“No no, sorry,” Ilya laughed. “I am just teasing, is perfect. And you have earned it, after all.”

Shane relaxed back into his chair and smiled, relieved. God he looked good when he smiled.

“But you did not say — where do you want it?” 

“Oh yeah, that’s the thing. I’m not really sure?” Shane replied, back to shredding his cuticles. “I think my arm?” He touched the side of his upper left arm. “Or maybe my back, like my shoulder? Or I was also thinking it could go on my thigh… That’s what J.J. did…”

It felt like Shane was talking more to himself than Ilya. “J.J. Boiziau?” Ilya asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Shane answered, seeming to regain awareness of his surroundings. “But um, in your expert opinion, what do you think? Where should it go?”

“Those are all good options,” Ilya said with a thoughtful nod. “Will be less painful on your arm or back, but more easy to hide on your thigh if that is what you want.”

“Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Ilya cursed himself internally, everything he said seemed to send this guy down a panic spiral. It was cute that he was so nervous, but Ilya didn’t want to be here until midnight.

“How about this,” Ilya started. “I will print three stencils, and you can try them out in all spots. Then decide which you like best. What do you think?”

Brightening again, Shane replied, “Oh yeah, that would be great. You really don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Ilya smiled. He normally wouldn’t do this, but this was Shane Hollander. He couldn’t be the guy to give the best hockey player in a generation a tattoo he hated for the rest of his life. “I want you to be happy with this."

“Thank you,” Shane said, smiling shyly. “I’m sorry for being a high-maintenance customer.”

God damn it, he was so sweet. Ilya didn’t know how he wasn’t married already. Girls must eat him up, and hockey players married young. 

Although… the way Shane was looking at him, Ilya suspected there might be a reason he wasn’t married with kids by 25 like so many of his teammates. 

“You’re already my favorite customer,” Ilya said with a wink, testing his theory. And yep. Shane Hollander was blushing, a rosy pink blossoming across his cheeks, and Ilya had to bite his tongue.

He needed to be professional. But fuck, Shane Hollander was sitting in his chair blushing. He was so cute and polite and everything the media made him out to be. With professional athletes, you could never really know if their persona was manufactured or not, but Shane’s was clearly genuine. And Ilya was… what? Intrigued? Charmed? No. That wasn’t the right word. Smitten. He was fucking smitten.

“I will get stencils printed, and then we can try it out, okay?”

Shane nodded and chewed his lip, and Ilya had to spin around on his stool so he wouldn’t stare.

***

Shane knew Ilya was going above and beyond for him, and he was grateful for the lack of judgement for his nerves. He’d done a fair amount of research before choosing this shop, and all the reviews he had read said it was a studio where people felt comfortable, and that everyone was kind and professional. 

The reviews also said everyone at the shop was welcoming and inclusive, and Shane had definitely noticed the rainbow flag sticker on the front door when he walked in. Not that anyone knew he was… not straight. No one except the very few guys he’d hooked up with and then ghosted over the years. But still. He didn’t want to get tattooed by a homophobe.

While Ilya went through the motions of printing the stencils, Shane asked, “So um, are you Russian? Ukrainian?”

“Russian,” Ilya replied. “My accent gave it away?”

“Yeah,” Shane huffed. “I know enough Russians in the league to recognize it. And the name of the shop, too.”

“Ah yes,” Ilya cleared his throat. “Named for my mother.”

Shane was about to ask more about his mom, but Ilya cut him off.

“Okay, ready,” he turned back to Shane holding three sheets of paper, each cut around a simple outline of the Stanley cup. “So, we will need to shave the spot you want, so maybe let’s start with arm, see what you think?”

Nodding, Shane stood, pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt as he did. He knew this part was coming too, but there was something so intimate about being shaved by another person that he felt a swell of butterflies in his stomach.

“Ah,” Ilya looked at him apologetically, disposable razor and a bottle of some kind of solution in gloved hands. “Will probably be better if you just take it off.”

“Right,” Shane croaked nervously. He really shouldn’t be nervous; he’d been getting undressed in front of other men for years, and it really wasn’t that big of a deal. But there was something about the way this guy was looking at him, with a soft simmering heat behind his eyes, that almost made Shane shudder before he pulled the shirt over his head. He folded it neatly and set it on the counter next to his water bottle.

“Oh,” Ilya chuckled. “Not much hair anyway.”

“Hey,” Shane protested, a bit embarrassed. “It’s natural.”

“That wasn’t insult,” Ilya said matter-of-factly, before he rubbed some of the solution on Shane’s upper arm. He was standing close enough that Shane could feel Ilya’s breath on his shoulder while he carefully scraped the razor over his arm a few times. His embarrassment flared as goosebumps prickled across his arms, and he saw Ilya fighting his smirk again. 

Shane watched Ilya in the mirror as he methodically prepped his skin, and he couldn’t help but track the movements of his dexterous hands and the way he carefully considered Shane’s arm like it was a canvas he was about to paint. It was undeniably attractive to see someone so focused on their craft, even just this minor part of it, and Shane had to close his eyes to stop himself from staring more. 

“You’ll need to open your eyes for this part,” Ilya said, quietly since he was so close to Shane’s ear. “What do you think of this placement?”

Shane opened his eyes and glanced at the 5ish-inch Stanley Cup on his arm, grimacing immediately. 

“Oh, no, definitely not,” He shook his head. It looked so stupid there, just a lone symbol on this arm. It felt like he was bragging. Which he kind of was, but no. This didn’t feel right.

“Okay, decisive now.” Ilya teased again, and Shane rolled his eyes. There was something about being teased by this guy that made Shane feel like he was being invited into the joke, rather than being made fun of. And after years spent around hockey players, Shane had learned to tell the difference.

“I definitely know what I don’t like,” Shane smiled back. 

Ilya used rubbing alcohol to wipe away the stencil from Shane’s arm, then picked the razor back up to prep a spot on Shane’s back, just above his shoulder blade. His warm, gloved hand smoothed over the skin there after shaving it clean, and Shane let his eyes flutter shut, hoping Ilya didn’t notice. 

The truth was, it had been a long time since he’d been touched so gently. Shane was used to hands on his body — physical therapists and masseurs and doctors, claps on bare shoulders from teammates after games, those kinds of things. But the tenderness he was feeling from this tattoo artist — this stranger — was something Shane hadn’t even realized he’d missed. 

“Okay, how about this?” 

Ilya held up a mirror behind Shane so he could see the reflection of the design on his back. He considered it, not immediately hating it like the one on his arm. 

“This is definitely better,” Shane said, shifting his shoulders slightly, flexing a few times. He didn’t miss the way Ilya’s eyes tracked his movements, and Shane had to resist preening under Ilya’s gaze. “But… I’ll never see it if it’s back there. And I guess I want it to be visible to me, if I’m going through the trouble of getting a tattoo.”

Nodding along, Ilya replied, “Is a good point. Though, if you are like me, at certain point you will need space for more.”

Shane took the opportunity to sweep his gaze over the tattoos covering both of Ilya’s arms, and the hint of one peeking out of his collar. 

“I don’t think I’m going to need to worry about that,” Shane laughed. “Not that it looks bad on you, not at all. Just… not for me.”

“Not at all, huh?” Ilya grinned at him.

Fuck, that was too forward probably. Shane needed to be more careful. 

“Just, you know, this is your profession,” he hedged. “It suits you. I wouldn’t trust a tattoo artist who didn’t have a lot of tattoos.”

Ilya didn’t reply, just kept grinning at Shane in the mirror as he wiped off the stencil from his back. He wasn’t… flirting? Was he? 

“It will be easiest if you sit for the next one,” Ilya said, eyes still on Shane in the mirror. 

“Should I put my shirt back on?” Shane asked with a huffed laugh. 

“If you want to,” Ilya said airily and raised his eyebrows suggestively. 

***

He didn’t put his shirt back on. Ilya watched in disbelief as Shane left his tidily folded shirt sitting on the counter and perched himself on the chair. There was a subtly building tension radiating between them, which Ilya should just ignore, but it was going to be difficult with the way Shane’s wide eyes were tracking his every movement with undeniable wanting in them. He wondered if Shane knew he was looking at Ilya like that or if he was oblivious to his own blatant attraction. 

“Can you roll up shorts above where it will go?” Ilya asked, forcing himself into professionalism. 

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Shane nodded and started pulling his shorts up his thigh. But they didn’t seem to have any stretch and Shane was struggling to get the hem very far up his, frankly, meaty thigh. “Shit, I didn’t wear the right shorts for this. Should I take these off too?”

Ilya held in the “Jesus fucking Christ” that was on the tip of his tongue, and said thickly, “Sure, that works.” 

He watched far too intently as Shane unbuttoned his crisp chino shorts and slid them down his tanned legs, folding them neatly as well and placing them gently on top of his t-shirt.

There he stood, Shane Hollander, the most famous hockey player in the world, in his underwear looking at Ilya questioningly. That was normal. Totally normal day at work. 

“Ah, um, good,” Ilya gathered himself, then rolled his stool over and shaved the spot Shane had indicated, trying not to think about the soft hairs that trailed up and under the black boxer briefs Shane wore. He lightly rubbed the transfer paper on Shane’s thigh, all hard muscle under his hand, and pointedly avoided shifting his eyes slightly to the right, where Shane’s dick was just there. 

“What do you think?” Ilya asked, rolling out of the way. 

Shane stepped towards the mirror and assessed his thigh, chewing on his lower lip. Ilya, meanwhile, assessed Shane’s ass. He knew hockey players had impressive glutes by necessity, but damn, Shane was something to behold. Ilya let his mind wander, imagining what it would look like if the man in front of him just stuck his thumbs under that waistband and tugged a bit. Ilya felt his mouth water, but snapped back to reality when Shane caught his eye in the mirror again. His blush was back, but his lips were quirked up at the corners and Ilya knew he’d been caught staring. 

“So?” Ilya asked, bringing them back to the tattoo.

“I think this is it,” Shane nodded when he answered. “I can hide it easily if I want to, but I’ll also be able to see it and appreciate it.”

“Okay. Let’s do it,” Ilya said, matching the bright, nervous smile Shane shot at him with a smile of his own. 

“I think I’ll put my shirt back on, though,” Shane said with a shy little laugh that Ilya thought might be the most adorable sound he’d ever heard. “Getting kinda cold.”

Once Shane was settled back in the chair, Ilya tossed out his gloves and put on a fresh pair. He looked over at Shane and said, “Now, if anything hurts too much, you need to stop for any reason, just say so, okay?”

“I’ll be fine, I’m sure,” Shane said with faux bravado. 

“Just saying, men usually are much more sensitive than women with tattoos, so if you need break…” 

“I won’t need a break,” Shane insisted defiantly.

“Okay, Shane Hollander,” Ilya smirked, and got started. 

Ilya gripped Shane’s thigh with his big hand, and he marveled at how far it spanned across the thick muscle there. He resisted the urge to squeeze and feel Shane flex under his fingers. Instead he switched on his gun, picked up some ink, and brought it down onto the smooth flesh. 

Shane jolted slightly, giving Ilya an excuse to squeeze and hold him in place. He was used to this, especially with a first-timer.

“You’re okay,” Ilya eased, as he started tracing the outline of the cup.

“Sorry, about that,” Shane breathed through gritted teeth. 

“No, no, is normal,” Ilya said in a soothing tone, continuing to follow the lines of his design. “Keep talking, will distract you.”

“Okay,” Shane breathed, squeezing his eyes shut, making his nose crinkle up with it. Cute. 

“Why do you keep saying my full name?” Shane asked, voice strained.

Ilya chuckled to himself. 

“Because. You are Shane Hollander. Your face is everywhere, I hear your name every day on TV. You’re hottest man in the NHL. You’re just… Shane Hollander. Whole name.”

“Well, can I just be Shane for a few minutes while you’re stabbing me down there?” He asked, clearly joking, but sounding more like pleading through the pain. 

The question made Ilya’s heart swell, and he was glad Shane’s eyes were closed, because his face was probably doing something very soft and stupid. But how could he not melt? This neurotic star who, Ilya realized, had to see his own face and hear his own name every day, everywhere. 

“Of course,” Ilya said, hand sweeping slowly up the curve of the cup, holding Shane’s hamstring through a slight twitch. “Shane.”

“Thank you,” Shane said, almost a whisper. A few beats passed with only the buzz of the tattoo gun filling the silence before Shane said, “So… hottest man in the NHL, eh?”

Ilya snorted, but kept his focus. “Is what people say,” he replied, evading the truth — it’s what Ilya says. Has said. On several occasions, in bars, to his friend Svetlana, and maybe in an Instagram comment or two if he’d drank too much.

“Oh yeah?” Shane asked smugly.

Ilya chanced a glance up, and his eyes were still closed, but Shane had a coy smile playing across his lips. 

“Not what I say, of course,” Ilya hummed, returning to his work. 

“Of course not,” Shane huffed out. “So who do you think it is, if not me?”

“You are who is supposed to be talking, Shane, not me,” Ilya deflected again. He smiled to himself, enjoying the way Shane’s name — just his first name — sounded on his lips. 

“You don’t want to tell me? I won’t be offended.”

Shane seemed to be relaxing, and Ilya was relieved, so he kept the joke going.

“No no, is my big secret crush, you see,” Ilya teased.

“You should tell me, maybe I can introduce you,” Shane laughed, making his leg shake a bit.

“Stay still,” Ilya instructed and Shane froze. 

“Shit, sorry,” Shane grimaced.

“Is okay, you’re doing so good,” Ilya reassured him and glanced back up to see Shane’s cheeks turning pink again. Ilya bit his lip. How could he think anyone was hotter than the man currently blushing in his chair? It was ridiculous that he even suggested it. 

“So, you would introduce me? To NHL player I think is hot?” Ilya steered them back to the conversation. “For some reason I think that would not go well. NHL is all a bit too straight for me.”

“Not the whole NHL,” Shane said softly, face now completely red, and Ilya’s stomach clenched.

“No?” Ilya asked, tentative.

“No,” Shane swallowed thickly. “But you know… no one has ever said anything publicly. So.”

“Yes,” Ilya understood his meaning. “Well, I am not kind of guy who spreads rumors.”

“Thank you,” Shane breathed.

“Of course,” Ilya replied, sincerely. “Almost done here, Shane.”

“Really?” 

“Yep.” Ilya put the finishing touches on the shading under the bowl of the cup, wiped it one more time, and said, “Done. And you didn’t even open snacks.”

***

Blinking his eyes open, Shane sat up from his slightly reclined position and glanced down at the ink now embedded into his upper-thigh. There it was, the outline of the Stanley Cup — his lifelong goal, now twice-achieved — etched on his body. Next to the irritated redness and raised ridges of the tattoo, Ilya’s hand lingered, bracketing the design, his thumb brushing ever so slightly back and forth in a soothing motion. 

“Whoa,” Shane whispered. 

“What do you think?” Ilya asked hopefully, clearly proud of his work, and finally pulling his hand away. Shane had the urge to grab Ilya’s wrist and pull it back — already missing his steadying warmth. 

He surveyed it, this symbolic replica of the one thing he’d always wanted. Yet now that he’d gotten it twice, he had realized that maybe he needed more in his life than his name on this trophy. It was fleeting, being a champion. And he knew the likelihood that they’d win it all a third time in a row was low. So this permanent reminder was welcome, appreciated. But it made stark the reminder of what he didn’t have. 

Shane’s eyes flicked up to meet Ilya’s, which were steady and expectant on him. 

“It’s perfect,” Shane said, finding himself smiling.

Ilya’s face broke into a bright grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Perfect,” he echoed. Their gazes held for a simmering moment before Ilya continued, “Let’s get it wrapped up.” 

While he moved around the small space gathering up some things, Ilya told Shane all the after-care instructions — “Will all be on paperwork I give you, but telling you now too.” — and Shane suddenly felt the strong urge to prolong his time here. Without realizing it was even happening, Ilya had set Shane at ease and made him laugh and distracted him from the pain of the tattoo so much that he’d relaxed, actually relaxed — not something he did often, especially not with other people around.

Ilya sat back down in front of Shane and handed him a small brown paper bag. “Everything you will need is in there,” Ilya instructed. “Do you mind if I take a picture before I put on saniderm?”

“Oh,” Shane said with surprise, tilting his head to think. He probably should have expected the question, given all the photos around him, but the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

“Not to share with anyone,” Ilya rushed to add. “I will not post anywhere, just want to have proof for myself that I did tattoo for Shane Hollander.”

Well that was adorable, how could Shane deny that? 

“Yeah, of course.” Shane smiled at him. “Do I need to do anything?”

“No, no, stay right there.” Shane watched Ilya grab his phone and open the camera, bringing it close to his leg so there were no identifying details to give away who was in the photo. He snapped a few pictures and said, “Thank you.”

“Actually, can you take one with my face in it? So I can text the team,” Shane asked, feeling a bit crazy that he basically just asked a stranger to take a picture of him in his underwear. “If that’s okay, I mean,” Shane quickly clarified.

“Of course is okay,” Ilya said with that teasing, flirting tone back in his voice. “Stand up, will look better.”

Shane moved into the position Ilya wanted and stood there awkwardly while Ilya snapped a couple more photos. Only after he’d taken them did Shane realize he probably should have asked Ilya to take the photos on his phone. Ilya didn’t seem to be thinking about that, because he just put his phone down, pulled on another pair of gloves, and asked Shane to sit back down so he could cover the finished tattoo in a bandage. 

Awkwardness crept back under Shane’s skin; he always hated these in-between transitory moments. He should be hurrying out the door and back to his life, but he stayed seated there in the tattoo chair, reluctant to go, while Ilya’s hand once again lingered on his leg. Shane realized too late that his cock was starting to swell — the mere proximity of Ilya’s hand getting him aroused. Ilya must have noticed too, because he rolled his stool over to grab Shane’s shorts from the countertop and hand them to him. Shane scrambled to dress, embarrassment churning in his gut along with gratitude that Ilya didn’t say anything. 

But the arousal, and Ilya’s intoxicating proximity, was making Shane bold. 

“So, uh, can I give you my number to text me that picture?” Shane asked, filling the charged silence. He picked up his backpack and take-home bag, walking back into the main lobby as he asked, nerves making him shy despite his boldness. Ilya followed, tossing his gloves in the trash as he went, and replied once Shane turned back to look at him.

“Wow, Shane Hollander giving me his number.”  Ilya raised his eyebrows suggestively. 

And so what if he was? He’d basically come out to this guy — this hot, charming, capable man, who seemed perfectly comfortable learning that Shane was closeted and perfectly comfortable flirting with him — perfectly comfortable with Shane starting to get hard in his studio.

“You don’t want it?” Shane raised his eyebrows back at Ilya. He could play this game too. 

“No, no, I do want it,” Ilya’s crooked smirk was back, and Shane blushed again under the intensity of his gaze. He took his phone out of his pocket and said, "Whenever you’re ready.”

When the text came through with all the photos of Shane and his fresh tattoo, Shane diligently created a new contact for Ilya. 

“I uh, didn’t get your last name,” Shane said by way of asking for it. 

“Rozanov,” Ilya supplied. “With a Z, in English.”

“Ilya Rozanov,” Shane smiled at him once he’d saved the contact. “Great name.”

“Thank you, Shane Hollander.” Ilya smiled back. “You are welcome to use that number if anything comes up, any questions as you heal.”

That pesky arousal stirred again in Shane’s veins. He knew for a fact that the paper in his little after-care bag said to call or email the shop with any questions (he’d read the PDF of it on their website, okay?), and here Ilya was telling Shane to text him — the owner — directly. 

“I will, thank you,” Shane said, more softly than the moment called for. But Ilya was walking towards him with a hungry look in his eyes, and Shane's throat was suddenly thick with anticipation. 

“I hope you do,” Ilya replied, quiet too, now that he was close enough to Shane for him to see each fleck of green in his golden-brown eyes. 

Shane swallowed hard, knowing he should step away, out the door, and never text or call or email or think about this place again, if he knew what was good for him. But he didn’t do that. Quite the opposite, actually. He stepped ever so slightly closer to Ilya, who took that as the invitation it was and reached up a hand to gently hold Shane’s jaw.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt his blood thrumming through his veins, every nerve ending alight with anticipation. He could hardly remember the last time he was kissed — maybe last summer when he went to Mexico with some of the guys? He’d gone off to a bar alone and made out with a guy in the alley outside before running away. It just didn’t feel right.

But this felt so right. Right in a way that maybe nothing else had felt before.

Shane's eyes were fixed on Ilya’s full, pink lips, the swoop of his cupid’s bow, which Shane had the wildest urge to suck on. Ilya’s thumb brushed lightly over Shane’s chin, and slowly, far too slowly, Ilya moved closer, parting his lips as he went, and when Shane’s eyes fluttered closed, he felt the commanding but tender press of Ilya's mouth on his for the briefest moment. It wasn’t nearly enough. Warm and wet and full, Ilya’s lips were on Shane again, longer this time, and when Ilya pulled back again, Shane leaned forward, chasing the kiss, desperate for more. 

As he tilted forward, seeking Ilya’s mouth, Shane’s thigh brushed against Ilya’s and he jumped back, wincing in pain. “Fuck!” he hissed.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” Ilya put a concerned hand on his shoulder, and it steadied him. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Shane breathed, cursing himself for ruining the moment. “I should… I should probably go…”

He turned to leave, head ducked, feeling the very real “what the fuck did I just do?” fear churning in his stomach.

“You could stay.”

Ilya’s voice stopped Shane in his tracks, and he turned slowly away from the door. “Stay?” He asked.

What did Ilya mean? Why would Shane stay? To make out in the tattoo shop? 

“Well, you have not paid yet,” Ilya said with a smirk. “But also I live upstairs, if you wanted a drink or —”

“Yes.” Shane cut him off, overeager but finding it hard to be embarrassed when Ilya was looking at him like that. 

Ilya laughed, raising his eyebrows knowingly. 

“But I don’t really drink…” Shane added, unsure if he needed to specify, but not wanting to give Ilya the wrong idea.

Ilya’s eyes sparkled in that way Shane never realized eyes could, and he huffed another laugh, saying, “I’m sure I can find something for you,” with a smirk. “Let me close up shop and we can go out the back door.”

***

Shane paid Ilya in cash, blushing as he included a very big tip, which Ilya thanked him for breezily, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable by calling out the unnecessary generosity. Then he lingered awkwardly in the middle of the shop, thumbs hooked in his pockets, while Ilya cleaned up his station and made sure everything else was tidied up for the next day.

Ilya didn’t know what had prompted him to ask Shane Hollander to stay and have a drink, the words had just spilled out of his lips before he even had time to think about it. He was even more surprised that Shane agreed to stay. But the sparks that fizzed between them, the ones that somehow drew them close enough to kiss, were apparently impossible to deny for either of them. 

“I don’t usually, um,” Shane started, then trailed off as he followed Ilya up the back stairs that led to his apartment. 

Turning to face Shane on the landing, Ilya asked, “Don’t usually get tattoos?” because it was too easy to tease Shane, and he was starting to find it a bit of a thrill when this hockey superstar blushed like a shy teenager. 

“Well, yeah,” Shane huffed, “But I mean, I don’t usually go home with… well, anyone really.”

The lock clicked and Ilya opened the door as Shane spoke, and he walked inside, holding it open for Shane, who was back to chewing on his lip.

“NHL’s hottest player and Montreal captain Shane Hollander must have his pick of who to fuck, no?” Ilya asked, teasing sure, but also very curious about Shane's life as a public figure who seemed to keep so much private. 

Shane didn’t answer right away, opting to take off his shoes and carefully place them next to the door, and line his backpack up next to them. Ilya itched to grab him and kiss him again — to unravel the tightly wound thread that seemed to keep Shane together. He’d gotten a taste of a more relaxed Shane in his chair, but without the distraction of the needle marking his leg, Shane was zipped right back up. What would it take to get him to really let go? Ilya was desperate to find out. 

Ilya sat on his couch, knowing his modest apartment with Ikea furniture was probably not up to millionaire hockey player standards, but suspecting Shane wasn’t the kind of person to judge. He patted the seat next to him and Shane tentatively sat there, turning toward Ilya and finally answering his question.

“I think you can probably guess that it’s a little more complicated than having my pick of who to…” he cleared his throat. “Who to fuck.”

“Because it is men you want?” Ilya asked, straight to the point, because he thought Shane probably needed less ambiguity in this moment. 

Looking down at his hands in his lap, Shane cleared his throat again and said, very softly, “Yes.” He looked back up, and Ilya was shocked to see tears pooling over his long lower lashes. They were beautiful fucking lashes.

“Well, Shane,” Ilya fought the urge to say his full name. “I can make this very uncomplicated for you, if you want.” He smoothed a hand over the barely-there stubble he’d felt on Shane’s jaw when they’d kissed earlier, waiting for confirmation that this was what Shane wanted. 

“I want,” Shane answered, blinking away the tears that never fell, and that was all Ilya needed. 

He leaned forward slowly, careful to avoid Shane’s bandaged upper thigh, and kissed him again. Shane let out a tiny moan and immediately deepened it, sliding his tongue into Ilya’s mouth and kissing him greedily, like he hadn’t been properly kissed in a long time. Which Ilya realized, he probably hadn’t. And he likely wouldn’t see Shane ever again, except on his TV, so Ilya was determined to make this good for him. He cupped Shane’s jaw with his other hand now, holding him in place while he sucked on Shane’s plush lower lip, then swiped his tongue inside again, which earned him another, louder moan. 

Without warning, Shane pushed forward and swung his leg over so that he was straddling Ilya’s lap, and his eagerness had Ilya’s cock already painfully hard in his jeans.

“Ah, shit,” Shane hissed, pulling away, and adjusting his left leg. “These stupid shorts, why did I wear these?”

Realizing that Shane’s shorts offered no stretch and were now pressing into his fresh ink, Ilya took the opportunity to make a suggestion. “You won’t be needing them anyway, maybe we get rid of shorts?”

Shane smiled shyly, sliding off Ilya’s lap and carefully unbuttoning and stepping out of his shorts. From his seated position, Ilya had a perfect view of Shane’s dick, also fully hard, stretching the fabric of his boxer briefs. But Shane didn’t sit back on his lap. Instead he gestured at Ilya and raised his eyebrows. Oh. He wanted Ilya’s jeans off too. Well, he’d have to use his words. 

“What?” Ilya asked, feigning stupidity.

“Are you… are you going to take off your jeans?” The way Shane’s freckles popped against his pink cheeks when he asked the question was absolutely worth being a brat.

“Ooooh, my jeans,” Ilya laughed. “Yes, yes.” He wiggled out of them without standing, needing Shane back in his lap, which he got the moment he kicked his jeans aside.

They stayed like that, kissing slow but deep, digging fingers into each others’ hair for several sweet minutes before Ilya grabbed Shane’s hips, careful to avoid the sensitive spot on his leg, and pulled him forward, urging him into a slow grind. Shane’s moans turned into a whine and the first intentional slide of their clothed cocks against each other, and Ilya could practically feel his dick throb with how much it needed to be touched. 

Pulling back and breaking the kiss, Ilya kept directing Shane with hands gripped tightly on his hips. He marveled at Shane’s spit-slick lips, slightly parted, and felt powerful knowing he’d done that to Shane fucking Hollander. 

“Tell me what you want,” Ilya said in a soft, gruff voice that surprised him with how wrecked it sounded already. 

“I don’t know,” Shane answered, squeezing his eyes shut and pushing his hips forward again. “You, I want you.”

And before Ilya could do anything, Shane was scrambling off his lap and down onto the floor, kneeling between Ilya’s legs, looking up with desperate, questioning eyes. 

Fuck. Ilya’s chest heaved. He shouldn’t be so out of breath already. But he was winded by the intensity of his own desire. 

Ilya peeled his shirt off, and it was Shane’s turn to be winded. Ilya tried not to preen under his lust-drunk gaze, but it was hard when Shane was looking at him like he had never seen a man’s bare chest before. It seemed Shane’s eyes snagged on something, because his expression turned puzzled.

“Oh,” Shane whispered. “It’s you. The bear.”

Ilya chuckled softly. “Oh yes, did you see the picture?”

Shane nodded.

“Was my very first tattoo. From when I lived in Russia still.” Ilya said with a rueful smile. “Like to have picture as reminder of where I started — I designed it.”

Ilya’s chest was scattered with other tattoos, as were his arms and legs, but Shane seemed stuck on the bear. 

“You like it?”

“It’s pretty stupid,” Shane said plainly and Ilya let out a shocked laugh. “But yeah, I like it.”

They looked at each other, smiling affectionately, until Shane seemed to remember that he was on his knees and he sat up again and slid a tentative hand over the bulge that had been desperately aching in Ilya’s briefs.

“Fuck, yes,” Ilya breathed. “Do that.”

But instead of continuing, Shane tugged at the waistband, and Ilya lifted his hips so Shane could pull his underwear completely off. Ilya thought Shane would get back to stroking him, but instead he leaned tentatively forward and placed a soft kiss on the swollen tip of Ilya’s cock. 

“Can I?” He asked softly. As if it was even a question. Ilya nodded, swallowing hard.

Leaning forward, Shane gripped Ilya’s thighs and licked a long stripe up his cock, once, then twice, and Ilya shuddered a little. Looking pleased with himself, Shane took the head in his mouth and Ilya was lost to the world from there.

“Yes, that’s so good.” 

Ilya had noticed the way Shane had been affected by his praise earlier, and it was even more satisfying now, the way Shane groaned around his cock, encouragement enough to keep going. 

“Just like that, Shane.”

***

Shane realized in that moment, with his fucking tattoo artist’s dick in his mouth, that he really liked hearing his name during sex, especially when he was being told how good he was doing. He didn’t want to think about why, he just wanted more of it. So he pushed his lips down the (honestly huge) cock in his mouth, then hollowed his cheeks and sucked back up. 

The adrenaline that had started to fade after his tattoo was done was surging through his veins again, and Shane felt wild in a way that he almost never did. He was a contained, controlled person — not a person who got tattoos, not a person who hooked up with strangers (with very few exceptions), not a person who was so turned on from giving a blowjob that he was about to come in his underwear, dick completely untouched. But Ilya’s praise and moans above him were turning him into someone else completely.

Just as Shane was hitting a rhythm, Ilya ran a hand through his hair and tugged slightly, pulling Shane off of him. 

“Fuck, you have to stop,” Ilya breathed, yanking Shane back up into his lap.

“Sorry, shit, was that bad?” Shane asked, mortified. He knew he wasn’t the most experienced at this, but he thought he was okay at it. He’d even tried to practice a few times on the one dildo he’d been brave enough to buy, and enjoyed it far more than he was comfortable admitting, even to himself. But Ilya had probably had much much better.

“No, no, I just don’t want to come yet,” Ilya chuckled, leaning up to nip at Shane’s mouth again. 

“Really?” Shane asked, relieved.

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Now get these off.” He snapped the waistband of Shane’s boxer briefs and Shane laughed, scrambling out of them.

Ilya stood too, and Shane started to protest — he’d wanted to get back in Ilya’s lap. But Ilya cut him off with a kiss, then whispered into his ear, “Come to bedroom, it’s more comfortable.“

When they fell onto the bed together, Shane noticed Ilya was careful to avoid his bandaged thigh as he pushed Shane’s legs apart and settled in the space between them. He looked down at Shane with a much softer, sweeter smile than the smirk he’d been flashing all evening.

“You are very beautiful, Shane Hollander,” Ilya murmured as he ran a hand gently through Shane’s hair. It made goosebumps bloom across Shane’s skin and he sighed into the feeling. “No, sorry. Just Shane. You are very beautiful, Shane.”

His heart did a little flip-flop at that, touched that Ilya remembered he wanted to just be a real person tonight — not Shane Hollander Hockey Player. It made Shane feel safer, like Ilya understood what he life was like, and was offering a break from it. Shane was, for once in his life, happy to take what was offered.

Ilya had a hand between them, slowly stroking Shane’s aching cock. It was dry and rough but so so good; just to be touched like this by those talented hands had Shane nearly crying out already. But this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted so much more, because tonight was all he had. 

“Will you…” Shane had never asked for this before — it had kind of just happened. But he had been brave plenty of times today, he could be brave one more time. “Will you fuck me? Please?”

“Fuck,” Ilya breathed in answer, crashing his mouth down onto Shane’s. He sucked on Shane’s tongue, and Shane whimpered into his mouth when he felt Ilya’s hips push forward, making their hard cocks slide against each other. Pulling away, Ilya said, “You have… done this before?”

“Jesus,” Shane huffed an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah. I have. You don’t get to deflower me or whatever.”

“Took your tattoo virginity, is good enough,” Ilya laughed.

Shane squeezed his eyes closed and laughed harder than he rightfully should be while naked and hard in a stranger’s bed. 

“Will make this easy and painless for you too, okay?” Ilya laughed softly, kissing Shane’s neck. 

“Okay,” Shane replied, his laugh dying on his lips. 

Ilya reached over him to open a drawer in the bedside table and pulled out a condom and a bottle of lube, and okay yeah, this was really happening. Shane hadn’t been fucked in… well, in a while. And he had never, not with a single one of his rare hookups with men, felt this desperate for it. It felt like Ilya had unlocked something inside him that was vibrating with need, and it started humming at a different frequency with the first swipe of Ilya’s lube-drenched finger across his hole. 

“Oh fuck, oh wow,” Shane whispered as Ilya swirled that finger around a few times and then pressed in the tip. He felt himself tightening and when he tried to relax, Ilya pushed his finger in a bit farther. “Ah, oh my god.”

“Okay?” Ilya asked. 

“Yes. More please,” Shane groaned before he could stop himself. He was mortified, but it seemed to be the right thing to say because Ilya started sliding his finger slowly in and out, spreading the lube.

“So polite, but so needy,” Ilya chuckled warmly. “You need to relax if you want more, you’re so tight, Shane.”

Shane whined, but tried to slow his breathing, using a meditation technique he’d learned from yoga. 

“Better,” Ilya hummed and smoothed his free hand up Shane’s stomach and chest. He squeezed Shane’s pec at the same moment he slipped in a second finger and Shane gasped and opened to him. Ilya scissored his fingers a few times, stretching him, and he felt the delicious burn that he was ashamed to always crave. And when Ilya curled his fingers, he brushed them inside a few times and found the spot where Shane was most sensitive, and he yelped in pleasure.

“Ilya fuck, right there, oh god.” 

Shane jerked his head up to look down at Ilya, whose eyes were fixed on his fingers deep inside of him. Shane propped himself up on his elbows to watch Ilya slide a third finger in, lips parted and breathing hard — like watching his own hand stretching Shane was a sacred sight to behold.

Ilya finally pulled his gaze up to meet Shane’s, and he grinned wolfishly up at him and asked, “Ready?”

Shane nodded, breathing hard and unable to form words anymore. If he opened his mouth, he’d just whimper. 

Ilya slicked himself up languidly, with his other hand still three fingers deep inside of Shane. It was the most erotic thing Shane had ever seen, and he squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment so he could commit the image to memory. This was going to be all he had to hold onto after he left, and he needed to remember every second, but that image was one Shane never wanted to forget. 

For the briefest moment, when Ilya pulled his fingers slowly out, Shane felt desperately empty, but he was almost immediately filled back up with the thick head of Ilya’ cock, and fuck, it was so good. Ilya pressed his hands on the back of Shane’s thighs and paused. 

“Going to push your legs, but careful of tattoo, okay?” He asked. 

Shane nodded and then he was being ever so carefully bent in fucking half, Ilya’s cock sliding further into him as he pushed forward. He resisted squeezing his eyes shut, determined to watch Ilya’s face go slack with pleasure as he filled Shane so completely. 

“You feel so good, Shane, I will not last long,” Ilya breathed. 

“Me either,” Shane laughed breathily though the pressure and the pleasure.

Ilya leaned even farther forward and pressed his mouth to Shane’s in a sloppy kiss, then started moving his hips in a slow and steady rhythm. Shane’s moans and whimpers were met with matching sounds coming from Ilya’s throat, all of them lost into each other’s mouths, between the long swipes of their tongues and sucking of lips. 

Shane pulled back to breathe at the same time that Ilya started speeding up his thrusts, pounding into Shane hard and perfect and, “Oh fuck, yes, like that, harder.”

Eyes wide, Ilya pumped harder and grunted gruffly between breaths, “You like that? You like it hard?”

“Jesus Christ… yes,” Shane surrendered to the feeling and finally let his eyes close, squeezing tight, trying to hold himself together because he didn’t want this to end. 

“Shane… take me so perfectly… fuck, so good for me.”

The praise is what did it. Pushed Shane to the edge and over, and suddenly he was shuddering with pleasure, feeling every pulse of Ilya’s cock like electric sparks shooting through him, making his fingers and toes curl. He finally opened his eyes and looked down to see the hot splatter of his release hit his stomach and chest.

“Fuck, are you? Did you?” Ilya asked, breathless, unable to complete the question. 

“Yes, don’t stop, I want…” Shane breathed hard through the aftershocks. “I want to feel you, please.”

And at his last word, Ilya stuttered and covered Shane’s mouth with his, coming hard inside of him, making Shane clench down hard on his cock as he rode out his orgasm.

***

Panting and sweaty and still balls-deep inside of Shane Hollander, Ilya finally opened his eyes to see the rich, warm brown of Shane’s eyes looking back at him. There was a soft smile on Shane’s blissed-out face, and Ilya beamed back at him, proud to have been the one to put that look on this gorgeous man’s face. 

“Good?” He asked, then nipped at Shane’s mouth before he could answer.

“Fucking great,” Shane sighed. “Like… wow.”

They stayed like that, looking at each other, Shane still bent in half with Ilya looming over him. To be honest, Ilya was still a bit in disbelief that this had just happened. It was like something out of a wet dream or like, porn. Guy comes into the tattoo shop and ends up on his back for the tattoo artist? He was pretty sure he had watched that one. 

But no, this was real, and he was slowly pulling his dick out of Shane Hollander. Shane Hollander, not Hockey Player™️, just a sweet and neurotic man that Ilya was developing a very ill-advised infatuation with. 

“Be right back,” Ilya said with a final peck to Shane’s lips.

Shane just smiled lazily at him, and Ilya couldn’t hold back the grin that pulled at his cheeks. Shit. What the fuck was he doing have feelings for the closeted NHL star in his bed? This was a one and done thing, and stupid butterflies in his stomach needed to face that fact.

He tossed the condom and returned to the bed with a warm wash cloth that he used to wipe up the mess from Shane’s stomach. 

“How does your leg feel?” Ilya asked, sliding back into the bed next to Shane.

“Hmmm?” 

“Your leg, the tattoo,” Ilya laughed.

“Oh, whoa, I kinda forgot about that,” Shane chuckled lightly and Ilya wanted to bite him, he was so cute. “It feels fine. Maybe a little sore I guess. Is that normal?

“Totally normal,” Ilya answered, then manhandled Shane a little until he was on his side and Ilya pulled him back to spoon him. This could be a one-time thing and still include spooning, no problem, right? 

“Good,” Shane sighed and nuzzled back into Ilya.

“Did I fuck the memory out of you?” Ilya asked, while he tried and failed to resist pressing his nose into Shane’s soft hair, which smelled like some delicious and probably expensive herbal shampoo.

“Kinda, yeah,” he replied with a sleepy laugh. “God, it was worth it though.”

Ilya’s heart clenched at his hazy post-orgasm honesty and decided he should be honest too. 

“For me too,” Ilya said, smoothing a hand down Shane’s arm. “But I have to tell you, I lied before.”

“Huh?” Shane jerked his head around, looking panicked. “When?”

“When I said you are not hottest in the NHL. I lied. You are. Now I know how you look when you come, I can say for sure.”

Shane shook his head and settled it back into the pillow with a snort. “Fuck you,” he mumbled, but he couldn’t hide his smile. And fuck, Ilya couldn’t either. 

“I should go, but I’m suddenly so tired,” Shane groaned.

“Adrenaline drop, is also normal,” Ilya said, squeezing him tightly, not really wanting to let go, not sure he ever would. “You are welcome to sleep here.”

“What? No.” Shane craned his neck to look at Ilya. “I really shouldn’t.”

“Why, someone waiting for you at home?” Ilya joked, but realized he hadn’t actually asked. And if Shane was closeted…

“No! No, not anything like that,” Shane answered, appalled. “Just… I don’t know, I don’t want to be an imposition?”

“Please stay,” Ilya replied with another nuzzle into Shane’s hair, letting the truth slip out. “I like you here.”

Shane was quiet for a long moment, and Ilya thought he might have actually fallen asleep, but then he spoke again, softly.

“I guess I could… just for the night.”

Ilya pulled him impossibly closer with a tight squeeze and kissed Shane’s shoulder. He could hold onto this for just a little bit longer before he had to let go.

“Just for the night.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Wow! I did not expect this fic to resonate so much, I'm kinda shocked! I haven't even had a chance to reply to any comments on the first part, but y'all made it pretty clear that you wanted more, and I could feel that there was still more story to tell with this universe.

Thank you SO MUCH for reading the first part, and I hope this one lives up to it!

There will be a third and final part after this, which I hope to have done in the next couple of weeks!

Thank you Heather and Nico for beta-ing this baby! Plus dntat and Shan and meesh and probably other people I'm forgetting for helping me (a person with no tattoos) figure out all the tattoo details.

Something heavy was pressing Shane into his bed, and he should be concerned about that, but it was so warm and comfortable, he really didn’t want to disrupt the moment. So he opened one eye against the bright sunlight that normally would have woken him up, and was smacked in the face with realization of what he had done. 

The heavy thing on him was a big, tattooed arm, attached to the big, tattooed man whose bed it was. 

Fuck. Shit. Fucking fuck.

Shane didn’t do this. He always left, he always ran away. He never even got to this point — he never hooked up with someone who knew who he was. It was easy enough, especially in warmer locales where no one really cared about hockey.

Not in fucking Ottawa. 

Panicked thoughts swarmed around his head, but then the man — Ilya — stirred and pulled Shane closer to him and sighed contentedly. It sent a thrill up Shane’s spine, a pleasant buzzing that made him feel insane. Why did he like that so much? Completely against his will, he burrowed his body further into Ilya and decided it never wanted to leave.

But he had to. Leave. Soon. 

“Good morning,” Ilya grumbled softly into Shane’s ear. 

Shane had never been particularly fond of Russian accents. They were fine, just like the accents of all the other Europeans he played with and against over the years. But the sound of Ilya’s voice made him feel all tingly inside, especially when he remembered how it sounded last night, gasping and moaning and telling Shane how good he felt. 

“Good morning,” Shane answered softly, turning over under Ilya’s arm, which he kept draped heavily over Shane’s torso.

“You stayed.” Ilya smiled at him.

“I fell asleep,” Shane reasoned. 

“You are not running away,” Ilya continued. “Thought you might.”

“Hard to run with your arm holding me hostage.”

“Hmm,” Ilya hummed. “I think you could probably move it, Mr. Stanley Cup.”

Shane let out a little laugh and rolled his eyes.

“I really should probably go now,” he reasoned. He really really should. If only he could get himself to move. 

“I’m hungry. Let me make you breakfast at least,” Ilya said. But he didn’t move either. 

Shane was flying out to Las Vegas in two days for the NHL awards (where he was likely to win the Hart Trophy for MVP), so he was staying with his parents for a few days before they all traveled together. He was already going to have to come up with some kind of excuse for why he didn’t come home last night, so he could stay for breakfast. 

But the longer he stayed, the more dangerous this got. 

Despite the fact that, objectively, yes, last night was the best sex of his life. And that staying longer potentially meant more of the best sex of his life. And the fact that Ilya seemed to want him here. He did, right? He wouldn’t have offered to make Shane breakfast if he didn’t.

“Hey, Shane.” Ilya nudged his chin up so they were making eye contact and smiled softly. “If you have to go, is okay. I know you are not… this is not, more than this.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shane said, truly meaning it. “Like I said, it’s complicated for me.”

“And I meant when I said uncomplicated. But you have to eat, right?”

“Right,” Shane conceded. He was an adult, his parents could deal with him having one walk of shame in his life. “But I don’t eat dairy. Or most carbs.”

“Of course you don’t,” Ilya laughed and leaned in to kiss him. Shane wanted to push him away and tell him to go brush his teeth, but actually, the kiss was worth the morning breath. 

After breakfast, and a little more making out in the kitchen, Shane finally pulled away and insisted he really did need to leave. It was strange, because as much as he did not do this (he couldn’t stress that enough), he still didn’t want to go. The urge to run and hide, the shame of what he’d done — he should have felt like he was drowning in it like every time before, with women or men. He simply wanted more of Ilya, but that was just impossible.

“Thank you for everything,” Shane said, bending in front of Ilya’s door to get his shoes on. He felt Ilya’s eyes on him and tried not to squirm. 

“Everything?” Ilya asked, his tone all insinuation and smug flirtation.

Shane pulled on his backpack and rolled his eyes at Ilya’s teasing. Twelve hours with him, and Shane already felt a fond sort of irritation at the way he used a wink and a mocking tone to diffuse Shane’s anxious energy. It was kind of annoying, but Shane kind of appreciated it anyway.

“Yes. Everything,” Shane attempted a deadpan expression, but ended up with a scrunched grin he couldn’t fully contain. 

“Tattoo, breakfast… anything else?” Ilya prompted, stepping slowly toward Shane. 

“No, that’s it actually,” Shane laughed and Ilya pushed into his space.

“I think you are lying,” Ilya whispered into Shane’s ear, making him shiver and laugh. 

Instead of answering, Shane captured Ilya’s lips in a soft kiss. 

“Thank you for everything,” he said again. “And thank you for making it uncomplicated. My life is… I have to be careful. But this was really nice.”

“It was. Really nice,” Ilya agreed, stepping back and gesturing at Shane’s leg. “You can take bandage off after 3 days or so. And you really can text me if it is not healing good.”

Ah. Back to professional distance. That’s how it should be, Shane knew. And Ilya was right to shift them back there, but Shane hated that the flirting and soft touches (and not so soft touches) were over now. At least he would always have the tattoo as a reminder — not just of his wins, but also of this one perfect night. 

With a nod and small smile, Shane opened the door and walked out, hearing Ilya’s “goodbye Shane” as he closed it behind him. 

***

11 months later

Ilya sat alone in his apartment, drinking a beer and scrolling Instagram while a commercial for Tim Horton’s blared across his TV screen. It was a Monday night, the shop was closed, and Ilya had uncharacteristically opted to stay home. Which had absolutely nothing to do with the Montreal vs Boston game he was only half paying attention to. 

Because he didn’t have Montreal’s game schedule saved in his calendar on his phone. And he didn’t hide away at home to watch the games in private and think about the man currently on a breakaway across the ice on his knees between Ilya’s legs on this very couch eleven months ago. 

And he absolutely never reached a hand into his pants while he watched Shane Hollander stretch before a game or run his hands through his sweaty hair on the bench, and especially not when he spit on the ice. 

Pulling his eyes back up to the screen, Ilya’s grin immediately became a grimace as he saw Shane get slammed into the boards and immediately crumple to the ice, unmoving. 

“No…” Ilya whispered aloud to no one. “Get up. Get up, Shane.”

The announcers were talking about how it looked like a clean hit, and oh how awful when something like this happens, but it’s part of the game, and Ilya had to mute the TV. He couldn’t stand to hear them blather on when Shane was just lying there, the refs and his teammates waving over paramedics who were jogging over with a spinal board. Shit.

The screen panned to the player who had hit Shane — Marlow. Fucker. Ilya had never really cared about the Montreal/Boston rivalry, but now he definitely had a least favorite player. 

“What the fuck is happening to Shane?!” He yelled at the muted screen. “Show him!”

As if they heard him, the broadcast cut back to the medics hosting Shane onto a gurney, and Ilya could just barely make out his eyes blinking open. Thank god. 

It cut to commercial again, and Ilya turned off the TV. He didn't really care about the rest of the game. Shane was alive, that’s what was important. 

Wait, why was he even thinking that? That’s what was important? Like Shane Hollander living or dying had any bearing on Ilya’s life in any way. 

He scoffed at himself and downed the rest of his beer, sinking back onto the couch, his fear and panic subsiding. He really needed to get over this Shane Hollander thing. They’d had their one night, and Ilya was never going to see him again, and that was that. He shouldn’t care this much, and yet, he couldn’t help the way his stomach twisted itself into knots with the fear that Shane was badly hurt. 

Move on, he told himself. Shane Hollander was fine, and he was just one of hundreds of former clients he’d never see again. 

A few weeks later, Ilya was manning the desk at the shop while Wyatt, the other tattooer in the studio, was working on someone in the back and his apprentice Luca was out picking up their lunch. He didn’t have any appointments for a few hours, and he should be working on a new flash sheet or a design for an upcoming appointment or doing inventory, or literally anything productive. 

But instead, he was staring at the contact card for Shane Hollander in his phone. Because he still did have Shane’s number. And after seeing his injury, Ilya couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering if he was okay, wondering if he was back in Ottawa with his parents. Ilya had looked up the reports and saw that Shane had a concussion and an upper body injury, and that he would be out for the playoffs, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it seemed when he went down on the ice.

And even though he was toying with the insane idea of contacting Shane now, Ilya had never actually used Shane’s number again after sending him the photos of himself with his fresh Stanley Cup tattoo. Photos Ilya also still had saved on his phone. He was honestly surprised he’d hadn’t seen the pictures on social media or in some fluff piece about the Voyageurs cup win. Ilya kind of loved that he was one of the only people outside his teammates who’d seen that tattoo. 

Just as he was rolling his eyes at himself and closing out of the contacts app, his phone buzzed with a notification from Instagram.

*shanehollanderhockeyplayer liked your post*

***

Shane was miserable. He was at his parents house, arm in a sling, and until a few days ago, forced to sit in a dark room for most of the day. He was grateful that his parents were able to help him as he healed from his injuries, but he was furious about missing the playoffs, the concussion recovery was driving him crazy, and he couldn’t even workout.  

He was currently lounging on the couch while his mom prepared them lunch — she was staying home with him for another week — having his allotted 15 minutes of screentime. And he was using it how he often did — scrolling the Instagram profile for user ilyaroz_tattoo. Shane knew he shouldn’t, knew he needed to move the fuck on from his one perfect night with his tattoo artist, but there was something soothing about scrolling through the now-familiar grid. 

There was one smiling photo of Ilya and two other guys standing outside the front door of the studio pinned to the top of the page, followed mostly by closeup shots of Ilya’s tattoo work. Every once in a while, there’d be a video that included a bit of Ilya’s forearm and gloved hand wiping down someone’s fresh tattoo. Shane was pretty ashamed of how many times he’d watched those and thought about what it felt like to have that hand on him, holding him still while Ilya marked him with ink — holding him down while Ilya came inside of him.

At the moment, Shane was three years deep in Ilya’s photos, and he needed to get away from them before he got hard and had to go hide from his mom in the bathroom. And he probably needed another full workup on his brain because why was a 4 second clip of someone’s arm enough to get Shane all hot and bothered? 

He fumbled with his phone, only able to use his left hand, and instead of closing the app, Shane’s thumb hit the heart icon under the video. The video of Ilya wiping off a tattoo on someone’s arm. From 2014. 

Fuck fuck fuck!

Shane tried to unheart it, but that somehow closed the app, and then he dropped the phone onto the floor.

“Fuck!” He yelped.

“What’s wrong?” His mom yelled from the kitchen. “What happened, Shane?”

“Nothing!” he called. “I just dropped my phone.”

“You’ve probably had enough screen time for now anyway,” she said. “Come have lunch.”

Shane sighed and picked up the phone awkwardly with one hand, hoping to be able to un-like that photo before Ilya noticed, but instead, he had a text notification waiting for him. 

Ilya Rozanov: hi shane

Shit. Oh shit. Shane felt his ears get hot. This was fucking mortifying. It would be one thing to like a recent post, which he’d never even done, but a post from three years ago? Oh god, Shane needed to delete his account. He needed to delete himself.

Ilya Rozanov: miss me?

“Are you coming to eat?” his mom called again.

“Just have to go to the bathroom,” he lied, then walked over and closed the bathroom door behind him. 

Okay. This was fine. He could handle this. There had to be a reasonable explanation why he was that deep in Ilya’s Instagram. Or maybe he should just block Ilya’s number and his Instagram and pretend he never existed? 

No. He couldn’t do that. 

He could never pretend Ilya didn’t exist, because he’d thought about him every day for the last eleven months. Every time he looked down at his leg and saw his tattoo, he could practically hear Ilya’s soft, accented voice in his head, “so good for me.” Shane shivered at the thought. No, he couldn’t ignore this text now and miss the opportunity. 

Shane: Hi. I’m so sorry, I know it must be so strange that I liked one of your old posts. 

Ilya: it was a nice surprise to see your name pop up, shanehollanderhockeyplayer 

Ilya: or, maybe just shane?

Shane felt his cheeks heating at the reminder of their night together, how Shane had asked for a night off from his persona and Ilya gave it to him so generously.

Shane: Just Shane is fine. I was actually thinking about another tattoo, that’s why I was looking at your profile.

Ilya: oh really? that is also surprising. didn’t think i’d see you again.

That kind of stung, but it was fair. Shane had no intention of ever going back to Irisha Tattoo Studio. Until now. 

Shane: Yes, really. I’m staying with my parents in Ottawa for a while after my injury. 

Ilya: i saw that, quite a hit. concussion, yes? how are you?

Shane: Concussion, yeah. And I’m doing much better, could have been a lot worse. Actually, I should probably get off my phone. I’m on limited screen time, doctor’s orders. But maybe I could text you tomorrow about my next tattoo?

Ilya: can’t wait 😉

The winking emoji made Shane’s stomach jolt. He had to go have lunch with his mom, but later… he’d be thinking about that wink later.

That night as Shane lay in bed, after he’d spent plenty of time thinking about Ilya’s wink, and his eyes, and his hands, and fuck, his mouth… Shane stared into the dark and tried to come up with an idea for another tattoo. Because now that he’d embarrassed himself, and Ilya seemed open to talking to him, the idea of seeing him again was too tempting to pass up. But what the fuck tattoo would he even get? 

He’d seen a lot of very cool tattoos that Ilya had done… that he would never in a million years want on his body. Of course there was that bear he’d designed for himself, but his feed was filled with other animals too, intricate birds and fish, bugs and moths, some that were obviously people’s pets, and he also did long vining flowers and trees that covered people’s arms and legs. It was all very beautiful. But none of it felt quite right for Shane. And tattoos were supposed to have meaning, right?

Hockey was Shane’s whole life for as long as he could remember, and he loved it, but did he really want a hockey stick or his jersey number tattooed on his body? He’d seen plenty of guys with those kinds of tattoos — but none of that compared to the Stanley Cup.

The only other thing that he really loved, that felt like part of him, besides his family, was his cottage and the time he got to spend there in the summers. Maybe there was something there? He didn’t know yet, but he needed to have something to say to Ilya tomorrow when he was allowed to use his phone again. 

After he had breakfast the next morning, Shane went on a long walk — the most vigorous exercise he was currently able to do without getting dizzy or a terrible headache. The whole time, he was thinking about Ilya. What he was going to say when he texted him, how it might feel seeing him again, wondering if Ilya would want to do more than just the tattoo again. God, Shane hoped so. 

Itching to get his hands on his phone, Shane walked into the house and grabbed it off the kitchen counter. His mom was out running errands, so he had a few free minutes to be on his phone without hearing any comments on the health of his brain. It had been nearly 3 weeks since his concussion; he should be fine texting for a little while.

Shane: Hi. I’ve been thinking about my tattoo, if you have some time to talk.

Shane didn’t expect a response right away, so he was pleasantly surprised when his phone buzzed immediately. 

Ilya: hi shane. i have time. please, tell me what you’re thinking of

Shane: So, I have this cottage, and it’s basically my favorite place in the world. I go every summer.

Ilya: yes, i have seen on tv. you do yoga there, right?

Shane: You’ve seen that?? I didn’t realize you were such a fan.

Ilya: was on tv, i was bored, so i watched. do not flatter yourself

Shane: It’s okay, I get it, I have lots of fans 😎

Ilya: i’m sure you do. but i root for centaurs, remember?

Shane: But you were watching my game when I got hurt?

Ilya: so about your tattoo… tell me more about this cottage

Shane laughed out loud at Ilya’s deflection. He loved how easy it was to talk to Ilya, to rib him the way he had done to Shane that night at his studio, like they were old friends just catching up. And, fuck, his stomach fluttered at the idea that Ilya had been watching him. Watching his games, watching that stupid documentary, thinking about him. 

Shane: I noticed that a lot of your work has animals and nature, so I was wondering if you could design something based on the view of the lake from my cottage? 

Ilya: yes, i could probably do that. do you have pictures? 

Shane: Do these work?

Shane sent a few pictures he’d taken from his dock at the cottage over the years — the pristine lake surrounded by lush trees — one taken during the day with a clear blue sky, one at sunset, and one in the early morning light where a loon was idling by on the water. 

Ilya: beautiful. these are perfect. do you know where you want it? or do i need to do five stencils and test them all over your body?

Shane: Haha very funny.

Shane: But no, I don’t know yet. What do you think?

Ilya: to do this well, it will need to be pretty big, bigger than stanley cup. probably best on back, or could work on other thigh if you want to match

Shane was instantly transported back to the feeling of Ilya’s hand on his leg, the stabbing ache of the tattoo gun marking his skin, while Ilya soothed him and distracted him with conversation. It was painful, yes, but it was also somehow meditative. Like focusing on Ilya against the backdrop of the humming sting had cleared his mind and wiped away his tension that simmered around him all the time — except when he was on the ice. Shit, he’d basically told Ilya his biggest secret while sitting in that chair, he was that comfortable. Ilya hadn’t made him feel judged or shamed about it, and the steady pressure on his thigh was so grounding. Comforting even. And Shane knew — he wanted Ilya’s hands on his leg again, grounding him.

Shane: Let’s do thigh. It would be nice to match. 

Ilya: ok, i like that. 

Ilya: be sure to wear shorts that stretch this time 😉

Shane’s breath hitched, taken back to another memory, one of taking off his shorts and climbing into Ilya’s lap, grinding against him. Before Shane even knew what he was doing, his thumbs were flying across the screen, typing his reply.

Shane: What if I want to take my shorts off again?

Ilya didn’t respond right away, and it made Shane unbearably anxious. Was he reading into this wrong? He’d just assumed Ilya would want to hook up again, but he could be totally off base, and that would be mortifying. 

Ilya: if that is what you want

Shane: It is. 

***

Ilya nearly choked on his coffee when Shane’s reply came in. 

It is.

He didn’t know what to say. Of course, he wanted to fuck Shane again. He’d wanted to fuck Shane again since about five minutes after he’d fucked him the first time. He’d thought about fucking Shane whenever he had been fucking anyone else over the last eleven months, and especially when he was fucking his own hand. 

But he hadn’t wanted to presume anything. Just because Shane wanted to get another tattoo, it didn’t mean he wanted to hook up again. He had been looking at Ilya’s professional Instagram, and he clearly had an idea about the tattoo he wanted, and he was trying to not read too much into it. But if Shane was talking about taking his shorts off… Ilya was going to get him into the shop as soon as he could. 

Ilya: when can you come in? i will start working on your design.

Shane: I saw on your page that you’re scheduling out into the end of June, so I can do that. I won’t be going to the NHL awards this year.

Ilya: that is for other people, you are vip. i can make time for you, shane hollander. 

Shane: Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage

Ilya: i want you in my chair before june 

Fuck it. Ilya wasn’t going to be coy about this. If Shane wanted him, Ilya wanted Shane as soon as humanly possible. 

Shane: I probably need to check with my doctor. I should be out of my sling next week, but I don’t know about the concussion. Maybe in a few weeks? 

Ilya: brain healing is most important.

Shane: I do want to see you though.

Ilya’s heart clenched and he didn’t even try to stifle his grin. He couldn’t believe Shane was being so blunt about it, so honest with his desire to see Ilya. He couldn’t believe Shane wanted to see him at all, after all these months not hearing a word from him. But Ilya wasn’t going to question it — if Shane Hollander wanted to see him, Shane Hollander could see him. 

Ilya: can you see me sooner, even if no tattoo yet?

Shane: You’d really want that?

Ilya: shane. were you not just texting me about taking off your shorts?

Shane: Fuck. I’m so bad at this, aren’t I?

Ilya: you are very you about it, i suspect.

Shane: So that means you do want to see me?

Ilya: yes, shane. 

Ilya: i want to do more than see you

Shane: Shit, I’m hitting my screen time limit. I’ll text you later?

Ilya: 😘

Wyatt would tell Ilya he was corny for sending that emoji, but Ilya didn’t care. Shane seemed to like his corny. Shane seemed to like Ilya. 

No.

No, he was not doing that. 

He was Ilya Rozanov, perpetually single, ethical slut who could never be tied down. Not Ilya Rozanov, guy who had a giant crush on a celebrity who made him giggle and kick his feet and send winking emojis. 

Fuck.

Why was Shane fucking Hollander the only person to ever make him feel like this? He’d fucked, by his estimation, a couple hundred people in his life, and not a single one had given him butterflies in his stomach the way Shane just did because he said “I’ll text you later?”. 

He needed to stop this feeling, because no one was a less accessible dating candidate than Shane. Last June, Ilya had told Shane that he could make things uncomplicated for him — but he didn’t realize he was making things so complicated for himself in the process.

Ilya had three tattoos scheduled the next day, so he couldn’t be monitoring his phone constantly, which meant the entire time he was working on the custom frog tattoo on someone’s back, he was also wondering if Shane had texted him, and what he had said, and if he wanted to make plans to see Ilya. Before he even realized how much time had passed, he was finished. And it looked great. Because he was damn good at this. 

When he grabbed his phone to snap a few photos, he saw that he did have a text waiting for him and got giddy at the thought. This was absurd. 

Once the customer was gone, Ilya parked himself in the small break room to see what Shane had to say.

Shane: Hi

Shane: You must be working, but I wanted to let you know. The doctor said I should wait another few weeks before getting a tattoo. But I can drive again in a couple of days, if you did want to hang out. No worries if you don’t, but if you did. I can. 

Ilya smiled to himself, charmed by the way Shane’s nervous energy came through even over text. At that exact moment, Wyatt walked into the break room, holding a Chipotle bag and looking at Ilya with a confused expression.

“What are you smiling like that about, dude?” Wyatt asked.

“What? I’m not smiling.” Ilya schooled his face into a grimace.

“Um, you were definitely looking at your phone and smiling,” Wyatt chuckled, sitting across the small table from Ilya.

“Shouldn’t you be at front desk right now?” Ilya grumbled.

“The kid’s out there, I’m hungry,” Wyatt replied with a shrug. “Who are you texting? That girl from the coffee shop with the septum piercing?”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “I’m not texting anyone.”

“Sure you’re not,” Wyatt said through a mouthful of burrito. “That girl is into you, bud, you should go for it.”

Ilya scoffed, and picked up his phone again.

“You are texting someone!” Wyatt exclaimed, gesturing with his food and leaving a trail of shredded cheese in his wake.

“Who cares if I am texting,” Ilya retorted. “You are making a fucking mess in my studio.”

“Oh damn, you must really like them to be getting this worked up.” Wyatt laughed while he stood to get the broom. “Relax, Ilya, I’ll leave you alone. Just let me know if you’re falling in love — Lisa is always wondering when you’ll settle down and we can go on double dates.”

“You just want to show off your doctor wife,” Ilya said dismissively. “I’m going to smoke…”

“Damn right I do!” Wyatt called after him while Ilya walked out the back door into the stairwell and then out to the alley.

He didn’t light up a cigarette, though — he was trying to quit. He took out his phone instead, to finally reply to Shane.

Ilya: hi. yes, i was working

He sent a photo of the frog tattoo as proof.

Ilya: sneak preview before i post on instagram 

Shane: Very funny. 

Shane: But that’s beautiful. You’re amazing at what you do.

Ilya’s heart melted a little. 

Ilya: thank you. you are too. when you don’t have concussion

Shane: Shut up.

Ilya: ok bye

Shane: No, I didn’t mean that!

Ilya: i know, shane. so you can drive soon? 

Shane: Yeah, but only during the day, so I know that might not be convenient with your work schedule.

Ilya: i own the studio, i make the schedule 

Ilya: we’re closed mondays, are you free?

Shane: I’m free in the sense that I have no plans because my team is in Chicago that day and I’ll be here. Feels kind of like a prison, though.

Ilya: so i should break you out?

Shane: Please.

***

Before Shane left on Monday afternoon, he texted his parents to let them know he was going out to meet an old school friend, Nick. His mom was sure to remind him that he needed to drive home before it got dark, and Shane couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

He didn’t really know why he fabricated a reunion with an old friend instead of telling the truth, but he thought it would raise unwanted questions if he said that he was hanging out with his tattoo artist. Or maybe it was just the guilt Shane felt for doing this at all. He felt kind of dirty orchestrating this plan to “hang out” when it was really just a plan to fuck. Right? He was 95 percent sure that’s what it was. Maybe 90 percent sure. He was pretty sure.

As dirty as it might feel, Shane was vibrating with anticipation as he drove downtown. He hadn’t touched another man since Ilya, and he hadn’t really wanted to. He did find himself jerking off more often than usual over the last year, because he had the memory of Ilya’s hand on his cock, of Ilya pressing his legs into his chest and pushing into him, of Ilya humming his name… 

Shit, he needed to calm down. He was almost there, and he couldn’t walk in the door already hard. It was over-eager enough making these plans before he was even cleared to get a tattoo. 

As he approached, the sight of the brick facade of Irisha Tattoo Studio sent the butterflies in Shane’s stomach into overdrive, and he smiled as he saw the rainbow sticker still stuck on the glass front door. He kind of couldn’t believe that he was back here — he really thought he’d never be brave enough to see Ilya again. 

His heart felt like it was beating cartoonishly out of his chest, thumping hard and fast against his ribcage. He stopped for a second to take a few breaths. This was fine. Shane could be chill and normal about this. People hooked up all the time like it was nothing. And Ilya wasn’t going to tell anyone — if he was going to do that, he would have done it already.

After several deep breaths, Shane turned down the alley to go to the back door as instructed and texted Ilya. A minute later the door swung open, and there he was, looking just as stunning as Shane remembered. His hair was a tousled mess of golden curls, and he had that same devastatingly charming grin that had embedded itself into Shane’s brain stretching across his face. 

“Wasn’t sure you would show up,” Ilya teased, smiling too wide for it to really land. Shane’s smile matched Ilya’s, wide and unable to be contained.

“You really didn’t think I would?” Shane asked as he caught the door from Ilya and walked in behind him. 

“No,” Ilya answered, standing at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes doing that sparkly thing that Shane thought only existed in cartoons. “I knew you would. Come up.”

He followed Ilya up the stairs, familiar despite how long it had been since he was here last. 

“Okay,” Shane breathed, somehow breathless already. 

Ilya’s apartment looked the same as it had last year, small but stylish, with modern furniture, house plants, and art on the walls. There was that cushiony couch, the one that starred in Shane’s often-revisited memories of straddling Ilya and grinding on his lap — the couch where he’d dropped to his knees and taken Ilya’s cock into his mouth. Shane licked his lips in nervous anticipation of getting Ilya in his mouth again. 

“Do you want something to drink?” Ilya asked from the kitchen, refrigerator door held open. “I know you can’t have alcohol with concussion, but I have coke or water.”

“You don’t happen to have any ginger ale, do you?” Shane asked.

“I don’t,” Ilya answered apologetically.

“Water is good,” Shane said. 

Ilya cracked open a can of coke after he handed Shane a glass of water, and they stood there in the kitchen, sipping in silence. Shane didn’t know what to say, and Ilya seemed to be waiting for him, a smirk playing on his lips. 

Finally, he broke the silence. “So, you are looking back in my Instagram?” 

“Oh god,” Shane covered his eyes with his hands and felt his ears getting hot in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, that was mortifying.”

“No, I am flattered,” Ilya chuckled. “Means you were thinking about me.”

Groaning, Shane held his face in his hands, unable to look at Ilya. “But I didn’t have to be such a creep about it.”

He jumped slightly when he felt Ilya grip his wrists and pull his hands away from his face.

“Don’t hide,” Ilya laughed. “You already caught me watching your game, we are even.”

Shane sighed, lowering his hands. Ilya’s fingers were cold from the soda can, but he kept them wrapped around Shane’s wrists — Shane didn’t want him to let go. 

“If I’m being totally honest…” Shane started, then thought better of it and closed his mouth. “No, nevermind.”

“You have to tell me now. Be honest, Shane,” Ilya chuckled, tugging on his wrists a bit.

“It’s so embarrassing,” Shane half laughed-half groaned. “Ugh, fuck it. I’ve scrolled through your Instagram a few times since… you know. Maybe more than a few.”

“Since I tattooed you and then fucked you?” Ilya asked, blunt and brash, like Shane remembered him.

“Yeah, since then,” Shane licked his lips again and nodded with a resigned look, holding Ilya’s gaze. 

“Have you been fucked since then?” Ilya asked, crowding into Shane’s space until he backed into the counter, nowhere left to go.

“Jesus,” Shane breathed, face getting hot. What was the right answer? The truth was that he hadn’t, but would that be weird for Ilya? Would it make Ilya uncomfortable knowing that Shane had tried picking up women in the year since they’d fucked, tried to convince himself he could find a woman who could do it for him, but he could never go through with it? Would Ilya think he was crazy if he knew Shane hadn’t even thought about another man since then?

“Is that a yes?” Ilya asked, eyes flickering to Shane’s lips. 

“No,” Shane swallowed hard. “I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

***

Shane was beet red, looking at Ilya with pleading eyes, and Ilya felt kind of like a predator stalking his prey. The way Shane was almost trembling made Ilya want to pounce on him and devour him. He cupped Shane’s jaw with one hand, remembering how much he’d seemed to like that, and stepped even closer, so that his hips were pressing Shane’s into the counter.

“You need to get release more often, not healthy to be so pent up,” Ilya teased. 

“I told you.” Shane’s voice was practically a whisper. “It’s complicated for me. I can’t…”

Ilya had wanted to talk more, to catch up with Shane, but the tension that rumbled between them was too strong to ignore. They could talk later —  Ilya’s urge to relieve Shane’s tension, to unravel him again and get him back to that relaxed space he’d had him in last time, it was too strong to resist.

“Can I help?” Ilya asked. 

“Please,” Shane sighed, and that was all Ilya needed to hear. 

He pressed his mouth to Shane’s, and it was like the whole universe had been condensed down to the spot where their lips met, nothing else existed but him. 

Unlike Shane, Ilya had been with other people since him. But fuck, none of them felt like this. None of them made him greedy and insatiable like this. None of them filled him with such intense need. 

Maybe it was because Shane was so obviously hungry for it, because he kissed like he was gasping for air, or maybe it was because he was just so fucking beautiful, Ilya didn’t know. And he didn’t care to wonder, because Shane’s tongue was sliding into his mouth and he could already feel the hard press of Shane’s cock against his hip.

Shane pulled his head back, breathing hard and eyes glazed and hot on Ilya’s lips.

“I, uh,” he panted. “I can’t really, um, do like vigorous activities yet?”

Ilya laughed, resting his forehead against Shane’s to hold him up. 

“Oh right. Concussion.” Ilya sighed. “So I can’t fuck you into mattress?

“Yeah, no.” Shane huffed a little laugh. “I can still do… stuff. But I felt like I should tell you that before we um…”

He was so fucking cute the way he just could not say the words. Ilya wanted to debauch him just to say he did. Just to make him squirm in the face of his own desire. 

“Come with me,” Ilya said, taking Shane’s hand and leading him towards the bedroom.

When they got there, he walked over to close the blinds. “I know light is not good for concussions either, right?”

“I’m actually, uh, past the sitting in the dark phase of recovery,” Shane said with an apologetic smile. “But it’s nice in here like this, and I um. I appreciate you thinking about that.”

Ilya approached him again, and Shane smiled softly, and shit, Ilya’s heart was doing something fluttery and stupid. 

“I will be honest too,” Ilya whispered as he slid his fingers under the hem of Shane’s shirt. “I have been thinking about you a lot, Shane Hollander.”

He stopped there for fear of saying something far too soft after that, and instead he pulled up on Shane’s shirt and lifted it until Shane raised his arms and he could pull it over his head. 

He tossed the shirt aside and Shane made a slight noise of protest — right, he would probably want it folded. But Ilya just continued to his jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down Shane’s legs, past his jutting erection and the Stanley Cup on his thigh to the floor, where Shane stepped out of them. 

The tattoo looked like it had healed perfectly, and a soft dusting of dark hair had grown back in over it. Ilya kissed it softly, looking up at Shane who started back with hazy eyes. 

“These too?” Ilya asked, tucking a finger under the waistband of Shane’s briefs.

Shane nodded, and Ilya tugged those down too, revealing his hard cock, already a little wet at the tip. Shane’s cheeks pinked, and Ilya once again marveled at the beautiful freckles dappled there. He really was so beautiful. 

“Get on the bed,” Ilya instructed, nodding his head in that direction. “I will be very gentle, protect your brain, I promise.” 

Shane grinned at him and climbed into the bed, resting back against the pillows and headboard.

“What about you?” Shane asked, gesturing towards Ilya. “You still have all your clothes on. That’s not fair.”

“Patience, Shane,” Ilya said with a laugh. “I will undress, if you touch yourself while I do. How’s that for fair?”

Shane gulped audibly and his lips parted, shock flashing across his face. He was bright red now, but he clearly wanted Ilya to undress, because he slid a hand down his stomach before gripping his cock and stroking up slowly.

“Shit,” Ilya whispered, floored by the way Shane just… did it. He pulled his own t-shirt over his head quickly and slid off his joggers, pulling off his socks with a little hop. Shane chuckled from the bed while he continued to slowly stroke his dick. 

“Okay, stop now,” Ilya said, and Shane obeyed, moving his hand away. 

Ilya climbed onto the bed and nudged Shane’s legs apart so he could situate himself between them, propping himself up on his elbows — Shane’s cock front and center, aching to be touched again. Ilya gripped it, hot and smooth in his hand, and he knew it was going to be difficult to be as gentle as he needed to be.

“You have to promise you will be okay if I do this,” Ilya said, sliding his hand loosely over Shane’s length, making Shane’s eyes flutter closed. “I can’t be responsible for making best player in NHL’s injuries worse.”

Eyes still closed, Shane laughed. “I promise. Just… fuck… just go slow.”

“I don’t think it’s what you want, though,” Ilya challenged, because he could, because he had Shane literally in the palm of his hands.

“Yeah well,” Shane huffed, “It’s still a million times better than my own hand.”

“Is it?” Ilya asked idly, gripped slightly tighter on the next pull of Shane’s cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Shane whimpered. “So much better. It’s all I’ve thought about.”

“What is?”

“You.” He paused through another steadying breath. “Touching me, fucking me. Every time I… oh fuck… I always think about you.”

Ilya felt a wave of arousal course through his body. All his muscles tensed and his cock pulsed in his boxers, and it took every bit of restraint he had to not push Shane’s legs to his chest and plunge into him hard and dry. But Shane needed something different now, and Ilya could give that to him. If he’d really been thinking of Ilya while he made himself come, over all this time, Ilya would give him some new memories to take into his next season.

***

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya breathed the words hot onto Shane’s cock and Shane groaned, a breath away from begging for Ilya’s mouth. “I think about you too. I watch your games, and I…”

Ilya didn’t finish his thought, and instead descended onto Shane’s cock with his open mouth, tongue first over the head, and wrapped his full pink lips around him. Shane had to grip the sheets to keep from bucking his hips and thrashing around in pleasure already. He’d been fantasizing about this moment since they’d made the plans to meet today, and honestly since the last he walked out of this apartment. But the real thing was so much better than what his mind could conjure.

Working his mouth on Shane, Ilya swirled his tongue around the shaft, getting him so wet and making it easier for his lips to glide up and down in long slow pulls. He pulled off then, and focused on the tip, suckling softly and making Shane twitch and whine with the intensity of it. 

“Oh fuck, god, that’s so good, please,” Shane babbled, not really in control of what he was saying, his mind swimming in the tide of pleasure that shot through his chest and pushed the words of of his mouth. 

Pulling off, but keeping his lips close enough that Shane could still feel their heat, Ilya looked up at him. “Here,” he said, taking one of Shane’s hands that was gripping the sheet and putting it in his hair with a wolfish grin.

“Really?” Shane asked, not entirely sure what Ilya wanted from him. Did he want Shane to pull his hair? Oh fuck. 

“Hold on to me,” Ilya said. “Stop me if it’s too much or something is not good, okay?”

Damn it, how was he like, a sex god, but also so considerate and sweet about Shane’s concussion situation right now?

“Okay,” Shane nodded, and couldn’t help but run his hand through Ilya’s soft curls. 

Ilya smiled up at him, then licked the sensitive spot under the head of Shane’s cock and sank back down onto him with a moan of satisfaction. The hum of vibration radiated through Shane as he gripped Ilya’s hair tightly to stop himself from shuddering too hard and rattling his stupid brain. Ilya chuckled around him and kept up the slow, steady pace that was going to possibly kill Shane anyway, so what did it even matter if he exacerbated his concussion when he was going to die from pleasure. 

As Ilya worked him over, Shane just stared and marveled at the man currently reducing him to a whimpering puddle. He watched as Ilya’s broad, muscled shoulders flexed with every bob of his neck, and gasped when he reached his tattooed arms under and around Shane’s thighs and held his hips down with the hands Shane had fantasized about for months. He couldn’t thrust into Ilya’s mouth even if he wanted to with Ilya holding him so gently and firmly in place, and Shane fucking relished it. He relished relinquishing control like this and submitting to the pleasure that steadily coursed through him as Ilya brought him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Fuck, that’s so good,” Shane hissed. “I know you’re trying to be gentle, but jesus, this is like torture, you’re going so slow.”

Ilya laughed around him again and sped up his pace, bobbing on Shane’s cock faster and faster, hollowing his cheeks with every stroke of his mouth, and fuck yes that was what Shane needed. It was sloppy and wet and so hot, the image of this gorgeous man swallowing him down again and again and again. Shane released the sheet from his grip and buried it in Ilya’s hair along with the other and squeezed out of the sheer overwhelming pleasure. 

Looking up at him with questioning eyes, Ilya slowed, but Shane shook his head and said, “No, keep going, please, I’m so close.” 

Speeding up again, Ilya released one of Shane’ legs from his grip and pulled his hand around to rub a soft circle around Shane’s hole, and the suggestion alone was enough to send Shane keening into orgasm. 

“Oh shit, I’m gonna… I can’t stop,” Ilya just kept sucking and moving his finger as Shane erupted into his mouth. The feeling crashing over his body was so intense, and his release lasted so long, sending shockwaves through him until he released Ilya’s hair and collapsed back onto the pillows. 

Ilya pulled off his cock and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then grinned up at Shane from where he sat back on his knees. 

“Are you okay, was that not too much?” He asked, rubbing Shane’s bent knee.

“I’m fucking amazing, holy fuck,” Shane exhaled out the last word with a huff. “God, you’re good at that.”

Laughing, Ilya winked and said, “I know.”

Shane rolled his head to the side and chuckled into the pillow, still feeling the tingling reverberations coursing through his veins. When he looked back up at Ilya, Shane saw that the hand that wasn’t still on Shane’s knee was stroking his cock, and his gaze had turned heated and lust-drunk. Shane moved to get up so he could get his mouth on Ilya now, but Ilya stopped him.

“No, stay there,” he said, voice low and thick.

“Why? I’d like to…” Shane trailed off as Ilya shook his head. 

“Not good to move your head so much,” Ilya said. “Just lie back, let me look at you.”

“Okay,” Shane breathed. 

Then Ilya pushed Shane’s legs flat onto the bed and spread his knees over them so he was straddling Shane’s thighs, stroking his thick length steadily, eyes never leaving Shane’s.

“Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?” Ilya breathed. “Because fuck, Shane. You are.”

Shane was sure he was flushed from the tips of his ears all the way down his chest, overwhelmed with the compliment and the restrained intensity with which Ilya said it. There was something happening between them — Shane felt like Ilya saw right through him to the core in a way no one else ever had, and his magnetic energy was drawing Shane in like a moth to the flame. As he watched Ilya get himself off just at the sight of him, Shane worried he’d never be able to resist this man, he’d always want to come back for more.

“No,” Shane finally replied. “Not like this. This is… I feel… I don’t even know. Fuck, this is so hot.”

Ilya closed his eyes and his hand moved faster and faster over his cock, and Shane wanted to touch him so badly. While Ilya’s eyes were still closed, he shifted on the bed, sitting up so that Ilya’s cock was pointed directly at his face. Shane put his hand over Ilya’s, causing Ilya to stop stroking and open his eyes.

“What—?” Ilya started, but Shane cut him off.

“Please, I want to feel you,” Shane whispered. 

He replaced Ilya’s hand with his own, and Ilya instead raked his hand through Shane’s hair softly, reverently. 

“So sweet for me,” he said in a hushed voice. “Make me come, Shane.”

“Fuck,” Shane said, then opened his mouth and let the tip of Ilya’s cock rest there while he stroked him faster and faster until Ilya moaned.

“Yes, just like that,” Ilya breathed. “Fuck, I’m —”

And then he was coming, release splashing into Shane’s mouth and over his chin and neck, and it was the most erotic thing Shane had ever experienced in his life. Ilya’s cum was hot and sticky and Shane kind of hated it, but at the same time he felt on fire with arousal, and the way Ilya was looking at him — like he was seeing the face of god — that was worth it.

Ilya breathed heavily, his chest heaving while he continued to stroke Shane’s hair, as Shane’s hand slowed and finally dropped from his cock. 

“Wow,” Shane whispered, and Ilya sat back on his knees and huffed a laugh. 

“Yes,” Ilya breathed. 

They sat there, just breathing and looking at each other for a moment. But then the cum started to cool and dry on Shane’s skin and he felt the ick starting to take hold. Ilya must have seen it in his face because he scrambled off the bed and out of the bedroom, returning a second later with a warm, wet washcloth that Shane used to wipe himself off. 

When he was done, Ilya took the rag and threw it onto the floor, then pulled Shane down onto the bed with him and into a slow, soft kiss. They lay there, bodies pulled close on the bed, and kissed languidly for long lazy minutes until Ilya finally pulled away.

***

“Hello.” Ilya’s cheeks unwittingly pulled into a fond smile at the absurd fact that Shane Hollander was naked in his bed again.

“Hi,” Shane laughed, and looked down. Ilya wanted to bite his pink cheeks or to count every freckle there, or just… hold him and never let go. 

“I am glad you stalked me on Instagram,” Ilya said, knowing it sounded like a joke, but meaning it completely sincerely.

“That was mortifying,” Shane grumbled. “But yeah, I guess I am too. Thank my bruised collarbone for putting me in a sling and making my thumbs all stupid.”

Ilya leaned down and kissed Shane’s exposed collarbone and whispered “thank you” to it.

“You’re an idiot,” Shane said through a laugh. 

“I think you like it,” Ilya said with a kiss on Shane’s cheek.

“Yeah, I do.”

And he said it so fondly, his smile so sweet, that Ilya’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he realized this might have been a huge mistake. Because how was he ever going to get over Shane Hollander now?

“I like you too, Shane,” Ilya said, his tone tinged with resignation, knowing they could never be… anything. 

“I can hang out for a while this time,” Shane replied, skipping over Ilya’s confession. Probably for the best. “If you want, I could also go…”

“No, you aren’t going anywhere,” Ilya said. “What do you think of me? I get off and then kick you out?”

“No, of course not! I just meant… I don’t know what I meant.”

“Do you want to see design I’m working on for you?”

“You already started on it?” Shane asked, sounding surprised. “Yes, please, I’d love to see it.”

“Come into kitchen, you should have water while I pull it up.”

Shane laughed, “You sound like my mom. Always fussing over something with this concussion.”

“Your mom sounds very smart,” Ilya grinned at him, pulling on his boxers and walking out of the room. 

Following behind him, Shane pulled on his boxer briefs and t-shirt, leaving off his pants to Ilya’s great delight. He dutifully took the previously abandoned glass of water from the kitchen, and carried it with him to sit down next to Ilya on the couch, where he was grabbing his iPad. Shane edged close to him so their legs were pressed flush against each other, and Ilya felt a fizzy kind of happiness in his stomach that he needed to get control of. 

Opening the linework of the design, Ilya felt nervous for the first time in Shane’s presence. He knew from the documentary he’d watched that this place was important to Shane, and he wanted to capture the landscape perfectly for him. 

“What do you think?” He asked, tilting the screen in Shane’s direction. “This is just first draft, I can make whatever changes you want—”

“It’s perfect.” Shane’s face lit up as his eyes scanned the screen. “Wow. You really captured the serenity of the lake, I… wow.” He looked up at Ilya now. “Thank you. I love it.”

Fireworks were going off inside Ilya’s heart and all he could do was lean into Shane and kiss him again, because what the fuck? What was happening to him?

Shane hummed into the kiss and opened for him, letting Ilya’s tongue slide across his lips and deepen the kiss. The next thing he knew, the iPad was on the cushion next to him and Shane was straddling his lap, holding Ilya’s face in his hands while they breathed and sighed and moaned into kiss after kiss until they were breathless and panting again. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Shane said, licking his swollen pink lips. 

“Sorry for what?” Ilya chuckled. “That was very hot.”

“It’s just, you were showing me your design and…”

“If my design inspired that, I think it’s best design I ever did.”

Shane laughed and thunked his head onto Ilya’s shoulder, and then they were laughing together, Shane still straddling Ilya’s lap.

Leaning back again, Shane looked at him with the softest, most open expression Ilya had ever seen on this face and said, “I like you so much, Ilya. I wish… if things were different for me. Fuck.” 

Oh, and he was closing back up again, eyes closed in embarrassment or frustration, Ilya couldn’t tell.

“Shane, it’s okay.” He rubbed Shane’s back. “I get it. You’re… I understand. If things were different, I would probably ask you to stay over again, and maybe ask you to go for drinks and flirt with you in public and make you blush.”

Shane smiled, his cheeks flushing pink.

“Yes, just like that,” Ilya kissed his cheek.

“I would want to,” Shane opened his eyes again and they were wet, and Ilya wanted to punch something, this was so stupid and unfair. “Maybe this is dumb, but maybe we could stay in touch? I won’t ask you to like, wait for me, it wouldn’t be like that, you can do whatever… you know what I mean. But as friends? I don’t have a lot of friends outside hockey, to be honest.”

Ilya wanted to say something stupid like he would wait for Shane, but he couldn’t promise that. He’d be waiting forever, and he knew that. But to be friends, maybe with some occasional benefits? Ilya could do that. 

“Okay,” Ilya nodded. “If you promise not to ghost me again.”

“I promise,” Shane assured him gravely. “I’m really sorry about that, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“How is that better?” Ilya laughed.

“I don’t know,” Shane groaned and climbed off of Ilya’s lap, tossing himself back down onto the couch.

Ilya took advantage of his position, now looking down at Shane on his back, where his shirt was riding up a little at his waist and Ilya could appreciate the strip of skin there. He turned so he could wiggle into the space between Shane’s legs and press him down into the cushions.

“So, friends?”

“Yeah, friends. I’m in Ottawa for a while, so I can come over again, or, I mean, we theoretically could go out and do stuff.” 

Ilya bent down to start kissing Shane’s neck, suddenly not very interested in talking more, and much more focused on the spot behind Shane’s ear that seemed to make him shiver whenever Ilya brushed his lips over it. 

“And I still want that tattoo in a few weeks, so…”

Ilya cut him off with a kiss. 

“So,” Ilya said. “Now that’s settled. Would it be bad for your brain to come again?”

Shane let out a surprised laugh. 

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Good.” 

***

When Shane left Ilya’s apartment at 7:30 that evening, after each of them had come a couple more times, on the couch and then back in the bed, he felt lighter and happier than he had since before his injury. 

They made plans to watch the next Voyageurs game together at Ilya’s place, even though it was bound to be a bloodbath without him, and Shane was working overtime to mentally convince himself that he could do this and not get too attached. 

He’d never let himself do this before — hook up with a man and continue talking to him afterwards. He’d never really wanted to. But he was drawn to Ilya, and Ilya seemed just as drawn to him. They made each other laugh, they had insanely hot sex (like, holy shit), and Ilya actually seemed to enjoy listening to Shane talk about hockey, which most of his teammates couldn’t even tolerate that much of. And while he was stuck here recovering, it would be nice to have someone to spend his time with other than his parents.

And that’s all it had to be. Because that’s all it could be.  

Chapter End Notes

If you've figured out where we are in the HR timeline, I think you know what comes next :)

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

This was supposed to be a quick one-shot, I swear.

Thanks to my emotional support betas heather, nico, and dntat!!! And thanks to wiginabox, whose prompt was the impetus for all of this!

“I think I’m going to get another tattoo.”

Shane said it offhandedly over dinner with his parents. He’d spoken to his neurologist earlier that day, and she’d given him the all-clear. She’d also given him the clear for more strenuous workouts, and he was excited about that for a few reasons. 

“Really?” His mom asked. “That’s a surprise.” She didn’t exactly have judgment in her tone, but there was definitely a note of skepticism there. “Is this something you’ve been wanting, or should we be concerned that the head injury is more serious than we thought?”

“Jesus mom, my head injury is healing perfectly.” Shane rolled his eyes. “I just think it would be cool. I’ve gotten so used to the cup tattoo, it feels like the right time.”

“What do you want to get?” His dad asked.

At the same time his mom asked, “And this won’t be an issue for any of your brand deals?”

Shane took a deep breath. He had known this wouldn’t be the simple conversation it should be, and he was prepared, but it didn’t make the interrogation any less frustrating. 

“It won’t be visible unless I’m not wearing pants, so it should be fine for all my sponsorships. And I’m going to get a landscape, the view from the dock at my cottage.”

His mom continued to look skeptical, but his dad smiled. “Now that’s interesting, I don’t know if I’ve seen many tattoos like that.”

“Here,” Shane said as he got up to get his phone, and came back with Ilya’s design pulled up. “I’ve already gotten a mockup from the artist, it’s cool. It’s tasteful, I promise.” He directed that last comment to his mom, then handed the phone to his dad, who pulled on his reading glasses to look.

“Wow, Shane, this is beautiful,” he said, handing Shane’s phone over to his mom who scrutinized it more closely. “You’re pretty serious about this if you’ve already got it all drawn up.”

“Yeah, I am,” Shane nodded. 

Shane had become much more serious about it over the past few weeks of spending time with Ilya. Not only because he needed to maintain his dignity and not let Ilya know the tattoo was a cover for why Shane was stalking his instagram — but also because Ilya’s passion for tattooing was infectious.

He’d told Shane about starting as an apprentice in Moscow before he moved to Toronto with his best friend Svetlana, and then moving to Ottawa when he was ready to open his own shop, because the rent was more affordable. Ilya had walked him through the photos of past work on his walls, and Shane could see the progression of his style over the years, and even more than that, Shane saw the clients who came back again and again, the trust Ilya had earned with these people. 

He wanted to be one of them — he wanted to be a photo that Ilya shared proudly on his wall. He wanted… he wanted a lot more than that. And even though Shane knew he couldn’t risk being anything more with Ilya, he was still inventing reasons to stay here in Ottawa, even though he could have easily returned to Montreal and lived on his own at this point in his recovery. 

When his dad asked yesterday when he was heading back, Shane demurred and said something about wanting another week before being alone. His dad had shrugged and said he could stay as long as he wanted, but he was clearly confused. 

“Well, it sounds like you’re sure,” his mom said, handing his phone back.

“I am. And I’m working with the tattoo artist who did the cup tattoo, so I know I can trust him.” Shane hoped he wasn’t blushing, but it was hard to hold back his smile when talking about Ilya.

“He did do a very good job,” his mom conceded. “So when are you going?”

“Tomorrow.”

***

Ilya nervously rubbed his finger over his thumb knuckle, eyes darting around the room, trying to act calm and not give away his anxiety. Wyatt was still in the back with a client, and Luca was rearranging the display of body jewelry in the case at the front of the shop. Both of them were supposed to be gone by now, and Ilya didn’t know what the fuck was going on. 

“Haas, why are you still here?” Ilya finally asked. His young apprentice jerked his head up. 

“Um,” was all he said. 

“Um?” Ilya prompted. 

“I was… well, Wyatt…” Luca started.

Before he could finish, Wyatt walked into the lobby with his client to get them checked out and out the door. He was supposed to be done a while ago, and this was the last person of the day. Except Shane, who was going to be there in five minutes. And was expecting an empty shop. 

“Okay, bye, goodnight,” Ilya said to Wyatt and Luca as soon as the client was gone. “I’ll clean everything up, both of you can go.”

“No, I think I want to hang out a bit and help close up. I feel like I haven’t done that in a while,” Wyatt said, lingering behind the counter.

“What the fuck is going on right now?” Ilya asked, looking back and forth between his employees. 

“Listen,” Wyatt turned to him. “You’ve been weird and jumpy all day. You’re clearly trying to push us out the door. And it’s suspicious. So we just want to know what the fuck is going on.”

“Nothing.” Ilya crossed his arms.

“Yeah, that’s a lie, buddy,” Wyatt said plainly. “Try again.”

“Luca, you are okay with this?”

“You have been being weird all day. We’re just curious.” He shrugged sheepishly. 

“Is none of either of your business,” Ilya insisted. “Now leave.”

Ilya was getting pissed. Why the fuck were they interrogating him like this? He probably should have just told them he had another private appointment, but he hadn’t even put Shane’s appointment in the schedule because he was doing the tattoo for free. Of course, Shane had pushed back against that and insisted on paying, but Ilya was honestly uncomfortable getting paid by the guy he was fucking. So he just… didn’t say anything about it.

And now Shane was about to walk in any second. And they were just standing there, looking at him expectantly.

“Fine!” Ilya said, exasperated. “I booked a private appointment for someone and forgot to put in schedule, and he is going to be here soon, and I promised shop would be empty.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Luca asked, confused. It was a legitimate question that Ilya didn’t have a good answer for.

But Wyatt’s eyes were narrowed. “I know why,” he said, starting suspiciously at Ilya. “This is someone you know… biblically.” He waggled his eyebrows and Ilya scowled.

“I don’t go to church.” Ilya didn’t know what the fuck that had to do with anything.

“No, dummy, biblically. Like… sexually! It’s someone you’re fucking isn’t it? And you don’t want us to meet him.”

Luca’s eyes went wide with shock, and he turned to Ilya, the question in his eyes.

“Okay! You caught me! I’m fucking someone! Who cares? Will you please leave?”

“No.” Wyatt crossed his arms. “We’re staying here, we want to get a look at him. Make sure he’s good enough for you.”

Ilya imagined that if he were in a cartoon, smoke would be coming out of his ears and his hair would be on fire. 

“If you don’t leave right now, you are fired. Both of you,” Ilya said, dead serious. Well, mostly serious. Well, no, not really, they were both great. But he needed them to believe the threat.

The three of them stood there — Wyatt’s arms crossed stubbornly, Luca looking too terrified to move, and Ilya glowering between them. 

And then the door opened.

The chime of the bell made them all swivel their heads to look, and yeah. There was Shane. He looked bewildered, eyes darting from Ilya to Wyatt, to Luca, and back to Ilya. Wyatt’s expression had turned from stubborn to elated, his smile huge and sinister. Luca’s jaw dropped, and he was turning about as pink as Shane was. This was a fucking disaster.

“Hi?” Shane said, and it sounded more like a question than a greeting.

Ilya pushed past Wyatt, trying to stay calm — the only thing that would make this worse would be Shane finding out that Ilya had basically just outed him.

“Hi.” Ilya smiled apologetically, it was probably more of a grimace. “Come on in, they were just leaving. I’m sorry, they will not say anything to anyone about you being here.” He turned back to glare at Luca and Wyatt. “Right?”

“No, of course not!” Wyatt said through the grin still plastered on his face, walking toward Shane. “But I have to say, it’s so amazing to meet you! I can’t believe Shane Hollander is getting a tattoo in our shop!” He raised his eyebrows at Ilya suggestively, and Ilya might actually fire him.

“Oh, um, yeah.” 

Ilya watched as a flip switched inside Shane, and his eyes went blank and his lips turned up in a smile. 

“Great to meet you, sorry if I caused any trouble.”

“Not at all,” Wyatt gushed, shaking Shane’s hand. “I’m such a fan, and I know Ilya is a big fan of yours. He watches all your games.”

Ilya was getting the offboarding paperwork ready first thing tomorrow. 

But Shane smiled at that — a real one this time — and flashed a look at Ilya. “Does he? Good to know.” Shane then turned to Luca, who was still standing stock still, mouth slightly open. 

“Hi,” he said, walking over to Luca with a hand out. “I’m Shane, nice to meet you.”

Luca shook Shane’s hand, staring at it with a dazed expression. Poor kid, he genuinely was a huge fan, so at least Ilya could give him this moment.

“Nice to meet you, sir. I… I had your poster on my wall as a kid.” Luca turned bright red as he said it, and Shane laughed.

“Well, now I feel very old, but thank you, I’m flattered.”

“So, you’re here for a tattoo?” Wyatt asked conversationally, but Ilya was done with this.

“Yes, and it’s time for you to go home. No more work today. Goodnight, see you tomorrow,” Ilya boomed while ushering his employees out the back. 

“Nice meeting you, Shane Hollander!” Wyatt yelled over his shoulder, and Luca nodded in agreement and waved. 

Ilya glared in their direction until the back door was closed, then turned the deadbolt for good measure. At this point, he didn’t trust Wyatt not to “forget something” and come back for it. 

When they were finally, blessedly gone, Ilya led Shane back to his room.

“I am so sorry. They were supposed to leave 30 minutes ago. More than that! Fuckers would not leave,” Ilya said pleadingly as Shane walked towards him with a soft smile.

“Ilya, it’s okay.” Shane smiled at him fondly, and Ilya felt sick because Shane didn’t realize what they knew, and he was dreading telling him. “It’s not ideal, but it’s also not that big of a deal if they happen to mention to someone that I was here. Lots of NHL players have tattoos. It’s fine.”

Shane slid his hands around Ilya’s waist and pulled him closer, and Ilya couldn’t help but soften and lean toward him. Shane… so hot, so understanding, and probably about to freak the fuck out when Ilya told him the full truth. 

“Yes, that is okay. But… there is something else.”

***

Shane’s heart sank at the worried look on Ilya’s face, like he was about to tell him something tragic. “What do you mean?” Shane asked.

With a squeeze of Shane’s shoulders, he said “They know.”

“Know what?” There was no way Ilya meant what Shane thought he meant.

“Before you got here, I was trying to get them to leave, and they would not go, and Wyatt sort of… guessed. That the person coming here is someone I am,” Ilya sighed, waving his hand like he was searching for the words. “Someone I am involved with.”

“Okay, and what did you tell him?” Shane’s heart was starting to thump too hard in his chest.

“Shane, I am so sorry. I told them yes. It’s someone I’m sleeping with,” Ilya said with pleading eyes. “I thought they would leave! But then you got here. And…”

Shane stepped back, dropping his hands from Ilya’s waist and pulling himself from Ilya’s grip on his shoulders.

“And… and now they know… about me? And you.” Shane’s eyes darted around the room as if he would find an answer, a solution to this disaster somewhere on the wall or in a cabinet. “Fuck. Fuck! They… oh fuck, Ilya.”

“I know, but I promise, they will not say anything,” Ilya said, stepping toward Shane, but Shane stepped back farther, not wanting to be touched. 

He felt like he was on fire, or maybe he was dissolving? The world was dissolving. He just stared at the floor until everything started going black in his periphery. 

“Shane, what’s happening, where are you going? I am so so sorry,” Ilya pleaded, and Shane felt his presence in front of him, and he took a steadying breath. Looking up, he saw Ilya there, eyes terrified and searching, and Shane was brought back to earth. 

“Ilya.” Shane reached out for him again, and Ilya immediately squeezed Shane to him. “I… I think I’m okay? It’s going to be okay. Right?”

“Yes, Shane,” Ilya said into his hair. “Luca is gay, he understands. And Wyatt… he’s good guy, he would not say anything. They know to not say.”

Under Ilya’s soothing hands, Shane’s heart rate started slowing to a normal pace, and his words started to sink in. Shane wanted to trust these guys, and if Ilya trusted them, he would have to — he didn’t really have a choice now.

“Okay,” Shane sighed, burying his face in Ilya’s neck. “It’ll be fine. Maybe it would be nice to meet them, meet your friends.”

“Mmhmm,” Ilya hummed. “They are cool, is going to be fine.”

Shane pulled back and the sight of Ilya’s guilty expression made his heart clench. He was a fool for thinking he could ever just be this man’s friend, not when he was so worried on Shane’s behalf, so protective of their secret, and so softly holding him through this freakout. 

Shane sighed again. “I really am okay now, I think.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” 

“I can kiss you now?” Ilya asked with raised eyebrows and a small smirk. 

“Yes,” Shane laughed but was cut off by Ilya’s lips on his, and all this anxiety seemed to melt away. The kiss was slow and deep; Ilya’s tongue slid into Shane’s mouth and he moaned softly and pressed back, meeting it with his own tongue. They stayed that way, holding each other through unhurried passes of lips and tongues until Shane had to pull away to gasp for air. 

“Thank you,” Shane said softly against Ilya’s lips.

“For what? I am one who made all this trouble,” Ilya huffed.

“For calming me down. You’re very good at that, you know?” Shane replied.

“Oh yes?” Ilya asked and Shane nodded. “I think I’m good at exciting you too,” Ilya snarked, pushing his hips forward and brushing against the erection growing in Shane’s pants.

“Okay, okay,” Shane laughed and pulled out of Ilya’s arms again. “Let me actually calm down so you can do this tattoo.”

“No rule that says I can’t do tattoo while you are hard,” Ilya said smugly. “You kind of were getting there last time, anyway.”

“Fuck you.” Shane rolled his eyes. “I was not.”

“I don’t know, I think I saw some movement in there,” Ilya replied, nodding towards Shane’s crotch.

“So you were looking? Wow. Unprofessional. I should report you to some board of tattooing or something,” Shane teased.

“Hard not to look when my client is being so inappropriate.” Ilya advanced on Shane again, and Shane tripped back into the tattoo chair with a gasp. Ilya leaned over him, imposing and huge and so fucking hot, and Shane’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Fuck,” Shane whispered, suddenly getting very inappropriate. “Ilya, you have to stop or I’m never going to be able to calm down enough for the tattoo.”

***

Ilya didn’t really care about the tattoo anymore, not when he could lean in and kiss Shane, knowing by now that Shane didn’t have enough restraint to push him away. So they stayed like that, awkwardly making out with Ilya bent over the chair and bracing himself with a hand on the armrest for a minute until Ilya’s back started to hurt.

But instead of standing, he sank to his knees, breaking the kiss and leaving Shane wet-lipped and panting. 

“What are you doing?” Shane asked between panted breaths.

“I think is obvious what I’m doing,” Ilya laughed, reaching for Shane’s waistband and unbuttoning his pants — realizing with a chuckle to himself that Shane wore long pants to get a thigh tattoo, so these would be coming off regardless. Might as well be now.

“But, we’re in public and —” Shane didn’t finish his thought, gasping instead when Ilya rubbed a hand over his erection in his boxer briefs.

“Doors are locked, guys aren’t coming back tonight, it’s fine,” Ilya insisted. Shane looked at him skeptically at the same time that he lifted his hips to let Ilya yank his pants down and off, and Ilya felt a swell of affection for him. He was a little freak, and Ilya just needed to break through the nerves every time to get to his horny core.

“But the tattoo—” Shane started, trailing off and moaning when Ilya stuck a hand in his boxer briefs and stroked him.

“You will be nice and relaxed for tattoo, will be better,” Ilya argued. He wasn’t sure if that was true, Shane might be more sensitive and it would hurt more for all he knew. This wasn’t exactly something they covered in his training — the relative pain of a tattoo immediately post-orgasm. But it would be fine.

“Okay, if you say so,” Shane breathed, looking down at Ilya with wide eyes, while Ilya planted hot, open-mouthed kisses on crease of Shane’s hips, the tuft of hair above his dick, and then swirled his tongue around Shane’s cock. 

Ilya had always had a strong sex drive, loved sex with women, men, whoever. But there was something about Shane that sent Ilya into overdrive and he couldn’t stop himself. They'd seen each other five times over the two weeks since that first day they reconnected, and every time, Ilya told himself they’d just spend time hanging out, and it didn’t have to be about sex. Because if they were going to be friends, they needed to learn to exist together without fucking. But that intention had failed spectacularly, and usually Ilya’s lips were somewhere on Shane’s body within three to five minutes of being alone in the same room. So why would today be different? 

And it might be because Shane was the same. He looked at Ilya with such hunger and wanting in his honey-brown eyes, and how was Ilya to resist giving him exactly what he was so clearly craving?

So he sank down onto Shane’s hard cock with abandon, loving the slightly bitter taste of his skin and the slight brush of hair against his nose when he took all of Shane deep in the back of his throat.

“Oh my god, fuck,” Shane moaned. “I’m gonna come so fast if you don’t slow down.”

Ilya just laughed around the cock in his mouth and kept bobbing, letting the head hit the back of his throat just to hear Shane’s whimpers every time it happened. This didn’t have to be a luxurious blowjob, not like the one last week when Ilya brought Shane to the edge three times before letting him finally come (he worried after that it might have been bad for Shane’s concussion, but the way Shane repaid him made Ilya feel like his brain was just fine). 

No, he just wanted to take the edge off — the edge of desire that closed in on him whenever Shane was in his presence. He needed to push it back, give him room to work. 

Within a couple of minutes, Shane was holding Ilya’s hair and coming hard down his throat, and Ilya took it all, a treat to be savored. In the back of his mind, he sort of knew that any time could be the last time with Shane — he never knew when Shane might panic and disappear. So everything he gave Ilya was something special. Something to treasure. Even his cum, okay? Even that. 

“Wow,” Shane breathed. “Have I ever told you that you’re so good at that?”

“Yes, many times,” Ilya laughed, tucking Shane back into his underwear and standing up. “But I like to hear it every time.”

Shane grinned up at him, biting his lower lip, and god, Ilya loved him.

Wait.

No. 

He didn’t love him. That was insane. What the fuck? No. Not love. Infatuation, affection, attraction, admiration, the world’s biggest, fattest crush. All of that, but never love.

“Time for tattoo now?” Ilya asked, desperate to get his thoughts back to a more rational place.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Shane chuckled, cheeks still flushed and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “But wait, what about you?” He asked, waving a hand at the clear bulge in Ilya’s pants. 

“I’ll be fine,” Ilya shrugged.

“But… I want to.” Shane’s cheeks somehow got redder.

Shane was making it very difficult for Ilya to think rationally.

“Later,” he said, caressing Shane’s cheek. “Plenty of time later.”

Shane smiled up at him and, well. Maybe Ilya loved him.

***

While Ilya shaved a wide spot across Shane’s thigh and carefully placed the design stencil, Shane wondered what the hell he was even doing. He did love the design, it was incredibly detailed but had a distinct style to it that made it clearly Ilya’s — after months of scrolling through Ilya’s Instagram whenever his mind wandered, Shane knew that style well. 

And that’s what it really was. He wanted another piece of Ilya on him, to carry it with him always. The Stanley Cup was for him and the team, but this one was purely about himself and Ilya. An idea Shane had, the creation Ilya had come up with, and this time together, Ilya marking Shane with his skilled hands. Right after he’d sucked Shane’s soul out through his dick. What a mindfuck.

“Ready?” Ilya asked, looking up at Shane.

Shane was reclined slightly in the chair, his leg stuck out to the side resting on a bolster, and his ankle between Ilya’s legs. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Shane sighed. 

“You will be great, you know what to expect this time,” Ilya said, switching on his gun and picking up the rich black ink.

“Yeah, but this one is a lot bigger,” Shane said through a wince as Ilya started working on his thigh.

“Just talk to me, it will go by so fast. Tell me about this cottage.”

That made Shane smile. He really did love it there. 

“Okay, yeah, I can do that,” Shane breathed through the sharp bite of the tattoo gun. “It’s about two hours away from here, on a lake. Obviously. And, my parents’ cottage is nearby — the one I grew up going to. So we spend a lot of time together at each other’s places in the summer, it’s really nice. I wanted something far enough away that I really felt like I could disconnect, you know?”

“Makes sense,” Ilya said. 

“Yeah. Um… what else? Well, you saw that stupid little documentary, so you know it has a gym and a synthetic rink on the property, and, oh! One thing I didn’t have when they made that, that I got last year, is jet skis. Those are cool. When Hayden’s kids are bigger, it’ll be so fun taking them out. It’s… what?”

Ilya had stopped, and was looking up at Shane with wide, excited eyes.

“Oh, nothing,” Ilya started back on Shane’s leg and he hissed at the renewed sting. “I have always thought those looked fun. Jet skis. I love anything fast.” He said the last bit suggestively and Shane laughed.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, like cars and men.”

Shane snorted and rolled his eyes. But he also felt a pang of jealousy, wondering what other fast men Ilya had encountered in his life. In the year since they first met and fucked. Who else there would be when he left Ottawa for the summer. That wasn’t fair, Shane knew that. Especially when he’d told Ilya not to wait for him just a couple of weeks ago. But that didn’t make him hate the idea any less.

It might have been the jealousy that pushed the next words out of his mouth before he considered the ramifications.

“You should come to the cottage sometime, take the jet skis out for a spin. They don’t get used nearly enough.” 

Ilya didn’t stop the steady movements of the tattoo gun against Shane’s leg, but Shane watched as his eyes widened and he started chewing his lip. Shane’s heart fell into his stomach and he cringed at himself, hoping it only looked like a cringe at the pain. What the fuck, why had he done that? Of course Ilya didn’t want to come to his fucking cottage, not when Shane had basically told him he could never be anything more than a fuck buddy.

The buzz of the gun filled the awkward silence, and the pain started to feel much worse as Shane’s thoughts spiraled. Finally, Ilya spoke.

“Maybe,” he said, casually, kind of coldly. “Would love to try jet skis.”

“Cool, yeah, no pressure,” Shane said, with as much calm as he could muster.

“When will you go to the cottage this summer?” Ilya asked.

“Probably after the playoffs are over. I think I’ll stick around and watch the finals with my parents.”

“Ah.” Ilya nodded.

Shit.

Everything felt so uncomfortable now, and Shane didn’t know how to fix it. He was stuck in this position, and the pain was radiating through his leg, his breaths coming shallower and faster than they should. Was it the pain, his anxiety, or both? Ilya seemed to pick up on it, because he stopped what he was doing and looked up at Shane. 

“Okay? Need a break?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, maybe, is that okay?” Shane asked, feeling weak and pathetic.

“Of course, Shane. Always,” Ilya said, setting his gun down and standing. “Can I bring you water? Food?”

“Sure, some water would be good.” Shane was so grateful for Ilya, he wanted to cry or scream. Why was he so wonderful? Why did Shane put himself in this position again? This time knowing full well how he felt about Ilya.

Ilya came back through the curtain in the doorway with a large cup of water and handed it to Shane, giving him a light kiss on the top of his head, and Shane melted. The kiss, combined with the water, calmed him, and he looked at Ilya as he sat back down on his stool. 

“How are you feeling now?” Ilya asked warmly.

“A lot better, thank you,” Shane said, draining the cup and setting it down. “Sorry for making it weird.”

“You didn’t,” Ilya insisted. 

“I kind of did. I shouldn’t have invited you to my fucking cottage when I can’t even meet your coworkers without having a panic attack.”

“My employees, thank you very much,” Ilya laughed, and Shane laughed, and okay. He was okay.

“Fine, I can’t meet your employees without freaking out. I shouldn’t lead you on like that, regardless.”

“You are not leading me on,” Ilya said with a sigh. “I know that you are Mr. Privacy and you can’t be… gay?” Ilya said it like a question, and Shane realized he’d never actually said the words to Ilya.

“Yeah. Gay,” Shane felt his face get hot and he knew he was blushing, which was insane, because his dick had been in Ilya’s mouth 20 minutes ago. 

“Okay. I am bi. Now we know.” Ilya smiled at him and Shane leaned forward as much as he could. Ilya closed the distance and kissed him softly. 

“I wish it was possible. To just be gay,” Shane said. “But if I suddenly have a…” he was afraid to even utter the word, it felt so heavy on his tongue. “If I have a boyfriend, it will be headline news and everyone will have a million questions, and I don’t even know if they’d let me keep playing in the NHL. It would be so much trouble for me, and for… whoever I was with,” he finished limply. Unable to say “for you,” even though it was obviously Ilya he was talking about. 

“I understand, Shane,” Ilya offered compassionately. “I understood that first time you were here, you said it was complicated, and I got it. But I think… I like this, between us. It’s very good. Fuck, very good.” Ilya chuckled and Shane blushed again.

“But I cannot let myself get too attached, not when this is your life. I don’t like it. I fucking hate it. But I can’t come to your cottage.”

Shane nodded, throat feeling uncomfortably tight. He swallowed down his emotions and said, “I know. I understand too. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Ilya said, and Shane’s heart cracked in half. 

They looked at each other, holding eye contact for a long, quiet moment. It felt like they were fighting against a tide that swept them back in every time they tried to get to shore. They kept saying they couldn’t do this, and they kept doing it anyway. 

Finally, Ilya asked, “Ready to start again?”

“Yeah,” Shane nodded. 

Another minute passed while Ilya started up again, and Shane let the sharp throbbing pain in his thigh take him out of himself. He sunk into a kind of trance, the physical pain effectively taking over the emotional. 

“So tell me about Wyatt and Luca,” Shane said, jolted to attention when Ilya stopped to pick up more ink. “I know a bit from what you’ve told me, but how did they start working here?”

Ilya took a breath, seeming to swallow something else down that he’d wanted to say, and told Shane how he and Wyatt met through a mutual friend they both used to work with, how Luca had reached out and basically begged Ilya to let him apprentice, how he had to learn how to be a boss when he felt like he hardly knew what he was doing most of the time. He talked and talked, letting Shane focus on the building ache in his leg, which slowly pushed away the ache in his heart. 

***

When Ilya finally stopped, wiped Shane’s leg, and decided he was done with every little detail, he thought Shane might have fallen asleep. But when the buzz of the gun fell away, Shane opened his eyes and blinked a few times at the bright light. Ilya took a mental picture, wanting to hold on to this image of Shane in his chair forever.

“Are you done?” Shane asked, sounding almost disappointed. He sat up straighter and looked down at his leg, and his eyes went wide, jaw dropping. Ilya hoped that was a good shock and not a “I’ve made a terrible mistake” shock.

“Yes,” Ilya said with faux confidence. “Done. What do you think?”

“Ilya, it’s fucking incredible!” Shane jumped out of the chair, and Ilya had to roll himself back in his stool, laughing as he got out of the way. 

Looking in the mirror, Shane’s face lit up even more as he shifted his leg back and forth, getting all the angles. 

“I’m… I’m speechless, I don’t even know what to say,” Shane said, turning back to Ilya and looking at him with disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that while I was lying there, I’m… Ilya, I love it so much. Thank you.”

Ilya thought his heart might burst, just explode inside his chest and destroy the rest of his internal organs along the way, and he wouldn't care because he made Shane Hollander that happy. 

“Nothing else you want to add?” Ilya asked, ignoring the detonation happening inside his ribcage.

“No, not at all. It’s perfect, it’s beautiful.” Shane looked back up from gazing at his leg and smiled brightly at Ilya. “Can I please kiss you?”

Ilya laughed and sighed at the same time, standing as he did, and walked over to Shane. “Yes, you can kiss me. But just small kiss, I need to bandage that before it gets infected.”

“Fair,” Shane said, and leaned in to give Ilya the softest, sweetest kiss he’d ever gotten. And Ilya cursed himself and Shane and the fucking entire NHL for making it impossible for Ilya to be allowed to love him.

After he took a few pictures and got Shane bandaged up, Ilya watched with affection as Shane put his pants back on.

“I almost don’t want to get dressed,” Shane laughed, all the awkwardness from earlier seemingly gone. “I just want to keep staring at the tattoo.”

Too fucking cute. 

“I am not opposed to you not wearing pants,” Ilya said with a wink. Shane turned pink and rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, well…” Shane walked closer to Ilya, who was sitting back in his stool. “I can always take them off again later.” 

Up in Ilya’s bed, after Shane and Ilya had both taken off their pants and everything else and taken each other apart, the tension that arose when Shane half-invited Ilya to his cottage felt like it was seeping back in and poisoning their sex-happy moods. 

Shane lay on his back, cautious of irritating his bandaged thigh, and Ilya was on his side, propping his head up on an elbow. He gazed down at the expanse of Shane’s tan, freckled skin before him, and not for the first time, marveled at how insanely stunning he was and thought about kissing every inch of that beautiful skin, feeling Shane tremble and hearing his soft sighs and getting hard again... 

Shane cleared his throat, ruining Ilya’s daydream.

“I’m sorry. Again. About dragging you into my complicated life.”

“Shane,” Ilya stroked Shane’s cheek, and Shane pressed into his hand like a cat. “Don’t be sorry. This is worth it, even though it hurts.”

“Yeah?” Shane asked, eyes round and pleading.

“Yeah.”

“I think so too,” Shane said with a soft smile. “You’re like… I don’t know. The most interesting person I’ve ever met. I’m so impressed with your talent, it’s something I could never do and never even really thought about until I met you. But you’re fucking so good at this.” He gestured to his tattoo. “And you built this business, and… yeah. Thank you for sharing all of that with me.”

Ilya thunked his head down onto Shane’s chest, overwhelmed with emotion and furious at Shane for being so fucking adoring and earnest when Ilya needed him to be cold and leave him here and ghost him. That would make his life easier. This? This was agony. 

“Shane, you can’t say shit like that to me,” Ilya laughed into his skin. 

“I’m sorry!” Shane whined. “Fuck. I keep fucking up.”

Ilya looked up at him, seeing Shane’s usually warm eyes scrunched shut in frustration. 

“No you don’t. You’re perfect.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“You’re close.”

Shane laughed, his chest bouncing Ilya’s head along with it. “Fine, well, so are you.”

They laughed together and settled into another, much more comfortable silence.

“Do you want to come over and watch one of the cup finals games with me and my family?” Shane asked out of nowhere.

“Shane… that seems very boyfriendy,” Ilya was deeply skeptical of this invitation.

“I know, but it doesn’t have to be. As a friend, you can come as a friend. My dad was so impressed with your work, I think he’d love to meet you.”

“Oh yes?” Ilya was intrigued. “Does he have lots of tattoos?”

Shane barked a laugh, “No! None. But he can appreciate good craftsmanship.” 

“Ah okay,” Ilya laughed. “And your mom?”

“She’ll love you for watching all my games. She’s more of a hockey fanatic than I am.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Wait until you meet Yuna Hollander.”

***

A week later, Shane sat on the couch in his parents’ house, leg bouncing and checking his phone every 10 seconds, watching the pregame show for game six of the Stanley Cup finals, where New York could eliminate LA and win it all. Ilya was supposed to be here any minute, and Shane was trying to remember why exactly he’d invited him. 

In the moment, it felt like a good idea. He was warm and freshly-fucked in Ilya’s bed, so it was easy to think any stupid thing was a good idea, but in the stark reality of the house he grew up in, sitting next to his mom, Shane realized it was probably a mistake.

“Are you okay?” His mom asked, turning away from the TV to glance down at Shane’s bouncing leg and then his face. 

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine, why?” Shane asked, snapping out of his shame spiral.

“Your leg,” She put a hand on his knee, stilling him. “You seem nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous. Just, uh, wondering when my friend will get here,” Shane replied, looking at his mom with a forced smile.

“Okay…” She replied, sounding doubtful, standing and saying, “I’m sure he’ll be here in a few minutes. I’m getting a glass of wine, do you want something to drink?” before walking into the kitchen, where his dad was cleaning up from dinner.

“Um a beer, I guess? Thanks, mom.” Shane figured a beer might help calm his nerves. He needed to keep it together, or he’d never get through this. He was contemplating texting Ilya and telling him not to come, when his phone buzzed.

Ilya: i’m here. ok to park in driveway?

Shane: Yep, that’s fine.

Shane breathed in and out through his nose a few times, deciding to go outside to greet Ilya, afraid of what his face might reveal to his parents if Ilya walked in while they were in the room.

Closing the front door quietly behind him, Shane walked down the path to the driveway and his eyes went wide. Ilya was straddling a motorcycle, holding a helmet under his arm and his phone in the other hand. He looked up when Shane approached, smiling and relaxed. Fuck him and his ability to be calm.

“What the fuck is this?” Shane asked.

“What’s what?” Ilya furrowed his brow.

“This!” Shane gestured at the death-machine he was straddling.

“A motorcycle. You have never seen before?” Ilya asked with a laugh as he climbed off and rested the helmet on the seat.

“Of course I’ve seen one before, and I’ve seen what happens to people when they crash too,” Shane said, eyebrows raised knowingly at Ilya.

“Really? You are mad about this?” Ilya laughed.

“Motorcycles are so dangerous, I can’t believe you ride one,” Shane crossed his arms.

“Awww, you care about me,” Ilya grinned.

“Fuck you, no I don’t.” Shane obviously did care about him, but he couldn’t fold so easily. 

“Shane, it’s fine. I am very safe driver,” Ilya sighed and laughed, approaching him with an arm outstretched like he wanted to pull Shane to him.

Turning away from Ilya, Shane said, “Whatever, it’s your life you’re risking.” 

He started walking towards the house, not wanting to risk any neighbors catching them touching or kissing. At least his annoyance at Ilya’s stupid motorcycle had effectively pushed his nerves out of the way. “Come on, the game’s about to start.”

“Wait, Shane,” Ilya jogged lightly after him. “I know I am here as friend only, but can’t I kiss you before going inside?”

Shane’s heart melted. He wanted to kiss Ilya so bad. Like, every second they were together, he wanted to be kissing him. But he couldn’t risk it.

“The neighbors could see,” Shane whispered frantically when Ilya caught up to him. He stuck his lower lip out in a ridiculous pout, and Shane wanted to suck it into his mouth. “I’m sorry,” Shane softened his tone. “We really can’t though.”

“Okay.” Ilya pulled his lip back into place and Shane tried to pretend he didn’t see how he deflated in disappointment. 

“Let’s go inside,” Shane sighed. 

He felt Ilya step up close behind him and his hand froze on the doorknob. Ilya leaned close, and Shane let him, just for a moment, because he felt so warm and solid and good.

“I will behave and we will watch hockey, and everything will be fine,” Ilya whispered into his ear. “I promise.”

Biting his lip to keep from smiling too wide, Shane nodded and opened the door.

His parents were sitting on the sofa facing the TV when they walked into the living room, and both stood to greet Ilya.

“Mom, dad, this is my friend Ilya,” Shane said while Ilya leaned in and shook their hands. “Ilya, this is my mom Yuna and my dad David.”

“Hi Ilya, it’s nice to meet you, come on in,” Yuna said and ushered Ilya to the spot she had been occupying on the couch before settling on the loveseat. “The game should be starting any minute.”

“Do you want a drink?” Shane asked, “We have beer and wine and ginger ale, probably some other stuff.” 

Shane was trying so hard to be relaxed and easygoing, but it was difficult when he saw Ilya sitting there in his black Centaurs t-shirt that was just slightly too tight on his arms in a way that made Shane weak in the knees. And he was sitting there with Shane’s parents. It was like two separate universes were colliding — the normal one he lived in every day, and the one where he and Ilya were secretly fucking. 

“Beer is good, thank you,” Ilya smiled at him, not a teasing or flirty smile, a sweet one that made Shane’s heart flutter. Fuck.

***

“So, Ilya, you’re a tattoo artist, right?” David Hollander asked him. 

He was a handsome man, and his wife Yuna, who Shane had told him was Japanese-Canadian (and he’d already known from reading Shane’s wikipedia page), was beautiful. He could see bits of Shane in both of them, and it made him like them immediately. He was instantly comfortable under the kind, attentive eyes they turned on him, so much like Shane’s. Nothing at all like his own parents.

“Ah, yes, that is how Shane and I met, I did his tattoos,” Ilya said, quieter than he would normally be, out of some sort of deference or respect.

“I have to tell you, we were pretty surprised when Shane agreed to the cup tattoo, let alone the new one,” David laughed. “But they both look fantastic, really impressive stuff.”

“Thank you,” Ilya nodded. 

Yuna stayed quiet, but her eyes didn’t leave Ilya, like she was assessing him, trying to figure him out. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t intimidating.

“I didn’t expect to see Shane again, either,” Ilya continued with a little laugh. “He did not seem happy to be getting first tattoo. But it was pleasant surprise when I heard from him again.”

It was such a massive understatement that Ilya felt stupid not saying how he really felt. 

“It’s nice that you’ve become friends,” Yuna finally spoke again, still assessing. “And I see you’re a Centaurs fan?” She asked with a quirked eyebrow, all judgment now.

Ilya laughed again. “Yes, sorry, am I not welcome not in Voyageurs clothes?”

“I can make an exception,” she hummed, but turned her nose up at him.

Shane walked back in then, balancing two beers and two glasses of wine.

“Mom, I was a Centaurs fan until I got drafted,” Shane said, half exasperated, half laughing. “And I know Dad is still a fan no matter how much he tries to hide it.”

Yuna looked at David with raised eyebrows, and damn it. Ilya loved this family and their easy banter already. 

“Centaurs are always terrible, so no real competition with Montreal anyway, right?” Ilya reasoned. 

Yuna laughed at that, and Ilya felt like he was getting an A on a test. 

“You’re so right, Ilya,” she smiled at him. “Your Centaurs shirt is forgiven.”

“Mom,” Shane glared at her. “Please stop harassing him.” 

“I just said he was forgiven,” she insisted.

“Okay, you two,” David turned the sound on the TV up from the quiet background din it had been. “The game is starting.”

The room went quiet for a short minute while the game got underway, and then the commentary started. Watching hockey with the best hockey player in the world was a completely different experience than watching casually or even as a devoted fan, Ilya had learned with Shane. It was like he couldn’t turn off the part of his brain that analyzed every play as if he was reviewing game tape — and Ilya got completely sucked into his running analysis, although that may have been because he loved the way Shane got worked up during a game and had to release all that energy after it ended.

What surprised Ilya was the commentary from Yuna too. They sparred back and forth, critiquing tiny things Ilya didn’t even notice, pointing out stick angles and play formations or arguing with each other over which way a penalty should go. Shane was right — his mom might just care more about hockey than he did.

When they were halfway through the first period, David reached over and nudged Ilya’s elbow that was resting on the arm rest. 

“They’re a lot, aren’t they?” He muttered, smiling, quietly enough that the other two couldn’t hear him. 

Ilya tore his eyes away from Shane and huffed a laugh, looking at David. “Yes. Shane said Yuna was big fan, but I did not realize what he meant until now.”

David smiled fondly, and Ilya absently noted that his own father had probably never smiled fondly in his entire life. Or done anything fondly, really.

“I’m a fan too, don’t get me wrong, but I like to just sit back and watch when hockey is on with these two. Feels like it’s been that way since Shane could talk.”

Fuck, David, you can’t go saying shit like that when I’m trying not to fall in love with your son. That’s what Ilya wanted to say, but instead he said, “Makes sense. Is almost more fun to watch them than the game.”

David turned his fond smile on Ilya, and Ilya thought he should probably run now before he asked the Hollanders to adopt him.

“I’m glad you and Shane became friends,” David said with a wink. 

He needed to reign in the heart eyes he was probably shooting at Shane.

“Thank you.” Ilya couldn’t help the fucking smitten smile that was probably on his face. “Me too.”

He turned back to the TV and saw the first period had ended. 

Shane muted the intermission report, and Yuna sipped her wine, declaring, “Well, Scott Hunter is finally going to get his cup.”

***

Shane’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned to his mom to ask, “How can you possibly know that? There are two more periods. Anything can happen, mom.”

“Sure, anything can happen,” she agreed. “And what will happen is the Admirals winning.”

“Why do you say that?” Ilya interjected, turning to Yuna and surprising Shane with the question. Shane was unreasonably delighted that he was joining the conversation. 

“Great question, Ilya,” Yuna smiled smugly at Shane. “I like him, Shane.”

Shane’s ears got hot, and he internally cursed himself, knowing he must be blushing bright red.  

“LA’s defense is a mess. I know New York only has one goal now,” his mom started. “But you can see LA’s weaknesses clear as day. Ramsey is playing hurt, I have no idea why they have Wellwood in goal, and their backcheck is a disaster.”

“But Scott Hunter is so old,” Ilya volleyed back. “He will have no stamina by end of game.”

“Scott Hunter is like three years older than me,” Shane laughed, rolling his eyes. “He’s not that old.”

“He’s one hundred years old,” Ilya insisted, and Yuna laughed. 

“Hunter might be getting up there in years, but he’s been on fire the last few months. I don’t see that letting up. It’s his year, I’m telling you,” she said, looking smug, as if he had already won.

She kept going, explaining all the reasons why she knew New York would win, and Ilya, Shane was shocked to see, was rapt. He nodded along, asked follow up questions, and started inserting his own analysis too. Shane didn’t bother trying to get a word in, because he was sitting back and enjoying this moment far more than he should.

Watching Ilya enthusiastically nod along to his mom’s hockey rant and laugh at the jokes his dad threw in, Shane was struck with a vision of how his life could be. If he weren’t the hockey prodigy who was supposed to bring ten more cups to Montreal, if he didn’t have brand deals that required him to be the picture-perfect role model, if he didn’t play a deeply homophobic sport that would likely shun him for being gay…

There were enough ifs that Shane would drown in them if he kept going. And none of them mattered, because he wasn’t going to give up his career. He couldn’t. Too many people depended on him, looked up to him, and expected greatness from him. And in their eyes, greatness would never include being gay. 

Shane sighed, and Ilya turned to him.

“Everything okay?” he asked with a concerned look. “You are very quiet, which is unusual when hockey is conversation topic.”

“Hm?” Shane realized he’d been staring off into the distance and the second period was about to start. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Just thinking about… um… how it should be me up there.” He decided on that, a reasonable excuse. 

“It will be again, soon enough,” his mom said proudly, and Shane tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace.

They all settled back in for the second period, and Shane felt himself drifting closer to Ilya on the couch. It was that magnetic pull that Shane could never resist for long, since that very first night in the tattoo studio. He wondered if his parents would notice if he got close enough for their thighs to touch, nothing more than that, just to feel the warmth of Ilya’s body on his in any way he could. He saw Ilya’s right cheek tip up the smallest bit as he spread his legs a centimeter more, nudging Shane and pressing their thighs together. 

The game ended up being a nail-biter, with a 2-2 tie and just over two minutes left. Shane had been insisting that his mom was wrong and that they would go to game seven, when Scott Hunter was on a sudden breakaway. The puck sailed into the net, and New York was up by one with a minute left. Shane’s mom clapped her hands in finality. 

“That’s it! I told you,” she gloated, smiling up at his dad as he handed her a refilled glass of wine. “This was New York’s year. Good for Scott Hunter.”

“Shouldn’t you be mad that I’m not the one winning?” Shane asked with a laugh.

“Well, you obviously couldn’t be there, and your team clearly couldn’t get there without you—” She cut herself off and gestured at the screen with her wine glass. “And there it is. Game over.”

“Your mother is very smart woman, Shane,” Ilya said matter-of-factly as he smiled winningly at her. 

Shane had definitely not needed to worry about his parents liking Ilya. Not that it really mattered, Shane knew that. But he still felt a little tingle of happiness that Ilya had completely charmed them both. 

His dad had asked Ilya to show him some more of his work in the second intermission, and Shane had to laugh as they scrolled Ilya’s Instagram together, his dad pointing out tattoos he particularly liked. Even his skeptical mom was easily won over, thanks to Ilya happily listening to her hockey commentary, and his assurances that he always rooted for Montreal against Ottawa — probably a lie, but Shane was okay with it. 

The night was ending, and it left Shane feeling contented and miserable in equal measure as he sat on the couch and watched them bring the Stanley Cup out onto the ice. He was happy for Scott Hunter — he was a good guy who had always been friendly to Shane off the ice, and it was true he had been one of the best players in the league to not win a cup at this point in his career. Shane wished it had been the Voyageurs again, of course he did. But he could be happy for Hunter.

Sighing, Shane leaned forward, knowing it was probably time for Ilya to go home, however much he wished he could go home with Ilya. His dad was looking at his phone, his mom next to him on the couch happily watching the wives and families of the Admirals stream onto the ice. 

“Well, I guess I should—”

Shane stopped talking mid-sentence, blinking at the TV, trying to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. 

Scott Hunter was pulling a man from the crowd onto the ice, holding his hand and helping him over the boards. It was a young man, so it couldn’t be his dad… maybe his brother? But why wouldn’t he have been with the rest of the families?

Shane stood and stepped towards the TV, mouth hanging open, tracking Scott Hunter’s every move. 

He vaguely heard some movement behind him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen.

“Holy shit,” Shane whispered.

“Shane?” Ilya asked questioningly, and Shane felt his presence approaching, but he didn’t turn around. He was frozen in place, glued to the scene playing out before him. 

“Holy shit,” he repeated, louder.

Because he was watching Scott Hunter kiss a man. And it wasn’t a friendly, polite kiss. No, Scott Hunter, who had just won the Stanley fucking Cup, was full-on making out with a man. On live television. In front of everyone. 

“What the fuck?” He jerked his body around to face Ilya, who was right behind him now. “Ilya, what the fuck? Is this real?”

“I don’t know,” Ilya said, a huge grin on his face. “Yes, I think so?”

His perfect face with his crooked smile and his somehow-always-sparkling hazel eyes, under his perfectly messy curls that felt so good sliding between Shane’s fingers. His full, pink lips, that were almost always on Shane’s mind.

And without thinking, adrenaline pumping through his veins, Shane grabbed Ilya’s stupidly perfect face and kissed him.

Ilya froze for a split second, then leaned into it, pulling Shane in closer by his waist and squeezing. They held each other there for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, before Shane broke the kiss. Ilya looked at him with wide, shocked eyes, lips slightly parted, and Shane’s heart almost stopped. He remembered where he was. In his parents’ living room. With his parents. Who were now gaping at him with shocked, confused faces. 

Quickly stepping back and letting Ilya’s hands fall from his waist, Shane turned to his flabbergasted mom and dad, who didn’t even know he was gay. Jesus Christ, what had he done?

“Um.” That was all Shane could manage, heart beating an irregular rhythm in his chest, eyes darting around, looking for anything to focus on other than the two people he’d been lying to for years. 

“Shane?” his mom asked quietly. 

Ilya turned to face them too, elbow to elbow with Shane, and Shane glanced at him. Ilya’s eyes were still wide, lips still parted. Shane wanted him. Shane wanted this. 

“Yeah,” Shane sighed, finally looking back at his parents. “So… I’m gay.”

“Oh.” His dad whispered, leaving his lips in the O shape, and Shane would have laughed if this wasn’t the most absurd, terrifying moment of his life.

“Um, yeah.” He tried to smile, but couldn’t quite get his lips to cooperate. “And this isn’t how I wanted to tell you, and I’m really sorry about that. But, I just kind of… um…” 

He didn’t have the words to explain what had just happened inside him watching Scott Hunter kiss a man — his boyfriend?— on TV. It was like a cloud had been lifted from over him that he didn’t even know was there in the first place, and a different universe altogether was shining in the light ahead. And then Ilya was there looking at him, and he felt strangely free for a second. Free from all the burdens of his life. All he could see was Ilya and the only thing he could think was to kiss him. So he did.

“... I saw Hunter, and I don’t know.” He shrugged helplessly, because what else could he do? “And Ilya isn’t just my friend… obviously,” he finished limply, wishing he could disappear.

Looking over, he saw Ilya shrug too, an apologetic smile on his face, and Shane was overwhelmed with gratitude for him. 

“And, we’ve been—” Shane started, but his dad cut him off.

“Shane,” his dad said, firm but kind, still looking shocked and confused, but maybe almost smiling. “Why don’t you sit down, and we can talk, okay?”

“Sure,” Shane replied, nodding. He was so dazed, he couldn’t really think, but sitting was probably a good idea. Shane walked back to the couch, and Ilya followed. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Shane offered an out to Ilya, looking up at him. It wasn't fair to drag him into this family drama.

“I would like to stay.” Ilya sat down next to him and rubbed Shane’s back in a soothing motion.

And fuck, Shane was in love with him, wasn’t he?

***

This actually wasn’t the first emotional coming out that Ilya had been present for, having been next to Luca when he Facetimed his parents in Switzerland when he decided he couldn’t bear for them to not know anymore. Ilya was more than happy to be supportive, knowing how his own, now-dead, father would have reacted if Ilya ever told him flat-out that he was bi.

But this was different. He was involved. 

He’d spent this whole evening trying desperately to hide his feelings for Shane, using all of his willpower to stop himself from draping an arm around his back or putting a hand on his thigh. As nervous as Shane had been their first night together, it was nothing compared to the high-frequency tension he had been radiating all night, so Ilya held back as tightly as he could.

Going into this, he had known he was hurting himself by even accepting Shane’s invitation tonight. But Shane was that irresistible to him, he couldn’t say no. So he went in with every intention of saying goodbye to Shane and seeing him maybe one more time before he bolted for good. 

Now?

Now Ilya had no fucking idea what was going to happen. But he couldn’t just leave Shane to deal with this alone, not after that kiss. 

As much as it had been thrilling to watch Scott Hunter kiss some guy on TV, Ilya couldn't fathom what it meant to Shane to see someone breaking this barrier — the barrier that was holding him back and forcing him to lock away his full self. What would it be like to see someone else taking the chance you were too terrified to even consider? Clearly, it was powerful, and Ilya had a tiny kernel of hope that this might somehow change things for him too.

So he’d stay and support Shane through this awkward moment, especially if there was a promise of something real for them on the other side of it.

Shane looked over at him from where he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and mouthed “thank you” as Ilya continued to soothe him with a hand on his back. Then Shane took a deep breath, sat up, and faced his parents, who looked back at him with confused expressions.

“So…” Shane started. “Like I said, I’m gay.”

His mom nodded, chewing on the side of her bottom lip, that assessing look in her eyes again.

“And Ilya and I are…” Shane stopped, searching for the word. 

They weren’t boyfriends. They weren’t… anything, really. Except, they definitely were. 

“Um…” Shane glanced over at Ilya, as if he would have the answer.

“Lovers?” Ilya suggested, more of a question than a statement.

But oops, that was the wrong thing to say, because Yuna’s eyes went wide and Shane squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, saying, “No, Ilya, that’s gross.”

He’d shut up, then. 

“We’ve been seeing each other,” Shane corrected, though Ilya could tell that Shane’s parents got the gist. 

“We did sometimes wonder if you might be. Gay, that is,” David said, thoughtful rather than accusatory. 

“You did?” Shane asked, bewildered. 

“We do know you pretty well, Shane,” Yuna answered with a warm smile.

Ilya breathed easy after that. 

Shane explained to his parents that when he’d dated women, he had been trying to convince himself that he liked them, rather than intentionally trying to convince anyone else. But over the last year, he’d started to really accept that he was gay — but he hadn’t planned to come out any time soon. 

“And you were just going to keep this secret? Forever?” Yuna asked, looking absolutely heartbroken. 

Shane nodded, looking down. 

“I figured I’d probably come out after I retired or something,” Shane said with a small shrug, and Ilya squeezed his shoulder

“Oh Shane,” Yuna sighed sadly. Ilya didn’t know what to do with himself, so he just sat, a steady presence at Shane’s side. 

“And I haven’t even really told you this.” Shane turned to Ilya momentarily. “But I guess what really sort of pushed me to start accepting it, was meeting you.” He held Ilya’s gaze, eyes swimming with the hint of tears, making them shine in the low light of the room.

“Really?” Ilya didn’t know what to say or how to react. He was the reason? Ilya? He wanted to make a joke, tease Shane that Ilya had fucked him so well he could never be with a woman again. He wanted to deflect like he always did.

But what he really wanted…

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Ilya admitted with a guilty laugh.

Shane looked shocked and started to shake his head rapidly, but David interjected with a smile, “Oh go ahead, don’t hold back on our account.”

They both laughed, and Ilya took Shane’s jaw in one hand, guiding him into a soft, chaste kiss. When he pulled back, Shane was still laughing, almost disbelieving.

The tension in the room broke, but Ilya could tell from their expressions that Shane’s parents had a lot more questions. Now that things were calmer, Ilya felt he should probably go. 

He moved to stand, and Shane said, “Wait, where are you going?”

“I think…” Ilya started, finding it very hard to walk away from Shane with that look on his face. “I think you have things to talk about without me.”

“Oh,” Shane followed Ilya to stand. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

After getting hugs from both Hollander parents and assurances that Shane would call him the next day, Ilya left. 

As he rode back to his apartment, his head was spinning, and he was hardly paying attention to the road, and when he realized that, he laughed knowing how angry Shane would be at him for driving irresponsibly. Because he really was always thinking of Shane. It had only been a month of so of secret hookups, long nights talking and fucking and teasing and laughing and being more comfortable with someone than he’d been in a long time. 

Ilya was buzzing with energy when he got back to his apartment. He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep, even though it was past midnight at this point. He really wished Shane were here now to help him expend some of this energy; their brief kisses hadn’t been nearly enough, and Ilya craved more of Shane. And he did want to hear how the rest of Shane’s conversation went with his parents, to make sure he was okay and didn’t regret kissing Ilya in front of them. But also… he needed release. 

By 2 AM, Ilya was still awake, lying in bed and scrolling absently on his phone. He’d jerked off, hoping that would take the edge off, but with the horniness gone, the worry and concern for Shane had room to plant themselves firmly at the front of his mind. Right as he was about to say fuck it and pull up some porn to distract himself again, something even better appeared on his screen.

Shane: Are you still awake?

Ilya: yes, are you ok?

Shane: I’m outside your back door.

Ilya leapt out of bed and to the door, then remembered he was naked and turned back to pull on a pair of sweats, and then he bolted down the stairs to get the back door for Shane.

He looked really fucking beautiful in the slice of horrible florescent light that shone out of the open door, standing there with his backpack and raised eyebrows. Despite the tired bags under his eyes and his wildly messy hair he’d probably been running his hands though anxiously for hours, despite everything, he looked that fucking good. 

“Hey,” Shane said with a sheepish smile. “Is this okay?

“Get in here,” Ilya grumbled, pulling Shane in with a handful of his sleeve, and letting the door slam behind him.

As soon as it was closed, their mouths were on each other, and they kissed hard and desperate and exactly how Ilya wanted. Shane’s hands stroked through Ilya’s hair then down the bare skin of his back, making Ilya break out in goosebumps. Shane moaned into his mouth and pushed him against the wall, slowing and deepening the kiss for a long blissful minute. 

Breathless, they pulled apart. 

“I had a feeling you’d be awake,” Shane panted. “I couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard I tried.”

“Did everything go okay?” Ilya asked, stroking the skin under the hem of Shane’s shirt with his thumbs. 

“Yeah,” Shane answered with a sigh. “Yeah, they were great. It got pretty emotional. My mom apologized for doing anything to make me feel like I couldn’t come out, and she cried, and I cried, and my dad didn’t cry but he was great too, and yeah. It was good. We’re good.”

“Good.”

They just stared at each other for a beat, Ilya’s hands on Shane’s hips, Shane’s hands on his shoulders.

“Upstairs,” Ilya finally said, pushing off the wall and nudging Shane up ahead of him, and Shane chuckled lightly, ducking his head.  

Once inside, Ilya pulled Shane into the bedroom, swept his shirt up over his head and yanked his sweatpants down so Shane was left in his boxers. Then he climbed into bed and held the covers up for Shane. 

“You’re not going to ravish me?” Shane asked, then yawned.

Ilya just raised an eyebrow at him, and Shane laughed as he slipped into bed next to Ilya. 

“Fine, fair enough. I am pretty fucking exhausted.”

“I will ravish you when we wake up,” Ilya promised, pulling Shane into him and wrapping his arms around him. He nuzzled into Shane’s hair, breathing in the fresh oceany smell of his shampoo and the underlying Shane essence that Ilya could never get enough of. They fell asleep almost immediately.

***

Shane woke up tucked into Ilya’s tattooed chest, face to face with his ridiculous snarling bear tattoo. Shane kissed it on the nose and snuggled in even closer, which made Ilya grunt softly and shift slightly. The curtain in the window was outlined in bright shining sunlight, meaning they must have slept later than Shane normally did. He knew Ilya had to work today and wondered if he should wake him up.  

They were going to have to talk, Shane knew that. But he wanted to stay in the peaceful cocoon of Ilya’s bed as long as he could. Last night had been so unexpected and, frankly, fucking weird. But it also left Shane feeling lighter — hopeful even. 

To have the support of his parents, who he loved so much, meant everything to him. But it also meant everything to him that Ilya stayed with him last night, then welcomed Shane into his arms when he showed up at 2 AM, exhausted and needy. 

Between the hope Scott Hunter gave him and the unwavering support and care Ilya showed last night, Shane felt bolder. Like maybe he and Ilya could actually be something. Be together. 

And he needed Ilya. Now. 

Wriggling out from under his arm, with a mild grumble of protest in response, Shane shifted down the mattress, pushed Ilya onto his back, and settled between his legs. Ilya was still half asleep, but slowly rousing, and Shane had a sudden primal need to wake Ilya up with his dick in Shane’s mouth. 

Pulling down the waistband of Ilya’s sweats, Shane huffed a satisfied breath of laughter when he revealed Ilya’s already half-hard cock. He took it in his mouth, delighting in the feeling of it getting harder against his tongue, and feeling his face get warm with a blush. For so long, Shane had hated how much he loved having a dick in his mouth, but this morning he was going to forget that and savor the smooth hot weight of it between his lips. 

Ilya moaned a little, still not opening his eyes, but clearly aware of Shane down here. Shane sucked up and swirled his tongue around the head of his cock. Ilya let out a little “fuck, Shane” in a sleep-drenched whisper, which was encouragement enough to do it again. When Ilya finally opened his eyes, he looked down and met Shane’s gaze with a sleepy smile. 

“Good morning,” Ilya hummed, and Shane smiled as much as he could around his dick, not wanting to stop. “Such good view to wake up to.”

The light seeping in around the edges of the curtain cast Ilya in a soft glow, and combined with his tired voice and halo of rumpled hair, he was the best view Shane had ever seen.

After a few more slick slides of his lips, Shane pulled off Ilya’s dick, drawing out an impatient groan from Ilya’s throat. 

“Why did you stop?” Ilya laughed as Shane climbed up his body to meet him in a kiss. 

“You promised to ravage me when we woke up,” Shane hummed. “So I needed to wake you up.”

“So needy,” Ilya hummed between soft swipes of their lips. 

“I am,” Shane admitted, gazing down at Ilya, no longer able to push down the full intensity of his feelings. “Need you.” Shane rolled his hips and shuddered at the feeling of Ilya’s hard cock rubbing against his through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Tell me. What do you need?” Ilya asked into Shane’s neck between hot, open-mouthed kisses.

“Need you,” Shane repeated, getting worked up now, losing his train of thought with each roll of his hips. “Inside me.”

Ilya grumbled low in his chest and pulled Shane’s mouth back into his, hips pushing up to meet Shane’s in a steady grind. 

“Want you on top. Take me, Shane,” Ilya whispered into his ear, his breath tickling Shane and making him let out a little moan of anticipation.

“Yes,” was Shane’s only breathy reply. 

He scrambled to remove his boxers and Ilya’s sweats while Ilya leaned over to the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom. They both moved frantically now, like every second they weren’t intertwined was a second too long. Once Shane was back to straddling Ilya’s hips, Ilya reached a long arm around Shane to start slowly circling his hole with two lubed fingers. Shane rolled his hips back, seeking more, trying to force Ilya’s fingers inside; at the same time he leaned forward to kiss and suck and nibble at the smooth curve where Ilya’s neck met his shoulder. 

“Come on,” Shane whined, aching to feel Ilya inside him again, desperate for it and unashamed. Ilya, who would normally tease Shane a little longer, gave in and pressed both fingers slowly inside, making Shane gasp and moan. 

“This what you want?” Ilya asked, low and hot into Shane’s ear.

“Fuck, yes,” Shane said with tight breaths, pushing through the brief burning and relaxing into the pure pleasure he always felt being filled by Ilya. “More.”

“Greedy,” Ilya laughed, but didn’t wait before pulling out and pushing back in with three fingers. 

“Oh god, mmmm, yeah.”

Shane pushed his hips back, seeking more, the angle not allowing Ilya’s fingers to reach the spot that made Shane lose his mind with pleasure. After a minute of grinding onto Ilya’s fingers, Shane couldn't wait any longer.  

“Let me ride you, please, need your cock,” Shane whined, knowing he was being demanding.

Ilya laughed lightly and pulled his fingers out, leaving Shane empty and wanting, but only long enough to slip on a condom and lube himself before Shane slid slowly down onto Ilya’s — fuck — thick cock. 

Shane was loud, groaning into Ilya’s neck and grinding back in long steady motions onto Ilya’s length.

“That what you wanted, sweetheart?” Ilya asked in a choked whisper.

“Always,” Shane panted, overcome with emotion hearing the pet name escape Ilya’s lips, “Always want you, Ilya.”

Ilya groaned again and wrapped his arms around Shane’s back, squeezing him tight to his chest so that he could buck his hips up hard and fast, slamming into Shane’s hole with perfect intensity. Shane felt like he was being ripped in half, with Ilya’s grip the only thing keeping him together, and he let it all go — all his fear and anxiety and uncertainty. It melted away with each thrust of Ilya’s cock inside him, bringing him to the brink of orgasm already. His own cock was trapped between them, slick with sweat and sliding against the trail of hair that ran down Ilya’s abs, sensitive and almost overstimulated with the rough pace.

“You have me,” Ilya grunted. “Always, if you want.”

Shane cried out when Ilya picked up the pace, pushing back as much as he could in the tight grip of Ilya’s beautiful arms. His arms that were covered with the artwork he created, his heart worn on his sleeve — they made Shane want to let his heart be freer, to share it more fully. Overwhelmed, he pressed his mouth to Ilya’s, moaning into his mouth and kissing him over and over again until he was right there.

“Come for me,” Ilya murmured into Shane’s mouth. “I can feel you close. Come on my cock, let me feel you.”

Every muscle in Shane’s body tensed and then he shuddered and came hard with a moan of “fuuuuuck” as he rode out the pleasure that seemed to last forever, until he finally collapsed against Ilya. Ilya held Shane there, thrusting up into him and making Shane whimper with delicious overstimulation until he froze and Shane could feel him pulsing inside of him. 

“Shane.” It was a broken whisper, reverent and adoring, and Shane felt it reverberate throughout his whole body. 

With heaving breaths, they both came down slowly, wrapped around each other, sweaty and sticky between them where Shane had come.

“Ilya,” Shane pulled his head up and looked down at him, face flushed, hair a complete mess, and soft, satisfied smile pulling his cheeks wide. Brushing a hand through Ilya’s sweaty curls, Shane whispered, “I want this, I want something real. I love you.”

Ilya’s smile morphed into a shocked expression, and he blinked a few times like he was trying to clear his head. Shane realized, watching Ilya process his words, that it might have been a weird thing to say while Ilya was still inside him, but the moment felt right, and he didn’t want to wait any longer. But the more time passed without Ilya saying anything, Shane began to worry. He moved to sit up, but Ilya pulled him back down.

“I love you too,” Ilya whispered, “Of course I love you, I want you, I want everything.” He laughed and squeezed Shane tighter, and Shane sighed with relief, nuzzling into Ilya’s neck and feeling like he might explode with happiness if Ilya let go.

***

After a few blissful minutes reveling in their confessions, Shane pulled away from Ilya and insisted they clean themselves up before doing or talking about anything else.

They kissed and washed each other and kissed some more under the spray of the shower until Ilya finally dragged Shane out, dried him off, and gave him some fresh clothes to wear. Shane swam in Ilya’s big t-shirt, and the sight of it made Ilya feel slightly feral, but he couldn’t be having those thoughts right now. They needed to have a real conversation.

On the couch with a coffee mug wrapped in his hands, Shane looked down into the mug and tapped on the ceramic with a single fingernail, making a little clinking sound. Ilya stood in the kitchen, watching him for a few extra seconds before joining him there. Shane loved him. 

It was a little hard to believe, if Ilya was honest with himself. Shane Hollander, the greatest hockey player in a generation, one of the most famous men in Canada, the hottest man in the NHL, just happened to walk into Ilya’s studio last year, and an hour ago that very same man told Ilya he loved him. Make that make sense. Ilya couldn’t. But he loved Shane so completely, he didn’t care. 

He walked over to the couch and settled himself against the arm facing Shane, who looked up and gave Ilya a small, gentle smile. 

“Hey,” Shane said, lifting his mug. “Good coffee.”

Ilya just nodded while Shane took a sip and waited for Shane to break the ice and start talking. But of course, Shane was nervous and had closed back up, his instinct to hide so obvious to Ilya. 

“Shane.” Ilya nudged him with a socked toe.

“Ilya.” Shane turned so he was leaning against the other arm of the couch. Their feet touched in the middle, and Shane flexed his toes into Ilya’s. 

Ilya’s heart was in his throat and he couldn’t hold back. “You said you love me.”

“I did.” Shane nodded and bit back a grin. “You said it back.”

Ilya nodded back. “So, now what?”

Shane inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, and Ilya got momentarily scared that Shane was about to say it didn’t matter if they loved each other — it didn’t matter what Scott Hunter did last night — they still couldn’t be together. But then Shane spoke.

“I don’t know exactly, but something changed last night. Obviously things changed for Scott Hunter, but I think they might have changed for me too. I don’t know, I feel… different.”

“Good different?” Ilya asked tentatively.

“Yeah.” Shane smiled at him. “Good different. After you left last night, I talked to my parents a bit more about like, figuring myself out, and how it’s been even harder for the last year since we… well since we met. And just how scary it is to feel like if I let even one little thing slip, give the guys one tiny hint that I’m not exactly like them, I’ll be, like, shunned or something. I’m already different because I’m Asian, and it’s like they pretend I’m not — they just don’t acknowledge it. And that sucks, but I guess it could be worse. Because, I think being gay, they would acknowledge that.”

He paused to take a breath, and Ilya interjected, “That is very understandable. To be scared.”

“The thing is, though, seeing Hunter just kiss his boyfriend like that, and not immediately get booed and beers thrown at him, that felt revolutionary. Like, maybe it could be okay. Maybe it could be something else the guys just ignore.”

“That does not sound great,” Ilya said. He couldn’t lie. That sounded like shit. Ilya would never accept that for himself — it’s part of why he wanted his own studio. He would never hide any part of himself, he had done enough hiding from his own family. So Shane wanting to settle for being out and being ignored? Ilya hated it. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Shane agreed. “And we talked about that last night too. And then we went on Twitter.”

Ilya barked out a sudden laugh. “What? Why? Twitter is worst place for this!”

Shane rolled his head back, laughing too. “I know! I know, I thought my mom was crazy for suggesting it. But like, it actually wasn’t that bad. There were some homophobes and trolls, but there were so many more people celebrating. Thanking him for coming out, telling their own coming out stories, or sharing how they left hockey because they didn’t feel welcome. And those really hit me hard, because I can’t imagine my life without hockey. If I had been driven away… I don’t even know what I would have done.”

Ilya was getting a bit impatient, waiting for Shane to get to his damn point. Could they be together or not? But this was a big deal for Shane, so he held back and let him continue.

“Anyway, my point is, I saw a lot of other NHL guys congratulating Hunter and saying positive stuff, like they’d be supportive if someone on their team was gay.”

“Impressive,” Ilya conceded with a surprised frown. “Your teammates?”

“Um, no,” Shane turned pink with a blush. “Not on Twitter at least. Hayden and J.J., they’re the guys I’m closest to, we were all texting last night. My phone was blowing up and I didn’t even realize it.” He huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. “But they both said Scott Hunter was brave and they said it didn’t make a difference to them, they’d support a gay teammate. So I feel like at least with them, I’d be good. The rest of the team was more like, shocked, but didn’t say more than that.”

“Hm,” was all Ilya said. He knew Montreal was an old-school team, and he wondered if they’d be as accepting as some of these Twitter people.

“What?” Shane asked. 

“Nothing,” Ilya sighed. “keep going, what happened after that?”

“Oh, um, not much, I guess.” Shane took a sip of the coffee he’d just been holding up until that point. “My parents asked if I’d ever want to come out publicly, and um…”

“And what?” Ilya prompted, when Shane didn’t continue. He wanted to scream at this point. Shane was dragging this out and Ilya just needed to know.

“I told them I’d have to ask you?” Shane finished with a questioning half-smile. 

Ilya stared, heart thumping hard in his chest, impatience becoming tentative excitement. 

“Ask me what?” He swallowed and tracked the way Shane licked his lips, and it was hard not to tackle and kiss him right then.

“Ask if you’d be okay with that. If I came out. Because if I did, it would bring a lot of attention to you,” Shane explained, but Ilya needed him to spell it out completely.

“Why attention to me?”

“Oh,” Shane looked down, smile dropping. “I guess I shouldn’t have assumed. But I thought… I thought you would want to be together, if we could.”

“Shane, are you saying you want to come out and also us to be together?”

“Yeah, basically,” Shane shrugged. 

Ilya carefully put down his mug on the coffee table, then leaned all the way forward and took Shane’s from him too.

“What? Why—” 

Shane’s question was cut off by Ilya’s mouth on his, because Ilya couldn’t hold back any longer. He kneeled between Shane’s legs, holding his beautiful face in his hands, and kissed him slowly and deeply.

“Whoa,” Shane whispered once Ilya pulled back.

Ilya didn’t drop his hands — he loved the feeling of Shane’s stubble against his fingers, savored every molecule of Shane’s skin that he got to touch.

“I want that,” Ilya whispered. “I want all of that. I want you. I don’t care, I will take attention. I love attention,” he laughed at himself. “I love you.”

“Really?” Shane asked.

“Really,” Ilya answered, nuzzling his nose against Shane’s.

“I love you too, you know?”

“I know.”

And that was enough talking for now. They fell into each other, and kissing turned into more, which turned into needing another change of clothes, which turned into Ilya being late for work, and he really didn’t give a fuck at all.

***

Over the weeks that followed, Shane and Ilya started devising a plan. Shane obviously didn’t have the same opportunity to come out as theatrically as Scott Hunter did, unless he wanted to wait another year, which he absolutely didn’t. With every day that passed, Shane was more and more sure of that — sure of himself. 

The first step of the plan was to get in touch with Scott Hunter. Shane decided to give it a few days before texting Scott to congratulate him and ask if they could talk. It was a short phone call, but a good one. Shane shared that he was also gay, which Scott was shocked and thrilled to learn. And he said that he was planning to come out later that summer, if that was okay with Scott, who laughed and said it would be nice to have some of the attention on Shane for a while. They’d promised to keep in touch, though once the season started up again, Shane would go back to treating Scott like any other rival captain.

Shane spent some more time with the guys at Ilya’s studio, who had kept their secret like Ilya said they would. They agreed to not say anything until they came out publicly, but not without teasing Ilya about the whole situation. Ilya also called his friend Svetlana to tell her about Shane, not wanting her to find out when the rest of the world did — and she yelled so loudly in Russian that Shane could hear it in the other room. Apparently she was a massive hockey fan and furious at Ilya for keeping this secret. She ended up coming up from Toronto, and the three of them had dinner together at Ilya’s apartment, where she and Shane hit it off, immediately talking hockey. He considered introducing Svetlana to his mom, just to test who knew more NHL stats and trivia. 

It was new and thrilling to start integrating into Ilya’s life like this. Shane had never really had friends outside of the hockey world, not since he was much much younger, and it was kind of like visiting another world — a much more normal one. A world of people who had regular jobs and didn’t spend half the year on airplanes and having their bodies bruised and battered for millions of dollars. 

For Shane’s part, he called both Hayden and J.J. to come out directly to each of them. It was certainly a shock, and they both had a lot of questions (some Shane flat-out refused to answer, what the hell), but landed on being supportive and promising to back Shane up in the dressing room when the season started. He also called his agent, Farah, who was equally if not more supportive, and told Shane she’d help with whatever he needed, from calls with his sponsors to writing a public statement to handling the team management if need be.

That was what they hadn’t yet planned — what they were going to do when the season started. Shane suggested they wait and have that conversation at the cottage, which Ilya did agree to visit, a few weeks later when he could clear his schedule.

And that was how they got here, out on Shane’s dock, looking out at the lake at the exact view Ilya had tattooed onto Shane’s leg.

“Wow,” Ilya said, eyes scanning the expanse of woods and lake. “There really is nothing out here. Kinda boring, no?”

“It’s not boring,” Shane protested, bumping Ilya with his shoulder. “It’s peaceful.”

“Ah, peaceful. I see,” Ilya teased. “Know what would make it less peaceful?”

“Wha—” 

And before Shane could finish the question, Ilya had shoved him off the dock. 

Head bobbing back up, Shane caught his breath and yelled hoarsely, “You asshole! What the fuck!”

“I’m sorry, had to be done,” Ilya answered with a casual shrug, which Shane met with a giant splash of water that mostly missed its target. What a fucking menace.

“I don’t know if I like you that much after all, maybe you need to leave,” Shane grumbled.

Ilya responded by leaping into the lake in a cannonball, then swimming up to Shane and pulling him close with an arm around his waist. 

“I think you like me a lot,” Ilya said, smacking a wet kiss on Shane’s cheek. “And you want me to stay forever.”

Fuck, Shane really did.

But, of course, that was impossible. So instead, he’d stay for two weeks, then go back to Ottawa, and return again for one week in August before Shane had to leave for Montreal for pre-season training. The plan was that Ilya would visit Shane in Montreal whenever he was home during the season, and he’d be a guest artist with a studio there, hopefully picking up some clients in Montreal. 

It wasn’t ideal, and Shane was realizing he’d have to deal with something he’d never experienced before — missing his boyfriend. For years, Shane listened to teammates complain about missing their wives and girlfriends, and Shane could never relate. But now, he was already dreading being away from Ilya, who he’d become so used to having around. 

Never before in his life had Shane experienced consistent, and let’s be honest, fucking incredible sex like this. He thought he might be an addict, because it was impossible to keep from touching and kissing Ilya whenever they were in the same room. He just couldn’t resist, and more often than not, he found himself dropping to his knees or climbing into Ilya’s lap when they were alone. He felt like a slut, but he didn’t care — he needed to soak in as much as he could before the season started. And Ilya matched his enthusiasm, always keeping a hand on Shane’s knee or in his hair or on his ass.  

Shane decided he would come out that last week they were together at the cottage, after lots of back and forth with his parents and Farah to make sure everyone was ready for the potential shit-storm that awaited them. Farah prepared a statement, but it felt so stuffy and formal, and Shane wasn’t sure it was right. He and Ilya were talking about it in bed one morning, the day before he planned to share the statement.

“I don’t know, I just feel like Scott Hunter got to do this grand gesture and it happened so organically, and the moment was like, magical. This feels like a sponsored post for CCM or something. So scripted and blah.” 

Shane sighed and tried to snuggle even closer to Ilya, which was impossible, since he was half on top of him already, head resting on his chest.

“What would you do instead?” Ilya asked, stroking Shane’s hair softly.

“I’m not sure,” Shane sighed again. 

“You could just post picture of your tattoo and tag me, say ‘I’m fucking my tattoo artist,’ and let everybody figure it out,” Ilya suggested with a laugh. 

But Shane wasn’t laughing. He picked his head up and looked right into Ilya’s sparkling eyes, which still made him melt. “That’s not a bad idea!”

“What? No,” Ilya protested, still laughing. “Was just a joke, Shane, that would be so stupid.”

“No, I think it would be perfect!” Shane sat up and grabbed his phone.

“Seriously?” Ilya asked, looking over Shane’s shoulder.

“Well, I mean, I won’t say the fucking part,” Shane laughed, opening his photo album. “But these tattoos are what brought us together. Here! This one is perfect.”

It was a photo Ilya had taken earlier in the summer, where both of his tattoos were visible. Shane was standing on the dock, the lake behind him, mirroring the landscape inked on his thigh. He was wearing what Ilya called his “slutty little shorts” and grinning — because it was Ilya behind the camera.

“I can use this one, and then this closeup you took in the shop with both tattoos. And… yes. This one.”

This time, he pulled up a photo his mom had taken earlier in the summer. He and Ilya were standing in the back yard of his parents’ cottage, Ilya’s arm around Shane’s waist. They were looking at each other, and Ilya must have just said something ridiculous, because Shane was laughing. But the way Ilya was looking at him… 

Shane had spent several minutes staring at this photo when his mom had texted it to him. Because the look on Ilya’s face, the way he was looking at Shane, it was like Shane was the most precious and incredible thing he had ever seen. And that’s exactly how Shane felt about Ilya. And it was perfect — it’s what he wanted the world to see. 

“That is really good one,” Ilya said, a smile in his voice. 

Shane turned around to face him. 

“Ilya, I love you so much,” Shane said. “And I’m going to tell the fucking world.”

Ilya laughed and pulled him in for a kiss. Shane knew it wasn’t going to all be smooth sailing, he knew he’d have to deal with whatever the NHL threw at him. But if he had Ilya with him, it would be worth it. If he had Ilya, he had everything he needed.

***

Instagram caption from shanehollanderhockeyplayer, under a carousel of three photos:

After winning the Stanley Cup in 2016, my teammates and I all got tattoos of the cup to represent our consecutive wins. Those wins are two of my proudest accomplishments, and I am so grateful to have had the privilege of playing on this legendary Montreal team with this amazing group of athletes for seven seasons. But I didn’t know that my life would change forever when I walked into @irisha_tattoo_otw to get that tattoo.

To the artist who did this work: thank you for giving me this permanent reminder of the incredible team effort that led to winning the cup twice. Thank you for giving me another one, a reminder of my favorite place in the world. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for making me feel like I can truly be myself and for helping me be brave. I am so lucky I walked into your studio that day. 

Ilya, I love you.

Chapter End Notes

After Shane’s first coming-out post gets a ton of attention, he releases Farah’s more formal statement. He gets lots of love from fans, both queer fans and allies, and Hollander jerseys sell out overnight. He gets invited to do a bunch of photoshoots with Scott Hunter about “the two NHL stars changing the game.”

But most of his teammates act like he thought they would, and ignore that Shane came out at all. Montreal’s management is cold to him, and after a season he asks for a trade. He goes to Ottawa so Ilya can stop splitting his time.

At some point, Anya enters the picture. Later, Ilya proposes (so he can get Canadian citizenship faster). Happily ever after ❤️
.
.
.
.
.
Thank you all for reading and kudosing and commenting — I know some authors are getting treated horribly by "fans" who are making this fandom unwelcoming, and understandably taking down their fics. So I am extra appreciative of everyone who has been so kind and enthusiastic about this fic! Love y'all, unh.

Come hang out with me on tumblr (same username) or insta @shanehollanderhockeyplayer24!