Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Leverage (US TV 2008)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova, Alec Hardison & Parker & Eliot Spencer, Nathan Ford & Team Leverage

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Alec Hardison, Parker (Leverage), Eliot Spencer (Leverage), Nathan Ford, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Heist, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Action/Adventure, Action & Romance, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Established Relationship, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Pre-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Anxious Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Can Fight, Shane Hollander Is a Menace, BAMF Shane Hollander, Protective Shane Hollander, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Whipped, Jealousy, gala - Freeform, Inspired by Leverage, DISCLAIMER: THE LEVERAGE CHARACTERS ARE ALL SECONDARY SORRY LEVERAGE FANS IM JUST USING YOUR TOYS, action movie shenanigans, Blackmail, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, POV Alternating, Secret Relationship, Undercover Missions, undercover as not a couple, Charity Balls & Galas, Balls & Galas

Language:

English

Series:

Part 7 of Heated Rivalry - But Make It a Procedural TV Show Universe

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-20 Completed: 2026-10-18 Words: 26,307 Chapters: 9/9

love is gonna get ya

Summary

“You need to calm down,” Ilya says. “You will wear out your fancy sneakers.”

“Is this a joke to you?!” Shane snaps, turning so sharply that his Rebooks squeak against the warehouse’s cement. “It’s not fucking funny. These guys could fucking ruin everything.”

Ilya clenches his jaw. Shane is scared and he hates that there’s nothing he can do to fix it. Ever since the video landed in both their inboxes, neither of them has had a good night’s sleep.

or

One year into their relationship a video risks exposing Shane and Ilya’s relationship. To protect their secret, they will need to do as the backmailers demand. But how far are they willing to go? And what if there’s more going on that meets the eye?

Notes

Hello!! I’m back!

This time we are moving FORWARD in the timeline to set the shenanigans in between the 1st and 2nd season. So we get Hollanov boyfriends!!!

I will expand a little more about this fics particular setting in the end notes of the chapter, but please be advised that this might be the least realistic fic so far (I feel like I say that every time). It will also be the most light hearted so far (probably, maybe).

So leave any pretense of realism out there door and prepared for some light hearted whimsy!!!

Chapter 1: they come around and just dying to shake your hand

Chapter Notes

Four steps left, four steps right. Four steps left, four steps right. Four steps left, four steps right.

Ilya’s eyes follow Shane. His perfectly consistent rhythm is oddly comforting, even if the excess energy is born out of the same panic that is making every nerve in Ilya’s body coil like a tightening noose. Looking at the beautiful man he is in love with helps too. In almost any other situation, it would be enough to soothe Ilya. Now, he needs a cigarette.

At the sound of the lighter, Shane freezes and glares at him.

“What?” Ilya opens his arms, defiant.

Shane narrows his eyes and resumes his pacing.

“You need to calm down,” Ilya says. “You will wear out your fancy sneakers.”

“Is this a joke to you?!” Shane snaps, turning so sharply that his Rebooks squeak against the warehouse’s cement. “It’s not fucking funny. These guys could fucking ruin everything.”

Ilya clenches his jaw. Shane is scared and he hates that there’s nothing he can do to fix it. Ever since the video landed in both their inboxes, neither of them has had a good night’s sleep.

It was… bizarre, looking at themselves, so young, so scared, so hungry. When Ilya looks back at himself during that first awards night in Vegas, he remembers the anger and frustration, the jealousy at Shane’s success and his parents’ support, he remembers that kiss as a gamble to regain control by taking what he wants. But what he sees in the video is a kid, scared and in love, who just wants to kiss the boy he likes and forget about the summer waiting for him in Russia. A boy who had been just as desperate and just as scared as Ilya, kissing him back with abandon before fear caught up to them again.

They’ve come so far since then. It wasn’t easy. It took years of pretending not to care, of kissing other people, of lying to themselves and each other. It took a lot of pain, of loss, of painfully building a bridge to communicate with each other and a dinosaur-sponsored miracle for them to find their way. It took a wonderful and exhausting year of long distance calls and stolen weekends, of planning and scheming and building an entire cover-up foundation from the ground up, all for a chance to be together.

They are so close. Ilya just moved to Ottawa two months ago. And now?

Now, they are both scared again. Just like they had been back in that rooftop. This time they are right to be afraid. Standing here, alone, about to meet someone trying to fucking blackmail them is dangerous. And there’s nothing they can do about it. Shane is trembling, like he expects to get fucking jumped and hate-crimmed any second. Ilya hates it. He wants to fix it. He needs to.

“Shane,” he says softly, stepping closer and reaching out to hold his boyfriend by the shoulders. Shane makes a face at the smoke of the cigarette he is still holding in his right hand, but doesn’t pull away. “It will be okay, yes? If this was dangerous homophobes, they would have published the video already, tried to fuck up our careers. That is all they would care about. This isn’t that. These people… they want money, probably. We have it. We will pay and it will go away.”

“So what? We pay them off now and then… what? Ilya, they will hold this over our heads the rest of our careers! What if- what if they don’t want money? What if they want us to- to trade insider info or to throw games for them?!”

Ilya represses the urge to laugh at Shane being more scared about being forced to play dirty hockey than being scammed out of millions of dollars. He knows him well enough to know it’s no laughing matter. Shane would sooner die. And that scares Ilya.

“Then maybe we say no,” he decides. “Fuck them. We decide how far we are willing to go for this and if… if it’s too bad, we walk away. We let them show the world if they want, so they can’t control us.”

Shane’s eyes open wide, his face growing paler. He steps back, away from Ilya. Fear has been replaced by anger.

“Are you fucking- you can’t be serious!” He snaps, pulling at his hair. “Ilya! You literally just got your work visa! What if- what if the League tries to push us out? What if the Centaurs rescind their contract?”

“They won’t,” Ilya says automatically. “They need the star power.”

“Fine, then what if you have an injury and you can’t play anymore?! What if you lose your fucking visa and you get sent back to Russia?” Shane’s voice trembles. “I can’t fucking- I’m not letting them send you back there if the entire world fucking knows. They would- You would be- I can’t. I can’t.”

Oh.

It’s been over a year of dating, of knowing he is loved by Shane Hollander, but it still catches him by surprise.

Ilya drops the cigarette and puts it out with his foot.

“Okay,” he steps forward again, rubbing Shane’s shoulders. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“We’ll do what they want,” Shane says, glaring at a distant point somewhere past Ilya’s chest. His face is set in full Metros captain mode. “We’ll just do it and figure it out. Together. It’ll be fine.” Shane looks up and meets Ilya’s eyes, firm. “It’ll be fine,” he repeats, like he is reassuring Ilya.

“It will be,” Ilya says softly.

He will make fucking sure of it.

About twenty minutes later, the hangar doors open and four people walk in, lined up side by side. They are right on time (Shane insisted on being early, as if one could make a good impression on blackmailers). The daylight behind them makes it hard to make out their faces at first, but Ilya analyses their silhouettes carefully. Three men, one woman.

One of the men can definitely fight, not only is he built like an enforcer but he moves like… like Ilya’s father would when he was younger. Military, maybe? The other two look different, brainy types. Even if one of them is strong, he is clearly a gym rat type, not an athlete and definitely not a fighter. The woman is maybe the hardest to read. She is tiny, but she moves like she knows she’s dangerous. All four of them have an unnerving quality to them, confident and efficient.

If Ilya wasn’t a taken man, he’d be quite turned on by all of them right now. He might even be a little, but he’s only horny of the body… not of the heart. That one belongs to the man at his side, Shane —who has gone still to an almost molecular level.

“Mister Hollander, Mister Rozanov,” the man wearing a suit steps forward, smiling affably, as if this was just a regular business meeting. “I hope we didn’t have you waiting long.”

He offers a hand for Ilya to shake. Ilya stares at it with abject distaste. Undeterred, the man offers the hand to Shane who, polite as ever, moves to shake it until Ilya nudges him. Shane drops his hand, clearing his throat. The man in the suit, without missing a beat, claps his hands together and barrels on:

“Alright! Straight to business then. I’m sorry that we had to ask you to come here under this… unfortunate circumstances.”

“You mean threatening us,” Shane deadpans.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it that. Let’s just say, we have found a way we can all help each other,” the man’s good nature is aggressively relentless. And fake. Ilya can tell immediately it’s a front. But a front for what?

“Okay, we help you get more rich. Whatever,” Ilya drawls, trying to sound bored and irritated rather than scared. “Just name your number and be done with it.”

“Oh, there is no number,” the man shrugs. “We don’t need money from you. We want your… help with something.”

Next to Ilya, Shane tenses and shoots him a look. There’s so much fear there, it pisses Ilya off. How fucking dare these people put Shane Hollander in this position? Don’t they know what it will do to him?

They must know, because the man laughs and reaches out a hand like he means to pat Shane’s arm as he says, “Relax, Mister Hollander.”

Ilya moves before he can even think about it, intercepting the man’s hand at the wrist before it can touch Shane. Next to him, the enforcer takes half a step forward, his body telegraphing a quiet warning. Everyone holds their breath, except for the gym rat, a tall handsome black man who rolls his eyes and says:

“For god’s sake, Nate, just tell them before this turns into a brawl. This warehouse ain’t big enough for all this macho testosterone bullshit.”

“I wanted to see the hockey guys fight,” the tiny blonde woman hisses in a badly concealed whisper. “It’s the second best part about it. Next to the foot knives.”

“Skates, Parker, they are called skates,” the enforcer groans, like they’ve had this conversation a thousand times.

Shane’s fear has morphed into clear confusion. He looks to Ilya, as he often does, for answers. Ilya has none this time.

“Let go, Rozanov,” the enforcer says then, voice firm but… not entirely aggressive. Like he’s a referee on the ice rather than a player. “Please.”

“Ilya,” Shane whispers.

He lets go. The man, Nate, fixes his suit’s sleeve casually.

“Thank you. Sorry about that. Right, straight to business, then. Mister Rozanov, Mister Hollander, you are going to help us get into next week’s Laskin Charity Gala.”

Ilya blinks. They were invited to the Gala a month ago, as founders of the newly launched Irina Foundation. Shane and Yuna had agreed that going was a great opportunity to chat up potential investors and to establish themselves as part of the Canadian philanthropic community. More importantly for their plan, though, it would be one of the first events they attended together… as business partners. Ilya is mostly excited about that part, or was at least. Now they need to sneak people into the event?!

“And then,” Nate adds, “you are going to help us steal something.”

Shane’s eyes open wide and big, shock breaking through the layers of fear as he snaps: “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Chapter End Notes

OKAY HERE WE ARE

Firstly, I know this is a short chapter but it felt like a good way to set the story up. In my mind it’s sort of a cold open. I think future chapters will probably be longer!

Secondly, YES this is the first work in this series that is officially a crossover. I was just going to use the Leverage premise and Leverage-shaped characters (the way I have added nods to other procedural tv show characters in previous fics) but in all honesty it felt disingenuous because the more I thought about the fic, the more I wanted the characters to be exactly like the originals. AND, if you know the show, you’ll understand that we need their context to have any semblance of good will towards them from the beginning (because heaven knows Hollanov will NOT).

You don’t need to know anything about Leverage or have watched it to enjoy this fic, though. If you have no clue, you can go in blindly and enjoy the ride! It’ll work just as well with Shane and Ilya’s limited knowledge POV!!

Anyway, who is ready to put these two hockey players into a heist movie? :D

Chapter 2: just keep telling yourself there’s no shame

Chapter Summary

“So you need code,” Ilya guesses. “Why do you need us? Two hockey players is not really criminal material.”

Chapter Notes

This can’t be happening. Simply, it can’t be real. This kind of thing doesn’t happen. There is no way Shane and Ilya are sitting down with a bunch of fucking criminals planning a… a heist? It’s just too surreal. It’s the kind of thing that would happen in one of Rose’s movies, where she’d play the main thief’s beautiful love interest who gets kidnapped midway through the film. It’s absolutely ridiculous.

And yet.

“The gala will take place in the Grande Maison, the building where the Laskins’ conduct most of their family business,” the boss, Nate, is saying, as he they projects a picture of an impressive mansion on the wall.

It’s a beautiful building, probably from the late eighteenth century, of clear neoclassic inspiration with a facade of big Doric columns and gorgeous statues on the front ceiling meant to resemble Ancient Greek art but with a very clear French air to it. Shane has seen several buildings like it in Montreal, near the oldest part of the city. They are meant to emulate French architectural trends from back then with a baroque twist. Beautiful and fake.

“So… you wanna steal from the Laskins?” Shane frowns.

Of course he knows who they are. They are one of the league’s biggest investors, very close to Commissioner Crowell. They often show up to League events or the NHL Awards and Shane is prodded by his mother and the Metros’ management to talk to them for a while. Shane hates it. They don’t strike him as people interested in hockey at all. The way they talk about it, about him, makes him feel like he’s a fancy apartment building they’ve invested on rather than a person. And they never seemed too interested in him anyway, as Russians their attention always tended more towards Ilya. Dimitri Laskin would often make comments about how Shane was so good for keeping up with Russian prowess despite their physical differences or whatever. Asshole.

It doesn’t mean Shane feels good about robbing them.

“All you need to know is that we have to get inside the private wing of the building,” Nate dismisses. “Leave the rest to us.”

“The Laskins have a state of the art security system, particularly in their private wing, and to enter you need a code that changes every day,” the black guy, who someone called Hardison earlier, says.

“True art piece,” the blonde girl, Parker, wiggles where she’s perched on a chair like a bird. “I’m gonna make it my bitch.”

Ilya huffs a laugh. Shane taps his foot against his, admonishing.

“So you need code,” Ilya guesses. “Why do you need us? Two hockey players is not really criminal material.”

“You’d be surprised,” the guy with the long hair huffs.

“What?” Shane whispers.

The guy just smiles. Shane could swear he’s seen him before, but he can’t pinpoint where.

“The gala will be filled with some of the richest and best connected people in North America,” Nate pushes on, “but the Laskins are too rich themselves to be impressed by that. However, the two new comers in the charity spheres, and the two biggest hockey stars no less, you will have the room’s attention.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good thing,” Shane says, tensing. “To… to steal things, I mean. If everybody is watching us.”

He hadn’t even thought of that in terms of, like, the event itself (he’d been too excited about them getting their first joint invite ever as partners).

“On the contrary. You won’t be stealing anything, all you need to do is get the codes and then get us a distraction so we can get in.”

“Get the codes? Like it’s so easy?” Ilya arches an eyebrow.

Nate groans and throws his head back like he is begging the sky for patience to deal with children.

“Usually, we have a grifter,” Parker says. “She’s great at these things.”

“Then use her!” Shane jumps.

“She’s busy, out of the country,” the long haired guy shrugs.

Seriously, where has Shane seen him?

“So what does she do?” Ilya narrows his eyes.

“Charm people into doing what she wants,” Nate says. “Which is where you two come in. If Canada’s golden boy asks for a tour of the facilities, he’ll get it.”

Shane makes a face. He hates being called that.

“And I suppose I am on distraction duties,” Ilya says. Too calm. Way too calm.

“You do have a reputation when it comes to making a scene, Mister Rozanov.”

Shane bristles a little at the implication on behalf of his boyfriend, but… well, okay, he can’t really refute that.

“So that’s all? I ask for a tour and Ilya makes a scene and- and you won’t out us?” He hates how his voice trembles at the last words, how visible his fear is.

“Now, hey-“ the big guy begins, like he is going to say something reassuring, but his boss cuts him off.

“Yes, that’s the deal. You get us in, you get to keep your secret.”

Shane and Ilya share a look. Despite his nerves, and his fear, and how much he hates everything about this, Shane looks at his boyfriend and tries his best to look open to discussion. This involves them both, it isn’t a choice he can make by himself, even if he would do absolutely anything —even this— to protect what they have. Ilya’s face is hard at first, set in that stone cold detachment that he shows whenever he is trying to appear in control. But then his eyes soften lightly and with that his face morphs, in a way no one but Shane would recognize.

Okay, so we are doing this.

“You’ve got a deal,” Shane says, firmly as he looks back at the group of criminals. “We’ll get you in. But that’s it.”

“Alright.”

“I have talked to Dimitri Laskin before. He knows I like architecture. I’ll ask for a tour of the entire house.”

“You sure he won’t be suspicious?” Nate checks.

Ilya laughs. “If it was anyone else, maybe. But Hollander is boring enough to ask for tour. Probably was going to ask anyway.”

“Shut up,” Shane hisses, feeling his cheeks burn.

Maybe he had thought about it. But that was before it was part of a hit or whatever.

“Okay,” Nate claps once. “Let’s steal a charity gala.”

What?

As if on cue, the group disbands and starts walking in different directions.

“Alright,” Hardison smiles, affable, walking towards them. “I’ll be watching on the cameras, but if you can get a good look at the code we’ll take it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are paranoid enough to position their surveillance with a blind spot to avoid recording their codes.”

“Yes, would be smart to hide from cameras,” Ilya says, his voice laced with an accusation as he eyes the other man. “You are hacker, yes? You are the one that got our video.”

Hardison shrugs, not looking apologetic at all.

“Did… has anyone else seen it?” Shane asks, because if he doesn’t it will eat him alive.

“Nah. These fancy hotels have too many hours of security footage but just in case something happens with their guests. They usually scrap it clean once a year. Not bad policy. But I sneak in first and take a quick look, just in case there’s anything useful.”

“Useful for blackmailing,” Ilya says darkly.

“Only when necessary. Man, if you knew the kinda shit I’ve seen-“

“Wait, you said years? You’ve had- you’ve known for years?” Shane’s voice pitches way too high, stressed.

“Hey, my lips are sealed.”

“So long as we keep our part,” Ilya is not letting this go.

Good. Neither is Shane.

Hardison looks actually conflicted for once. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” Odd thing to say while actively blackmailing them anyway. “Listen, it’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“Not like we have a choice,” Shane grumbles.

“Yeah…” he drawls, awkwardly. “Okay. Look, just- just put these on your ear about an hour before the gala,” he says, giving them each a little black velvet box.

Shane has the weirdest feeling that there’s gonna be jewelry inside it. But what he finds is actually a tiny flesh-colored earplug.

“Like being mic’ed,” Ilya grins at him.

Shane rolls his eyes. “I hate it.”

“Because you are boring. I make great entertainment.”

“Okay,” Hardison says, reminding them both of his presence. “See you in two weeks, then.”

Shane and Ilya just glare at him until he starts backing away.

They drive home in silence, to the house Shane got last year because it’s easier to be discreet without neighbors and shared parking lots and stairwells. Here, they can park in his garage and wait until the mechanic door closes before they both get out of the car safe from prying eyes. Safe, safe, safe. That’s all they’ve tried to be all this time.

Shane walks into the house and miraculously manages to take his shoes off before crashing.

“Oh, fuck,” he finally groans, squatting next to the collection of sneakers and slippers and coats. He looks at that little collection, proof of their lives mixed together despite everything. He’s so afraid of losing it.

“Shane,” Ilya says softly, kneeling next to him. “Hey, is okay.”

“Nothing about this is okay!” He shakes his head.

“Is not so bad. Really. You never snuck anyone into a party before?”

“No.”

Ilya laughs, resting a firm hand against the back of his head. The contact is immediately soothing. “Of course you didn’t, you’re too good. But I have. Is no big deal.”

“They are thieves!”

“Yes, that’s new,” Ilya concedes. “But is not our problem, yes? You just get boring tour and then I call attention for myself.”

“You love that,” Shane teases.

“What can I say? I am a natural star.”

They both laugh.

“Hey, Shane, look at me,” Ilya says softly, taking his chin in his hand and guiding his head up until their eyes meet. “We are going to be okay, yes? No matter what happens. We do it together. We are good team.”

Shane wants to believe him. He really does, but this is all so fucking overwhelming it also feels like he will drown under the weight of it.

“I’m not good at lying.”

“We are good at sneaking. We have been doing it for years, and no one knows.”

“These guys know.”

“Okay, they know but we can fix it.”

Ilya’s gaze is steady, and he is being so strong about all this. It’s not fair for him to carry it alone. Shane can do it too. For Ilya, he can carry it.

“Okay,” he sighs. “We sneak them in and that’s it. We forget about this mess.”

“Yes,” Ilya smiles. “Then I bring you home and fuck you in your tux. Great night.”

Now, there’s an idea.

“Deal,” Shane grins and finally finds the strength to stand back up. “Okay, let’s just grab something to eat and-“

Ilya’s hands find his waist and hold him in place. Before Shane can even ask, his boyfriend is burrowing his face against his crotch and making him hard by mouthing him through the fabric.

“Ilya?”

“Already on my knees,” Ilya says, opening his fly and pulling down his pants. He licks Shane’s erection through his boxers. “Would be a shame to waste it.”

“Ilya…” Shane groans, trying to find support on anything and failing to reach any walls or furniture. His hands land on Ilya’s head and he grabs his curls. Ilya moans in response.

Ilya blows him right there near the entrance until Shane’s legs are shaking from his orgasm, then carries him upstairs and teases him until he’s hard again and begging for his cock. His brain is fuzzy and wonderfully blank by the time Ilya gives him what he wants. And by God does he get it. Ilya fucks him hard until they are both panting and trembling and sweating. Whenever words they are speaking, neither is doing a good job at English. They come seconds away from each other, loudly and then collapse on the bed.

After, Shane curls against Ilya’s side, sated and happy. He feels a gentle kiss to the top of his head and hums happily in response.

“We are going to be alright,” Ilya says.

This time, Shane believes him. Whatever happens in that gala, they’ll take it on together. He will make sure of it. To protect this, to protect what they have, he will commit a fucking crime if he has to. Fuck, he would commit unspeakable crimes for it.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry, no Sophie! Because 1) we needed an excuse for the boys to be the grifters, 2) in her absence Nate becomes his shadiest self, and that’s the only way a plan that involves this kind of threats would fly at all. She’d have NONE of it. (Can you tell the rest of the crew kinda hate it too?)

Chapter 3: they don’t know about who we are

Chapter Summary

“This feels a little like a date, yes?” Ilya smiles into Shane’s mouth. “Going together. Like partners.”

Shane giggles, though he would never admit to it. Then, he sighs dreamily. “I wish we could just go together.”

“I know,” Ilya sighs.

Chapter Notes

Truly putting all these characters together has been so funny, I hope you guys like it too

Ilya puts the earpiece on, carefully. It’s so small, it feels like something that could break too easily and he doesn’t want to do anything that could potentially anger their blackmailers. He has been feigning calm for Shane’s sake but, truth be told, this thing has him anxious as hell. He is not looking forward to what his life would look like if Russia catches wind of them before his visa status is resolved. He is… scared. Of what might happen to him, yes, but mostly of losing Shane if he gets sent away. He can’t, not when he’s so fucking close to having everything he’s ever dreamed.

So… he is careful.

There’s no sound from the ear peace yet. So maybe no one is online. Hey, maybe they forgot and will leave them alone after all.

“You ready?”

Shane’s voice precedes him and, wow, Ilya is thankful that he got a forewarning because otherwise he might have done something ridiculous like whistle like a cartoon wolf or pass out at the sight of his extremely hot boyfriend in a tux. Of course, Ilya has seen him dressed up pretty like this throughout their entire careers but never while knowing that he is his. It does something stupid to his heart rate. He barely manages to keep his cool as he lets his eyes wander:

“Looking pretty, Hollander.”

Shane blushes, rolling his eyes. “Pretty for a robbery?”

“Too pretty,” Ilya steps closer. “Maybe someone gets confused and tries to steal you instead. Nicest thing in the gala, for sure.”

“You are ridiculous,” Shane laughs, shaking his head, even as Ilya can see him preen under the compliment. “No one could possibly steal me from you.”

“Maybe I will steal you,” he grins, grabbing his boyfriend’s waist and pulling him flush to him.

Shane goes easily, leaning forward until their noses brush. Ilya kisses him. Because he can. Here in their home. And he will take every opportunity he has before prying eyes land on them.

“This feels a little like a date, yes?” Ilya smiles into Shane’s mouth. “Going together. Like partners.”

Shane giggles, though he would never admit to it. Then, he sighs dreamily. “I wish we could just go together.”

“I know,” Ilya sighs.

Someday, he adds inwardly.

“You guys are adorable,” Hardison’s voice chimes in, making them both tense. “But it’s go time. Gala started half an hour ago. Perfect time for the two most expected guests to arrive.”

Ilya groans, rolling his eyes. Shane has gone tense in his arms.

“We are going.”

Shane signs and presses a featherlight kiss to his lips before stepping away. “I’ll go first, I’m expected to arrive early. And I’ll… I’ll see you there. We can talk. As partners.”

Such a little thing, but it means so much. Ilya will take every little nothing he can with Shane in public. He swallows and nods, taking a step back too.

Reluctantly, Shane walks away. Ilya sighs.

“That’s a little sad,” Parker, the little woman, says.

“Are you all going to be in our ears all night?”

“Yes,” several voices reply.

“Oh, I can hear you, too,” Shane gasps, like he just discovered something wonderful.

Okay, maybe one sweet little nothing more. Ilya will take it.

(Maybe he can make Shane, and the fucking criminal crew gossips, squirm through the night.)

Ilya drives to the gala while listening to Shane introduce himself and make small talk with a dozen people. He is predictably anxious and boring about it, but in a way that these people are too stupid to appreciate. So he offers commentary: “Yes, Hollander, I am sure the curtains are so pretty”, “So polite, I am sure he has boner now” and “Oh my god, if he mentions his boat again I will find an iceberg to sink it myself!”

Until there is a longer pause in conversation and then Shane is muttering between tight teeth, “would you please stop it with the commentary? This is fucking hard enough already.”

“Okay, sorry, sorry. You are doing good job. I will be quiet now.”

“Thanks. It’s… nice having you in my ear, but not distracting me.”

Ilya laughs. “I will be distracting you later.”

“Alright, that’s enough from you two,” Nate snaps firmly and his voice is one Ilya doesn’t appreciate hearing. “Keep the comms clear unless necessary.”

Ilya is arriving to the party anyway.

The gala is… fancy doesn’t seem like the right word for it. Flashy, exuberant, over the top. It reminds him of the Russian officials’ parties his father dragged him to growing up. It makes sense, of course, that the Laskins would emulate that specific kind of power in America.

Ilya kinda hates it. This is not the type of party he likes, this makes him feel more like a performing monkey, or a piece of meat for hungry rich eyes. But Shane is in there and this is their first step into solidifying the Irina Foundation as a reputable charity. They even donated some of their hockey gear from Stanley Cup winning seasons for their auction tonight. It’s all going to good causes, after all and (last minute bonus) it’ll make old Dimitri more likely to give Shane his tour of the house.

So Ilya walks in, looking like a million bucks and turns on his charm. Game on.

Ilya is hyper aware of Shane’s presence in the room from the moment he walks in, even as he actively avoids looking at him. Better to wait a bit until he goes say ‘hi’, don’t want to seem too eager.

He notices some of their new “friends” too. Parker, and the fighter guy, both dressed like part of the staff, handing canapés around. He watches them carefully as they hover around Shane and him, mostly to make sure they don’t get too close to Shane who, at least, seems more focused on his own conversations than on them.

He talks to a lovely couple from Toronto who are disappointed he choose Ottawa over their team. He tells them, with a smile, that he’d rather bite his hand off than play with Dallas Kent. They must think he’s joking, judging by the way their laugh and slap his shoulder. He also talks to a funny old man from Montreal who clearly hates him but thinks he can’t be so bad if he has started a charity with Hollander who couldn’t possibly do any wrong. He is trying to politely make an exit from a lame conversation about politics between a bunch of old Americans when he feels a tug on his right arm.

“Excuse us for a minute,” Svetlana says with a honey sweet smile before she drags him away.

Ilya blinks at her, dazed, as she pulls him towards the bar. Oh, he did not account for her. It’s great to see her. It’s also a complication.

“Sveta? What are you doing here?” He asks, in Russian.

“Representing my father,” she rolls her eyes, grabbing a champagne flute. “He couldn’t come but he wanted to show Dimitri his support. Old family friends and all.”

“Who is- wait let me get the translation on,” Hardison is saying.

“It’s alright. My Russian’s dusty but I understand enough,” Nate says. “Focus on the ID.”

Fuck.

“It’s good to see you,” Ilya tries to focus on the conversation while Hardison parrots Svetlana’s name, job and connections, mainly her father.

“It’s good to see you too,” she sighs. “I saw you on the list, it’s the only reason I agreed to come.”

“Yes?” Ilya asks, feigning calm.

He doesn’t like these people near Svetlana on top of it all. If they find anything to blackmail her with too, her fathers’ influence might be more enticing than a couple hockey players.

“Yes,” she rolls her eyes, blissfully unaware. “I have been stuck all night with fucking Ivana Laskin. She’s such a bitch!”

Ilya laughs.

“She is!” She insists. “So rude, and boring. All she wants to talk about is money and purses and she keeps telling me how much happier I must be in America, since it’s so much easier for people like me.”

“Beautiful brilliant women?”

Svetlana smiles and nudges him gently.

“Careful, she wants to marry a good Russian boy.”

“I will let her know if I see any,” he grins.

“Speaking of good boys… Will you finally introduce me to Hollander, now that he is your business partner?”

Ilya looks across the room, immediately zeroing in on Shane, like a compass finding its true north. Fucking embarrassing.

“Not tonight. He is… tense, with the Foundation’s first official invitation.” And the fucking robbery.

“But soon,” she says, not pushing but not giving up either.

“Soon,” he agrees, smiling at the idea.

He wants nothing more than to have the two most important people in his life shake hands, trade words, exist together. For now, he will have to be content with them being in the same room.

“So who of these rich handsome bachelors are you taking home tonight?” He asks his best friend instead, eager to pair her off and send her safely away if he can.

The old guy with the mustache is still talking about his boat or something like that. Shane has not heard a single word that he has said in the past twenty minutes. Luckily, he has mastered the art of not having to talk much in this kind of events. Most people, he has found out over the years, are more interested in being seen talking to him than on anything he has to say. All it takes is finding a large group with bold and loud people and let them take charge while he tunes it all out.

This is probably the wrong strategy when it comes to promoting the Irina Foundation. Shane should be bringing it up, talking about the camps and the coaches and all the organizations they plan to finance with the money they make, but no one has asked him about it either yet. He realizes, belatedly, that he’d prepared answers, as if he was going to be doing a presser, not conversation openers. Big mistake, apparently.

Fuck, Ilya would be so much better at this. He really wishes they could already be doing this together openly without having to ‘soft launch’ their friendship to the public.

On top of it all, though, Shane is having even more trouble than usual focusing with the conversations going on in his ear. Ilya’s warm charming voice is reassuring, at least, even when he switches to Russian and Shane stops understanding him… but every other voice is a fucking reminder that they are being watched, threatened. As if it wasn’t hard enough to relax in these situations, this makes it entirely impossible.

Shane’s eyes find Ilya again, leaning by the bar and talking to the beautiful woman he has come to know as Svetlana. Shane is terrified of her (and horribly jealous in a way that is very conflicting, her being Ilya’s closest friend) but it’s nice that Ilya has found some support tonight. It also means that Shane is on his own, though.

It’s okay. You were going to have to do it alone anyway. It’s just a house tour. You can do it.

Better get this over with before he gets a fucking stress ulcer.

Shane waits for what seems to be a polite pause in conversation before saying a quick “excuse me,” that gets not response and walking away from the group he’d been hiding in. He wades through the crowd, careful not to step on any toes or shove anyone and make them drop their drink on their gowns, until he finds who seems to be one of the event planners. She has a tight updo, a sensible black suit and a clipboard held tightly to her chest like a shield.

“Mister Hollander!” She tenses when he approaches.

“Uh, hi, sorry to bother you,” he smiles as reassuringly as possible.

“Not problem at all,” she rushes.

“I’m Shane, uh, Hollander… but you knew that,” he mumbles, offering a hand.

“I did,” she smiles, shaking his head. “Pam. Pam Hastings. I’m one of the planners for this event.”

Bingo.

“I figured as much. You, uh, you did a great job tonight. Maybe we- Rozanov and I, could get your contact information, for when we start organizing our own galas.”

“Oh!” Her eyes open wide. “Oh, that’d be- that be great, yes, of course.” She pats her pockets until she produces a calling card.

“Yuna will not like this,” Ilya sings-songs in his ear.

Shane jumps startled, eyes finding Ilya immediately by the bar. He is covering his mouth with a drink, but even from afar Shane can recognize the smile in his eyes. That look makes his face burn.

“She likes the organizing.”

Shane bites back the urge to tell him to shut up or to explain that maybe he doesn’t want to leave it all to his mother, because this isn’t about his career, this is about Ilya and him. The Irina Foundation is as theirs as their relationship. He can’t say any of that, though. Not right now.

“Thank you,” he tells Pam, belatedly realizing maybe he let the silence stretch a bit too long. Luckily, she seems as eager to please as before, if not more. “Uh, by the way, you wouldn’t happen to know where Mister Laskin is, would you? I was, well, kinda hoping he could give me a tour of the building, as he knows I am a big fan of- well, not fan but enthusiast of architecture and real state, all that.”

“Smooth,” Ilya drawls.

“God, he’s a bad liar,” the big gruff guy mutters.

“Shut it,” Ilya snaps, humor gone from his voice.

“Oh,” Pam’s face falls. “I’m sorry, Mister Hollander-“

“Shane, please.”

“Shane. I’m sorry, but Mister Laskin couldn’t make it tonight. He had a last minute business meeting out of town. But the charity is so important to him, he wanted the Gala to go on without him.”

“What?” Shane jumps, maybe a little too loud. “Fuck.”

Pam blinks.

“Shit. I mean- sorry, I just… I was really hoping to get that tour.”

“What’s this about a meeting?” Nate is asking on the radio.

“Who cares? We need those codes,” gruff guy grunts.

“I know, Eliot, I’m on it. Let me think,” Hardison snaps.

“Then think faster,” big guy, Eliot, demands.

“I see,” Shane tries to focus on Pam. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Is there… I mean, no one else could give me a tour?”

“I’m afraid not,” Pam says, looking genuinely apologetic. “Most of the building is closed for visitors anyway, I’m afraid. Only business partners and family members have access.”

Well, fuck.

“O-okay. I understand. Uh, thanks. Sorry, I’m gonna… gonna get a drink.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Shane beelines through the crowd until he reaches the bar and tries to catch the attention of the waiter. His hands are shaking a little. God, what are they going to do? If they can’t get the codes and they don’t get the thieves in, oh god, they are going to out them, aren’t they? Fuck. Fuck! How long does a marriage license take to get? Could he get Ilya citizenship fast enough in case of an emergency? Maybe he should-

“A ginger-ale and a beer,” Ilya’s firm voice demands the waiter’s attention effortlessly.

The man nods and gets to work, as if he hadn’t just been ignoring Shane.

“I might need something stronger than that,” Shane mutters under his breath, but he is inwardly relived by the perspective of his favorite drink. It might be more comforting right now that some foul tasting alcoholic drink.

“Maybe later we have a beer together, to celebrate, yes?” Ilya says, as the glasses arrive. He hands Shane his. “Good to see you tonight, Hollander. You look… sharp.”

“Rozanov,” Shane says, remembering the profesional tone this time. “Not bad yourself.”

He lets himself eye his boyfriend again. He’d enjoyed the view at his house but, god, Ilya truly comes alive under the pretty lights of the party. Shane wants nothing more that to lean in and kiss him or hold his hand. As if reading his mind, Ilya offers a hand for shaking. It’s stupid, they don’t need to say hello like this, but it’s a nice excuse just to feel his warm firm touch against his skin. Shane shakes his hand and meets his eyes with a look that hopefully conveys a lot more than what he can say right now.

“Nice party, no?” Ilya says. “Having fun, Hollander?”

“Fun?” Shane asks, arching his eyebrows.

Ilya has the gal to look amused by his reaction. The look he gives Shane, ah, he is being coy. He’s asking if Shane is alright.

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I guess. Bummed that I couldn’t get the tour of the house.”

“Is okay, Hollander, I’m sure we will find someone else to give you boring tour.”

It’s going to be fine, Ilya is saying. We will solve this.

“Your, uh, friend… Svetlana?” Shane pretends not to know exactly who she is.

“Oh, she’s having a cigarette. Was very disappointed that I am trying to quit.”

“Trying? Thought you quit already.”

“Eh. Sort of,” Ilya shrugs.

Shane rolls his eyes, but can’t help a smile. Ilya trying to quit at all is sweet (and good for him, which is important because Shane intends to have him for many, many years once they retire).

“Ilya Rozanov,” a new voice says, behind Ilya.

Both of them turn to find a tall beautiful blonde woman leaning on the bar. Her big blue eyes are set on Ilya with a hunger Shane has seen (and hated) in so many others.

“That’s Ivana Laskin,” Hardison informs them. “Dimitri’s daughter.”

“Hello,” Ilya says, politely.

“Hi,” Shane says too. “Shane Hollander. Pleased to meet you too.”

“I know who you two are,” she smiles, then turns back to Ilya and says something in Russian.

Oh. Great.

Ilya replies, and Shane knows his voice tone to realize he’s trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible. He has been in the receiving end of that tone before, he almost pities the woman when her smile begins to fall.

“No, no, this is good,” Nate says suddenly in their ear. “She will have the codes. I’m sure she will be interested in giving Rozanov a private tour.”

“What?” Shane jumps.

“I’m sorry, you don’t speak Russian,” Ivana smiles at him. “I was asking your friend if he would like to dance with me. Is so hard to find other people who speak Russian here. I would like some good company.”

“Walk away, Hollander,” Nate orders.

Ilya is looking at him but his face is hard to read with the jumble of emotions hammering the inside of Shane’s brain.

“Uh, I mean, we were just- just talking, but…”

But I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I don’t fucking want to see him dance and flirt and go somewhere fucking private with someone else.

“Hollander!” Nate snaps. “Walk away. Now.”

“Sure,” Shane smiles between gritted teeth. “No problem.” He looks back at Ilya. “We’ll talk later, Rozanov.”

“Yes,” Ilya says, serious, like it’s a promise.

Shane walks away, pretends to be busy on his phone. After a second, Ilya turns and gives Ivana a smile that makes Shane’s stomach turn. He says something smooth in Russian and she smiles delighted as she pulls him to the dance floor.

“Here, I found the automatic translation,” Hardison announces just before Ilya’s voice changes in his ear.

“…it’s been nice so far, although I do miss Boston some days.” It still sounds like him, but it’s weird, not the way he normally speaks English. “You don’t get as good company there as you do in Canada, though. There are beautiful people here.”

Ivana Laskin laughs cheerfully. “Oh, darling, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Shane blinks back tears and downs his ginger-ale to losen the lump in his throat. When his vision clears, there’s a tray of canapés in front of him and the small scary woman they call Parker is looking at him.

“Here, grab one,” she says bluntly.

Shane does as he is told.

“Eat.”

God, is she poisoning him? Reluctantly, Shane puts the cracker in his mouth and chews.

“Better?” Parker smiles, and walks away without waiting for an answer.

“What the hell was that?” He whispers.

“Coming from Parker, that’s sort of a hug,” Hardison says. “She’s not good with feelings stuff. We are working on it.”

“I can get rid of her later if it helps more,” she offers.

“Parker, we agreed no stabbing today,” Eliot berates.

God, who the fuck are these people?!

Chapter End Notes

You guys didn’t think I would dial down the yearning just because they are boyfriends now, did you??! WELCOME TO THE SECRET DATING ERA

Also, okay, eagle-eyed readers will have noticed that the chapter count has gone DOWN.

Do not fret, let me explain!!

Firstly, this fics chapters were too short when limited to their singular POV, and since it’s all happening in one night the switching was necessary to move the story forward. So! We get dual POVs as a few less chapters! But longer! Yay!

Secondly, though, and this will be interesting for people following this series in order… the dual POV worked with this fic’s twin!

See, after the first four fics, I started playing with turning around the premises for twin fics. Similar premise, switch places, add plot twist.

So we have

1) Ilya finds out Shane disappeared and no one told him & its twin: 5) Ilya disappeared and no one told Shane

2) Shane freaks out about Ilya getting death threats & its twin: 6) Ilya freaks out about Shane getting death threats

3) Shane and Ilya in a fancy party trying to escape from criminals & its twin: 7) Shane and Ilya at a fancy party trying to help criminals

4) + 8) TBD ;)

My point being that, if you’ve been paying attention, the POVs correlate too: 1&5 have rotating POVs, 2&6 are single POV, and now 3&7 have dual POVs per chapter :)

I do love symmetry!!!

Anywayyyyyyy cat’s out of the bag, chapters are fewer but longer and the boys are yearning and angsting. We are all set!

Chapter 4: they don’t know about you and I

Chapter Summary

“So,” Ivana leans her weight on the mahogany bar, in a way that makes her diamond necklace dangle over her breasts, “are the rumors true? Are you finally off the market?”

“You are not a piece of meat,” Shane mutters in his ear, in English. Translation must be working.

Chapter Notes

Italics for Russian but also for comms so in sorry if it gets a little confusing!! Fingers crossed it’ll be intuitive enough.

(Spoilers for this chapter)

CW: mentions of bulling, racist micro aggressions & a sexual situation w dubious con but that doesn’t go anywhere.

Flirting is muscle memory, just like skating after a long downtime, or like climbing on a bike his first Boston spring after his father had thrown his away at twelve, or like finding all the little spots that make Shane Hollander moan after months apart. He hasn’t really tried to seduce anyone other than Shane since they officially started dating last year (months before that, if he is particularly honest with himself) but he knows the game, and he is fucking good at it.

He knows Ivana’s type, too: she wants attention but not too much. He dances with her, to a gentle but upbeat song, and lets his fingers brush against the exposed skin of her back where her dress’s line plunges. He leans close once the music stops and suggests they get a drink and keeps his hand feather light on her spine, but when they reach the bar he lets go, orders two ice cold vodkas and doesn’t look at her as he drinks. He also, very pointedly, doesn’t look to the other corner of the room, where Shane is lurking pretending to type on his phone.

“So,” Ivana leans her weight on the mahogany bar, in a way that makes her diamond necklace dangle over her breasts, “are the rumors true? Are you finally off the market?”

“You are not a piece of meat,” Shane mutters in his ear, in English. Translation must be working.

Ilya huffs a laugh, amused by Shane’s unbridled jealousy, which Ivana clearly takes as encouragement.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Svetlana, mentioned you weren’t available. But I guess she wanted you all for herself.”

“Svetlana is a good friend, but nothing else,” Ilya shrugs, taking a sip of vodka. “She has never been the possessive kind.”

Unlike Shane, who turns out is a very jealous boyfriend. Ilya sometimes thinks he’d leash and brand Ilya if he could, to signal he is taken to the rest of the world. Which is maybe a little concerning, but not as much as the fact that Ilya would gladly let him.

Ivana smiles in a way that makes him feel a little guilty about playing her, but she’s having fun with the cat and mouse thing so it’s probably okay. And, he reminds himself, she was rude to Sveta before.

“This party is boring,” he declares, with cold detachment before he turns to her and lets his eyes wander through her body, as if he was apprising her beauty. She is, of course, beautiful, gorgeous even, but it fails to move him the way it once might have.

“Yes, it is,” she sighs, leaving his glass on the bar, “but this house is interesting. It has quite a few rooms that are… exclusive for the family. Very private. I could give you a tour.”

“Great, maybe she can bring me along, too,” Shane deadpans.

“Hollander, don’t you dare move,” Nate orders and Ilya is really tired of this man telling them what to do.

He needs to get this over with. For both of them.

“Lead the way.”

Ivana grabs his hand and leads him into the house’s hallways, in a move clearly meant to display her perfect bare back for him. Ilya takes the moment to meet Shane’s eyes, which are predictably glued to him. He tries to give him the tiniest nod, the smallest reassurance he can manage for now. It will be okay. Ilya is his. No leash needed. Shane knows that, right?

Ivana leads him through the hallways (right, left, up the stairs, right again, he keeps track) until they reach an empty and far fancier part of the house. She stops in front of a door with a digital numeric code lock.

“Hardison, you have a clear look of the lock?” Nate’s voice asks.

“Camera placement is tricky, but maybe,” the guy replies.

“Rozanov, keep your eyes on it, just in case.”

Ilya was already planning to. He won’t let this be for nothing. He just needs the code, then he will escape with a quick excuse and focus on the second part of the plan.

“You know the code?” He asks her, looming over her shoulder in a way he hopes is seductive.

She looks back at him, smiling even as she rolls her eyes. “No. My father is paranoid and changes the codes every day. It would be a nightmare. But I am VIP.”

She opens her purse and produces a small white unmarked card. She winks at him. Fuck. The card touches the lock and it chimes happily as the door unlocks. Fuck.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Hardison snaps in his ear.

His thoughts exactly.

“Rozanov, you need to get that card.”

Ilya clenches his jaw as he watches Ivana glide into the room, without bothering to turn the lights on. He knows dodging her advances will be harder once inside. Fuck. He thinks back to the Vegas video, the way Shane’s voice had trembled on the phone when they first got it, the panic that he has been harboring ever since. He walks in.

As soon as the door closes, Ivana turns around and presses him against it.

“Wait.”

“I am done waiting,” she says, pressing her body against his.

“Hollander! Hollander, stay put.”

Her hand travels up his chest.

“Slow down,” he grabs her wrist and gently walks her back.

“Okay, you want to play.”

She keeps walking back and her legs hit the bed with practiced ease. She sits on the bed, leaning back, her hands tracing patterns over the fancy bedding as the moonlight from the windows shines on her golden hair. Her purse is next to her, along with the card.

“Will you undress me? Or should I do it?”

“I want,” to get the fuck out of here already, “a cigarette. Do you have any?”

He goes for the purse.

“After,” she traps his wrist.

“No.”

“Yes, come here, and-“

The sharp echo of hurried steps on the hallway makes them both turn. The door handle shakes, insistently, and Ilya isn’t sure if he should be thankful or scared, until-

“Sir?” A second set of steps.

The handle stops shaking.

“Sir, you can’t be up here.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Shane’s voice is high pitched, caught red handed. Not on the comms. Outside the room. “I was just- I was looking for the bathroom.”

God, he really is a terrible liar.

“Sir, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to come with me.”

“But-“

“Now, Sir.”

“Right. Right. Sorry.”

Shane is in trouble. Fuck. He doesn’t do well against authority figures. He can’t lie to save his life. He will be freaking out. Ilya moves for the door instinctively and finds himself trapped by a steely grip around his wrist.

The steps disappear.

“Finally,” Ivana sighs.

Ilya turns to her and whatever she sees in his face she seems to realize her upper hand is gone. He watches as she recalculates.

“You win,” she sighs, letting go of him.

Ivana opens her purse to grab a beautiful cigar case, pulls out a very thin cigarette and holds it between her lips as she hands the case over to Ilya. She then pulls out a lighter and walks to the far end of the room, where a balcony overlooks the gardens.

“Eliot, Hollander needs assistance.”

“I’m a little busy here. This kitchen’s a mess, they haven’t even got- hey! Hey! What are you doing? You can’t serve the duck without the sauce! I need a minute.”

“Parker?”

“I’ve already changed. I’m in the vents. But I could-“

“No, Parker, stay put. Eliot, pick up the pace.”

“I’m trying!”

As the lighter clicks, Ilya grabs a cigarette and puts the case back in her purse. He grabs the card and slides it up his sleeve, like Connors showed him when he briefly wanted to become a magician because he saw a YouTube video.

Very quietly, Ilya says, “I have the card. I could-“

“No. Play your part. If she suspects anything, it’s over,” Nate snaps. “This is a team sport, Rozanov. Do your part and we’ll do ours. I don’t need two players in the penalty box.”

Shane says nothing, he probably can’t talk without it being suspicious. Hell, he probably agrees. Trust Shane to be convinced by hockey metaphors.

Fine, one cigarette to keep up appearances, then he can find an excuse to get the hell out of here and go help Shane. He needs to focus, compartmentalize. The sooner he is done with this, the sooner they are free. He walks over and accepts the lighter from her. The first drag of smoke does little to ease his anxiety.

“I heard about your new charity,” she says, smiling at him like they share a joke. “My father says it was a good move. Of course, it will do wonders for your taxes and all the good press.”

Ilya frowns. He doesn’t like the way she is painting it. Like the whole thing is just a PR stunt.

“The Irina Foundation is very important to me. And to Hollander.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she dismisses. “God, he’s so boring. He would care about things like that. I don’t know how you stand working with him. He’s just so… bland.”

He’s had years of this, people talking shit about Shane to him, hoping to win Ilya over by belittling his rival. He thinks it’s fucking stupid.

“Hottest man in the NHL,” he counters. He can’t help it.

“Hah, Cosmopolitan. What do they know?” She laughs. “Have they seen you? Poor Hollander, but I have never met a guy like him who could keep up with a woman like me or… compare to a real man.” She looks down at his pants, smirking.

Ilya bristles at the implication.

“Careful there,” Ilya says slowly. “That’s my partner you’re talking about.”

Ivana laughs, like the idea of Ilya standing up for Shane is ridiculous. A joke.

“Yes, yes. Don’t get me wrong, it was a smart move partnering up with someone like him for this,” she takes another drag of her cigarette.  “He must be good with numbers. He’d probably be better suited to be an accountant than a hockey player,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s just natural for them.”

Oh, Ilya could strangle her. Or push her off the balcony. If only they were on a higher floor. They should’ve let the Parker girl stab her.

“What the fuck makes you think he-“

His phone starts ringing. Ilya looks down to find an incoming call from the Centaurs’ management. He doesn’t even bother apologizing to her before he picks up.

“Yes?” He snaps, harder than he meant to. He’s just too fucking angry.

“Work call,” Hardison says on the phone, starting him. “It’s your out.”

Ilya is breathing hard, trying to reign his anger in.

“Rozanov, leave the room, man. It’s not worth it. Trust me.”

He presses a hand to the phone’s speaker and looks at her. “Work. Excuse me.”

Without sparing another look at her, he walks out of the room. The warm light of the hallway blinds him. His heart is pounding in his chest. There’s no sign of anyone else around.

Fuck.

“Shane?” He asks, hesitant, walking back to the ballroom. “Shane, where are you?”

“He can’t hear you right now,” Hardison informs him, no longer on the phone but on his earpiece.

“Why? What’s wrong? Where is he?”

Ilya can picture Shane panicking somewhere alone, in trouble. Shane. God, Shane was listening to that whole thing. He can picture his face hearing her, all offense to mask his hurt. It’s not like Ilya thinks that Shane has never heard bullshit like that, on and off the ice, worse even, but to be the channel through which those remarks reach him is making Ilya feel nauseous.

“He’s alright. You need to head back to the building’s east wing to give Parker the card.”

“Fuck you, I need to find Hollander.“

“He didn’t hear it,” Nate says.

“What?”

“We cut him off from your comms,” Hardison says. “There was a lag between your conversation and the translation software. Nate caught where she was going, muted it in his channel just in time.”

Oh. A tiny part of his worry loosens. Just a little. Just enough to breathe.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“He didn’t need to hear that,” Nate says dryly. “Now, take the card to Parker. We are on a tighter schedule than we realized.”

Ilya clenches his jaw, looking around. Every fiber of his body is begging him to go find Shane.

“Fine, but where is Hollander.”

“Oh, well, we had to go with plan B.”

“Plan B?!” Ilya doesn’t like the sound of that.

“Yeah, he’s playing distraction.”

Oh. Oh, he definitely doesn’t like the sound of that.

Shane is fucking furious. Nate’s excuse that he was distracting Ilya is bullshit. Now he can’t even hear him.

What the fuck was he supposed to do? Listen to that woman keep pushing to fuck him? Even after he told her to stop? No fucking way. None of this plan included his boyfriend having to pimping himself out. Flirting, as much as it made him nauseous, was one thing, but he won’t let them force make Ilya to do shit he doesn’t want. Sexual shit. Fuck that.

Shane wants to say all that. He wants to yell. He wants to tell Ilya that their secrets aren’t worth him doing shit he doesn’t consent to. He can’t, though, not while this fucking guard is dragging him through the house’s winding hallways. His grip is vicious, as if he thinks Shane would be stupid enough to fight him after he flashed his fucking gun at him. This is ridiculous. Not the way to treat guests.

The guard shoves Shane into a room.

“Relax, man,” he huffs, failing to keep his irritation under control as he straightens his sleeve. “I told you. I just got lost.”

“You thought the bathroom was upstairs and behind a locked door?”

“I- well…. Yes?” Shane winces. “I was kinda desperate. Someone was taking forever down here. I just thought…” he shrugs.

The man looks entirely unconvinced.

“Eliot,” Hardison says, like a warning.

The door opens. It isn’t Eliot.

It’s two more guards. They are very clearly armed too. Shane’s heart speeds up. His stomach sinks. His brain flashes back to the time four of the older kids in his school’s team had cornered him in the locker room after practice. Those kids hadn’t had guns, just their fists and resentment at being reminded of their own fucking mediocrity. It’d been bad. This is nothing like that’s but his body recognizes the same danger.

Do not stay here. Do not be alone with this men. Get out. Get out. Get out.

Of course, this is when Ilya pops back into his ear:

“Shane? I have given the girl the card. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“This is really not a good time,” he mutters.

“What? What’s happening?”

“We just want to ask you a few questions, Sir,” one of the two new guys says, stepping further into the room. “Security protocol.”

“Eliot!” Nate snaps.

“F-for getting fucking lost?” Shane shakes his head. “This is ridiculous. I’m just gonna go back to the party.”

“Yes, get out of there,” Ilya says.

Shane tries to. But one of the men puts a hand on his shoulder, his grip almost painful as he forces him to halt and pushes him back. Shane reacts instinctively. He’s scared, he is pumped with adrenaline, he is angry. The guard might as well have dropped his gloves.

So, yeah, Shane throws the first punch.

Chapter End Notes

Shane is a jock and a man and a hockey player and sometimes he loses his cool ok? It’s been a long night. He’s fucking pissed.

Chapter 5: they don’t know about the stars in your eyes

Chapter Summary

“Eliot, you’re about to have more company.” Hardison says, oddly calm.

“Oh, god,” Shane whispers, even more terrified now that he knows what kind of people they are dealing with.

“Shane, get out of there,” Ilya demands, tense.

Chapter Notes

Shane is not really aiming to hurt anyone. All he wants is to get the man off of him (and maybe unload some of his frustration on the asshole trying to push him around). Sure, the guy stumbles backwards and falls on his ass, but it was barely a hit, wouldn’t even earn him minutes in the penalty box. So he really, really, considers it an overreaction when the other guy pulls out a fucking gun on him and points it at his face.

Shane tries to step away as his stomach drops.

“Woah, hey, sorry, I didn’t-“

The hand pointing the gun at him is twisted backwards and away from him. Before the guy can even cry out, Eliot punches him across the jaw twice and then kicks his legs from under him. The guy that Shane pushed to the floor starts pulling a gun of his own, but barely gets to point it before Eliot kicks it clean out of his hand. The floor-guy wastes no time getting up and charges at Eliot’s midsection, trying to tackle him. He should be able to, but the thief has surprising stability, great low center of gravity, so he manages to hold on and uses his elbow to hit the guy’s back, hard enough to drop him.

Damn. He’d make a good enforcer. Wait, where has Shane-

The first guy, the asshole that brought him to the isolated room in the first place, starts going in for a punch and Shane, again, reacts on instinct: he sees a teammate getting jumped from behind and tackles the opponent against the board- wall. Hard. Eliot frees himself and turns just in time to punch the lights out of the third guard before he recovers from Shane’s hit.

And just like that, all three guards are lying on the floor, unconscious. Oh. Oh fuck.

“Holy shit,” Shane whispers. “We just- You just-“

“You are a hockey player, Hollander. You’ve seen fights before.”

“Not like this. Not- not normal people just doing their job! I guess, hockey is their job but it’s not- I don’t even fight that much. Oh shit. Oh, holy shit. We are so gonna get arrested.”

“Breathe, Shane,” Ilya whispers in his ear. “No one is arresting the Canadian golden boy.”

“You don’t know that,” Shane’s voice is strained.

“They are not pressing charges,” Eliot huffs. “These are not normal guards. They are Eastern European mercenaries, trained killers.”

“What?” Ilya asks sharply.

“Why the fuck would the Laskins have Russian mercenary guards?” Shane frowns shaking his head.

“Georgian, actually,” Eliot corrects.

Shane blinks at him.

“They way they pulled out their guns.”

“You can tell just by that?” Shane gasps.

“It’s a very specific move.”

“Guns. What the fuck do you mean guns?” Ilya jumps.

“It still makes no sense,” Shane breathes, resolving not to tell Ilya about the guns for now. He’s not sure he’s ready to process it himself. “It’s too much. Sure, they need security but this is way over the top for a charity event.”

“Eliot, you’re about to have more company.” Hardison says, oddly calm.

“Oh, god,” Shane whispers, even more terrified now that he knows what kind of people they are dealing with.

“Shane, get out of there,” Ilya demands, tense.

“No. Stay put,” Eliot says, way too chill.

Shane watches as he walks out of the room. There’s immediately a collection of grunts and groans and the distinct sound of bodies colliding coming from the hallway. He stays frozen in place for what feels like a lifetime until he wills his feet to move. By the time he peeks out of the room and into the hallway there’s four guys on the floor and Eliot is fighting against three others. He moves fast. Faster than a man built as an enforcer should be able to, and it’s fluid, almost elegant. The hits lack the brutal aimlessness of the fights Shane is used to seeing in the ice.

Eliot hits the way Shane shoots a puck. It’s kinda hot.

He’s almost too transfixed to notice the guard coming up behind him until an arm wraps around his neck. Instinctively, like he’s on the ice shaking off an opponent, Shane grabs his arm and twists his body to the left, sending the guy flying over his shoulder with a move that Hayden calls ‘the Hollander judo flip’. The man lands on his back like a potato sack and before he can get up Eliot is there already, taking him out with a single punch.

“Nice move, Hollander.” Eliot looks up at him, flipping his long hair out of his face. And he looks so much like a hockey player right now, it’s almost off putting.

“What move?! Shane, what did you do? Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” he breathes out.

“The judo flip,” Eliot laughs, his eyes shining. “That was the Hollander move. I can’t believe it.”

“Did you just- Hollander,” Ilya’s voice is charged now, differently. Not with fear, maybe a little anger, but- “I missed it?!”

Oh god. Ilya is turned on. And if Shane doesn’t think about something else he’s about to be too. Luckily, his brain latches on to another thing. Because he looks at Eliot and his brain clicks the pieces that have been rattling around it for weeks together.

“You’re Jacques The Bear!”

“Who?” Ilya asks.

“The player from the Oregon Otters!”

“Wait,” Eliot hisses, stepping closer. “You know about that?”

“I keep an eye on every league,” Shane says, though it should be obvious. “I couldn’t find much tape on you but your stats were insane.”

“Made up.”

“By me,” Hardison chimes in.

“No, no,” Shane shakes his head. “I watched the tape. You were good, man. How the hell did you end up doing… this?”

“You think- Shane Hollander thinks I’m good?” Eliot blushes, like he didn’t just beat up like a dozen guys.

“For a semi-pro league,” Ilya mutters. “You are probably better thief.”

It’s not a compliment. Shane knows when his boyfriend chirps.

“Ilya,” he warns.

“No, he’s right, we- it was a job.”

“What? You were- you were stealing from the them?”

Shane is so fucking confused. The team’d been broke. Hell, there’d been a whole scandal about it soon after.

“Wait, are you the reason they almost went broke?” Shane can’t help the way his voice hitches with anger.

“What?! No!” Eliot jumps, and he sounds genuinely disgusted. “Jeez, man, we are not- Marco’s kid was worried about his old man, alright? He was an enforcer. Team owner was putting out bounties on him so he’d drop gloves and put on a show on the ice. I went in to make sure he wouldn’t get himself killed.”

“I heard about that.”

Fuck, everyone had. He’d followed the news along with his mother back in 2012, both livid at every new piece of information coming out. The owner’d been paying his own players to fight, he’d turned the arena into a fucking circus, and he’d also been paying other team’s players to fight his team. It’d gotten so bad that one of them, Craig Marco, had been one concussion away from the grave. Up until the asshole owner’d bankrupted the team. He was apparently about to leave them high and dry and make a run for it. Something had happened, though, because the whole thing had blown up right before he could and the team had pulled together to buy the team themselves.

“That was you?”

Eliot shrugs. “It was mostly the guys. The team came together for their own.”

Shane swallows. The story had moved him even back then. He wonders if the Metros would ever have his back like that. If anyone in the League would.

“What kind of thieves are you?” Ilya asks.

“The kind that is trying to focus on getting past a Type-A Platinum laser grid,” Parker’s voice comes in, strained and annoyed. “So can you stop with the sports chatter?”

“Alright, everyone, we are not done yet,” it’s Nate who takes over. “Hollander, you are up.”

“Me?! Now what?!”

“Distraction.”

Ilya watches from the bar, tapping his foot anxiously but otherwise carefully keeping his face blank as Shane appears, hurried and nervous. His eyes trail his boyfriend’s movement like a sniper as he rushes to the nearest guard —Armed Georgian Mercenary Assassin, he can’t help but remember with a pang of anguish— and starts talking in a rush.

“Oh my god. The- the guards, someone was attacking them. Some guy back there! He ran off to the gardens!” Shane says dramatically, pointing back at the hallway he just came from. It’s so terrible, like he just stepped out of a soap opera.   

The guard touches his earpiece and barks orders before he turns to Shane again with a question. Shane looks caught. Ilya’s stomach jumps as he says the least convincing tone ever:

“Well, he was, uh, very tall and… uh, bald.”

In their earpiece, Hardison is laughing so hard he is wheezing. Nate grumbles about how that is… effective. Maybe. Ilya can see color creeping up Shane’s neck. The guard doesn’t look entirely convinced, but then he straightens, touching his ear again and walks away with a scowl, leaving Shane forgotten behind.

He stands there, like a child lost in the supermarket until Ilya whispers:

“Shane.” He feels a swell of pride at the way his boyfriend’s shoulders relax slightly with the word alone. “Come here. Have a drink.”

And the tension comes back. Shane blinks and, of course, looks around like a deer in headlights, but no one seems to be paying attention. Like he’s a robot controlled by little people, he walks mechanically towards the bar. Ilya watches him terribly endeared by his awkwardness.

He gestures to the bartender for two more beers as Shane leans on the bar ten feet away from him. Ilya watches him from the corner of his eye as he receives the two ice cold bottles. He scoots closer. Shane tenses immediately, and Ilya hates it.

He tries to hide it, though, remaining nonchalant as he slides a beer bottle towards Shane, who looks at it and then at him, like either of them could explode at any given moment.

“What are you doing?” Shane mutters.

“Giving you beer. I think is time of night you relax. Yes?”

“Rozanov,” Shane says, emphatically. Obviously it’s not what he means.

Ilya rolls his eyes and, just to push it, steps closer. Shane looks like he’s about to pop a vein.

“Hollander,” he says, smiling at him, “we are partners, remember? Friends, now. We came here together for the Foundation. We can talk, is fine.”

Shane looks at him and he looks… lost for a moment until it clicks. He is still tense, but Ilya can see how his body angles towards him, like a magnet.

“Oh,” he breathes, grabbing the beer. “Right.” He takes a long sip of his beer before his eyes meet Ilya again, the smallest smile on his lips. “Hey.”

This, Ilya thinks, they starting a charity and moving countries and helping fucking thieves just to have this: a little moment in public.

“Hey,” Ilya says back, leaning a little bit closer, to see how far Shane will let him push. He watches Shane’s face, counts his feckless before his eyes move to his body, check for bruises or scratches. He checks every inch in sight before he finally says: “Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m not hurt.”

That’s good. That’s very good. But that’s not nearly enough. Shane looks rattled. And given all the fighting he heard, and the mention of guns, yeah Ilya can’t blame him.

“Are you okay?” Shane asks, brow furrowing.

“Me?” Ilya blinks.

“Yeah, that- that woman, she was-“

“A bitch.”

“I was gonna say pushy,” Shane says, because of course he was doing to be polite about it. “But yeah, that too.”

Ilya laughs, delighted.

“So? Are you?” Shane insists, looking very serious. He has his game face on. He is actually worried.

Ilya’s heart stutters in his chest, feeling painfully tender at the idea. Shane didn’t even hear the worst of what Ivana had to say (mercifully) he has no idea of how cruel she was about Shane, about the Irina Foundation or how it made Ilya’s blood boil. Ilya thought he’d be pissy about her, jealous and possessive, but he didn’t expect worry. He is not sure what to do with being cared for like that. Even after a year, it keeps catching him by surprise.

“I’m okay,” he says, softly. “Is over now, yes?”

Shane nods but still looks unsatisfied. Will probably remain so until the thieves keep their part of the deal. His eyes are set somewhere far away, his pupils moving fast like when he is analyzing a new play on the ice before destroying the rival’s defenses.

“We are okay,” Ilya insists, wanting more than anything to fix the worry gnawing at Shane’s edges right now.

Shane looks up and opens his mouth, but whatever he’s about to say gets drowned by Parker:

“Speak for yourself.” She sounds strained.

“What’s wrong?” Eliot asks immediately.

Ilya sees Shane perk up at his voice and feels something hot clawing at his insides. He is thankful to the man for saving Shane from the guards but he can’t help but hate him a little too. It’s not his job to protect Shane. That’s Ilya’s job. He is his boyfriend. And who does he think he is, gushing about the Hollander judo move and receiving hockey compliments from Shane?!

“It’s a two person lock,” Parker groans. “I… can’t reach… both buttons… My leg isn’t long enough.”

“Shit,” Hardison sighs. “That wasn’t on the blueprint.”

“Yeah, they do that,” Nate says flatly. “Fake blueprints even in their own servers. No one except the engineers truly know every set up.”

“I’m on my way. I can push the other button,” Eliot says.

“I hope you’ve been working on your flexibility because you’d have to get past the laser grid first,” Parker says, sounding unconvinced.

“As fun as that’d be to see,” Hardison says, “maybe he doesn’t need to. Your body cam mapped the grid, I can find a… there! We just need to throw something through this specific path between the lasers. Even if it crosses a couple, if it’s fast enough it won’t perceive it. The button is narrow, five inches tops, but maybe if you can throw something at it or…”

“A baseball would do,” Parker perks up. “The system is sensitive. Anything heavier than eight ounces or slower than a hundred miles per hour will trigger it. But if you throw very hard-“

“A baseball? Where the hell am I gonna get a baseball in a fucking charity gala?”

“I can do it,” Shane says, suddenly.

“What?!” Ilya is so surprised he forgets about discretion entirely and fully turns to gape at his boyfriend.

Shane’s face is set in game mode and Ilya already knows he’s not going to be talked out of whatever he’s thinking even before he says:

“I can make the shot.”

Chapter End Notes

Shane Hollander is super gay and he likes men who know puck and are good fighters, no surprise there lol (in all honesty I was writing the fight scene and was like ‘yeah there’s no way Shane isn’t at least a little turned on’.)

The Hollander Judo Flip is brought to you by that one video of Syd Crosby doing it and me deciding that it’s 100% a petty move Shane would pull to get rid of the defensemen that are always coming for him as the best player in the league. He doesn’t even fight them, just swings them off of him and keeps going. Because it’s hot and badass.m

And of course we needed a little bit more of hiding relationship angst as soon as they get a breather because Shane just faced a bunch of armed guys but it’s terrified to be seen talking to the man he loves. The rest of the crew was listening like ☹️☹️☹️

Next chapter: hockey saves the day again!

Chapter 6: you turn your back, you’re a broken man

Chapter Summary

“I don’t like this.”

“I know. Neither do I,” Shane sighs, holding on to his suit jacket to keep him close.

“Not the blackmailing. I mean, yes, that too,” Ilya grumbles, “but this, helping more than we agreed. Why are we doing this? Why are we getting more involved? This is bad enough.”

Chapter Notes

Time for some hockey heist shenanigans! 😀😀

“Auction items are kept on the third floor, west wing, fifth door to your right,” Nate informs them. “Guards are busy looking for a… bald Nate, so you should be good to go up.”

Shane and Ilya share a look, a nod and part ways at the bar.

“Won’t it be locked?” Shane asks, already moving for the stairs.

“Do we need the card?” Ilya says. He’s not right behind Shane, but taking the long way around, across the crowd, to the other set of stairs. They are used to this part, at least, the clock and dagger.

“According to the specs, no code in this one. Just a regular lock.”

Shane pauses mid step. That’s…

“So how do we get in?”

“What, Hollander, do you also want to pick a lock?” Ilya teases. “Fully graduating to petty crime now?”

“Shut up. I’m just saying-“

“I’m on it,” Eliot sighs.

“Oh, great. Eliot is on it,” Ilya grumbles.

Shane rolls his eyes. Antagonizing these guys will not help them deal with the whole blackmailing thing. And Eliot isn’t so bad.

Shane finds what he thinks is the door Nate pointed them to. He tries to open it, just in case, but it’s definitely locked. A normal key lock, but still… Shane sighs and waits. He listens to Ilya apologize to people as he moves through the crowd, waving gracefully in and out of their chatter with an ease Shane has always envied. God, if they were able to focus on it, he’d be doing great for their charity right now. Maybe later, if they don’t get caught.

Finally, Ilya appears down the hallway, walking with what Shane knows to be false nonchalance. When their eyes meet, Shane recognizes a glint of irritation in his face.

“We are here,” Ilya says, standing close to him. “Now what?” He is clearly talking to the crew but his eyes are on Shane, defiant.

“Rozanov’s front left pocket,” Eliot grunts. “Do not put pickles in that! What is wrong with you?”

Ilya’s brow furrows. He shoves his hands in his pockets and freezes. His eyes meet Shane’s with pure shock before he schools his features again.

“Cool trick,” he deadpans as he pulls out a small silver key. “You do parties too?”

Shane stares at the key, mouth agape. Sure, it tracks that thieves would be good at pickpocketing but this is, like, the opposite to that, isn’t it? Everything feels kinda upside down with these people.

Ilya tries the key and, sure enough, it opens the door. They both sneak into the dark room and quietly close the door behind themselves. Shane barely has time to take in the room, filled with the auction donations and barely lit by the window’s moonlight, before Ilya turns on his heels and crowds him against the door.

“Wanna fool around?” He teases, a hand on Shane’s waist as he presses him against the door.

“Ilya…”

He doesn’t get to say much more before his boyfriend’s hot mouth captures his and, as usual, pleasure shoots through his brain and quiets everything else down. Ilya presses his firm body against him and, fuck, Shane has been craving this all night. His lips open easily for Ilya’s tongue, and the contact makes Shane moan embarrassingly. Ilya brings his hands up to run his fingers through Shane’s hair, then runs his thumb over his freckles before his hand cups his ear and-

Ilya plucks Shane’s earpiece out and pulls away. Shane whines a little, chasing his mouth and is rewarded with a gentle peck before Ilya fully steps away. Shane watches as he takes his own earpiece out while pressing a finger to his lips and walks to the far end of the room. Shane obeys staying silent even as he watches him, confused. Ilya crouches, leaves the earpieces in the corner and strides back to Shane.

Shane is feeling a little unmoored by the switch, and pissed that Ilya clearly used the kiss as a distraction, but then Ilya kisses him again, sweet and long. An apology. Okay.

“We need to talk,” Ilya whispers. “I don’t like this.”

“I know. Neither do I,” Shane sighs, holding on to his suit jacket to keep him close.

“Not the blackmailing. I mean, yes, that too,” he grumbles, “but this, helping more than we agreed. Why are we doing this? Why are we getting more involved? This is bad enough.”

“I know, I know. I just- I wanna see it through. Maybe if they fail they won’t let us off the hook.”

Ilya clenches his jaw and looks into Shane’s eyes.

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m not gonna risk it,” Shane hisses. “If that footage gets out-“

“I know. Is bad.”

“It’s very bad, Ilya! I am not risking you, okay?”

Ilya’s face softens. He brings his hands up and rubs Shane’s shoulders soothingly and kisses his forehead.

“And you are curious,” Ilya smirks.

Shane blushes. He bites his lip.

“I mean… aren’t you? Everything about this is shady.”

“Yes, because we are stealing stuff.”

“Ilya.”

“Okay, fine, yes. Is weird.”

“I mean, the mercenaries?”

“And why the fuck is the room with the fancy expensive stuff not locked with their special code,” Ilya agrees.

“Right?” Shane maybe sounds a little too excited, but he’s so grateful that Ilya sees it too. “And these guys… what are they trying to steal?”

“Not something from here, apparently.”

They share a long look until Ilya nods. He walks away, grabs the ear pieces again and gives Shane one.

“…nov! Hollander!”

“Uh, sorry,” Shane mumbles.

“We got distracted,” Ilya says, as if they’d been making out all this time.

There’s a long suffering groan from more than one person.

“Just get the things,” Nate whines.

The puck and stick are easy enough to find. Shane can’t help but smile at the sight of them. They are both from the game seven that earned him his very first Stanley Cup. It’d hurt donating them, but if he’s going to lead a charity with Ilya he figured he better put his money where his mouth is. The Laskin also donate to mental health organizations. It feels like a good first step, in name of the Irina Foundation.

And now, he’s going to use it to break in somewhere.

Fine.

Hardison leads them back to the second floor, to where Parker is. He insists the path is clear, but Shane still tenses whenever they turn a corner, expecting to find a gun pointed at them. Ilya must notice, by the way he presses a hand to his lower back as a quiet reassurance.

Finally, they find Eliot and Parker. He is standing close to where they are, still dressed like a waiter though slightly disheveled after all the fighting from before. She is standing at the other end of the hallway, back pressed to the wall, next to a large wooden door and wearing a funny looking visor. Shane sees both buttons on either side of the door. It definitely looks too far for Parker to reach them both, but why didn’t they just-

“Easy there,” Eliot stops him with a hand across his chest before he can take a step forward.

“Hands off,” Ilya says slowly.

Eliot keeps a hand firmly pressed between Shane’s pecks as he digs something out of his pocket. He gives Shane another visor, just like Parker’s. Shane frowns at him, questioning, before slowly putting it on.

“Oh, shit.”

Eliot finally lets go, but Shane doesn’t pay him much attention, busy looking at the intricate web of red lasers that extends between them and Parker. Shane pulls the visor off, then puts it back on, then back off.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Ilya extends his hand and Shane gives him the visor automatically. He repeats Shane’s experiment. On, off, on.

“How did you get all the way over there?” Ilya gasps.

“I’m flexible.”

“Hollander, you do yoga. You can do that?”

No. Probably no, right? But now Shane sees a challenge and it’s not in his nature to back down. “I mean, maybe…”

“We don’t need you to get through like Parker did,” Nate says.

“Speak for yourself,” Hardison laughs. “I kinda wanna see it.”

“We are not letting him trip the alarm.”

“I wouldn’t,” Shane says, offended.

“Can you make the shot or not?”

Shane extends his hand and Ilya gives back the visor. He puts it on and a pointed line appears. Hardison’s trajectory towards the button.

“I can do it.”

“Me too,” Ilya says. “Why do you get to do it?”

“Sorry, but who has the shot accuracy record? Hm?”

“For like one second.”

“Yeah, that’s how long you held it,” Shane grins.

“Enough flirting,” Nate sighs.

“Wait, that was flirting?” Parker frowns. “That counts?”

“Kinda,” Shane shrugs, at the same time as Ilya says: “Yes.”

“Can we focus, please?” Hardison groans. The pointed line appears again before Shane’s eyes, along with a bunch of numbers. “I have calculated the trajectory of the puck, the speed and the strength with which you need to-“

Shane takes off the visor and hands it back to Eliot.

“What are you doing?” The man blinks.

“He doesn’t need it,” Ilya smirks smugly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

Shane takes position and looks up, meeting Ilya’s intense gaze, as if they were about to face-off. There’s a challenge in those eyes that makes Shane’s insides burn. He smiles back quickly, before locking in on his target.

“Parker, are you ready?” Nate asks.

“Yes!” She groans. “I’ve been ready for forever! Can we get on with it?”

Ilya chuckles.

“Hollander?”

“Ready.”

“Alright. On three. One, two, three.”

Shane’s wrist shot is, like always, fast and precise. Parker presses one button just as the puck bounces off the other.

Eliot fucking whoops.

“Did it work?” Shane straightens up.

“Hell yeah, it worked!” Eliot laughs, slapping him on the shoulder.

Shane barely notices because they way Ilya is looking at him right now makes him feel like he’s about to get fucked into a nearby mattress, or against a wall, or right here in the hallway. Ilya walks to him, his fists clenched to his sides, his movements deliberate and controlled. Shane holds his breath, eyes locked on Ilya’s mouth as it quirks into a smug little smile.

“Later,” Ilya whispers, sending a shiver down Shane’s body before strolling away towards the big door Parker is already opening.

Fuck, Ilya wishes he could grab Shane and drag him out of here. Soon, he promises himself. Soon. They just need to get this over with. Focusing on his breathing before his dick keeps getting harder, he walks through the big heavy door and is immediately… disappointed.

“All this for fucking paper work?” He asks, looking around the room that, for all intents and purposes is just another boring studio office.

“Yep,” Parker says, from somewhere behind the huge mahogany desk. “Now shush, hockey boy.”

Ilya walks closer and finds her crouched under the desk, her face pressed against a safe’s door, nose scrunched in concentration in a way that resembles Shane’s a little. He is about to tell her that shit only works in the movies when the door clicks open.

“No way,” he gasps.

Parker grins up at him, excited like a child, as she pulls out several binders. Ilya isn’t sure what he was expecting: money, jewels, fancy watches maybe. As far as bounties go, this has to be the most boring heist ever.

“You got them?” Nate asks.

Parker hums, opening the binder and passing page after page. “I guess? It’s hard to tell.”

“Send me pictures, I’ll confirm,” Hardison says.

While Parker pulls out her phone and starts photographing page after page, Ilya peeks over her shoulder. It looks like… accounting. Normally, Ilya wouldn’t have an idea of what he’s looking at, but the books are written in Cyrillic and the information looks oddly familiar. Shane and him have been going through similar information while setting up the Irina Foundation. That’s maybe the only reason he makes sense of it. But something’s off-

“Wait. What the fuck?” He pushes past Parker to lean over the spreadsheets, eyes scanning the information. The numbers don’t match. Or, they do but… “This can’t be right.”

“It is,” Hardison confirms.

“What’s going on?” Shane asks, standing by the door with Eliot.

Ilya looks up at him, jaw clenched and heart hammering inside his chest.

“They are stealing from the charity.”

“What?” Shane crosses the room with three long steps and stand any his side, looking at the page. He makes a face when he realizes he can’t read it.

“These numbers, they are from charity events the Laskins have held the past five years,” Ilya points out. “And here, these accounts,” Shane squints, leaning closer. He’d need his glasses to see, and even then he wouldn’t probably see what Ilya does. “These are the hospitals, the organizations. I recognize them from Yuna’s books.”

Shane looks up at him, still confused.

“Amounts don’t match. And here-“

“Off-shore accounts,” Nate confirms. “Untraceable once they leave the country. Most of the money is gone the moment it hits their bank. Donations are anonymous so there is no way to prove it.”

“Except these books,” Hardison says. “Fucking analogue bastards.”

“Parker, get the books.”

“We need to call the police,” Shane says.

Ilya is already shaking his head.“If they cannot trace the money, it will make no difference.”

He’s so mad.

He’s so fucking mad.

How many people could they have help? How many people could they have saved? How many mothers and sons would still be together?

“Exactly,” Nate says. “So we need a different approach.”

“Which is what?” Shane insists.

“We stop auction first,” Ilya growls, heading for the door. “These bastards don’t get another cent.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Eliot steps in his way.

Ilya tries to brush him aside and is met with a surprisingly steady resistance.

“Move,” he groans, grabbing the man and trying to wrestle him away, only for the guy to grab him by the waist and force him backwards too.

“Rozanov, we can’t be rash about this. We gotta wait until-“

“Fuck that,” Ilya tries to kick the man’s ribs to free himself but finds a steady defense as he deflects the blow.

“Ilya,” Shane hisses. “Maybe we should listen-“

“No. They can blackmail if they want. We can’t let them keep taking the money and-“

“I know! I know, okay? But maybe we-“

“If they realize we know now there won’t be a way to prove it. They’ll just deny it,” Nate speaks urgently into his ear.

Ilya pulls the earpiece off. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. Shane and him will do the right thing. Whatever they are planning to do with the money, he will not let them just take it and let the Laskins keep stealing.

He’s about to elbow Eliot in his stupid handsome face and get Shane and himself out of here when he feels it: something changes.

Without the earpiece, he can’t hear it, but he can tell by the way everyone in the room —Shane included— freezes. The air becomes tense. Has that fucking asshole threatened them again? Ilya’s eyes search for an answer in Shane’s. All he finds there is fear. His boyfriend is pale, terrified.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Did they fucking publish the video? Ilya shouldn’t have- he should’ve known better. He looks at Shane, an apology ready in his lips.

The door’s lock clicks open. Parker opens the window behind her. Shane and Ilya instinctively try to take a step towards the other just as the door handle turns.

It happens in a millisecond.

Ilya feels an iron grip around his torso and a firm hand pressed over his mouth and nose as Eliot fucking drags him backwards. Caught off guard, he stumbles along towards the office supply closet. Ilya isn’t paying attention, because on the other end of the room Parker has grabbed Shane by the waist and she- she jumps out of the fucking window.

She drags Shane with her.

The supply closet door closes just the studio’s door opens… just as Ilya tries to scream, the noise of his anguish muffled against Eliot’s hand.

Chapter End Notes

I do love flinging Shane Hollander off of buildings while Ilya watches.

(Don’t overthink the Laskin thing. We are in TV logic land.)

Chapter 7: all you need is to break away

Chapter Summary

Shane. No, no, no.

Ilya wants to fight, to scream more, to run out after him and fling himself out the same window, but his legs aren’t responding. The room spins.

Oh, Eliot is choking him. Fuck.

Chapter Notes

Shane. No, no, no.

Ilya wants to fight, to scream more, to run out after him and fling himself out the same window, but his legs aren’t responding. The room spins.

Oh, Eliot is choking him. Fuck.

Distantly, he registers that someone has walked into the room. Steps hurriedly around the mahogany desk.

Ilya’s vision starts darkening at the edges as he feels something pressed against his cheek, clumsily shoved into his ear, what is even-

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Shane gasps somewhere. He sounds scared, but not hurt or- or dead.

Ilya’s legs finally give in, even though Eliot is no longer trying to choke him. The hand still pressed against his mouth muffles Ilya’s relieved sob as the man’s arm holds him up on his feet.

“Shut up, you’re fine. I’ve got you,” Parker whispers.

“We’re- we’re hanging off a fucking building,” Shane hisses back.

“Yes, but I put the harness on you. You’re good. Now shut up before they hear you.”

“Where’s Ilya?”

“I’ve got him,” Eliot whispers, barely audible.

Ilya wants to reply too but then the person on the other side of the door speaks Eliot’s hold of his face tightens.

“Yes, Sir,” the man says. “Everything looks alright.”

The wood cracks, then there’s a metallic creek Ilya recognizes from earlier, when Parker opened the safe. He closes his eyes, bracing for disaster, full blown security alert, definitely getting caught, when-

“Yes, Sir. Everything looks in order in it too. Nothing missing.”

“We are good,” Eliot whispers, probably because the others might not have heard it.

“Yes, we are monitoring the security situation downstairs. No, we haven’t located him. Yes, sir.”

The man walks out and the door clicks shut. Then there’s an electronic beep somewhere across the room. Eliot finally lets go of Ilya, who stumbles a little until he regains his footing.

“Shane,” he breathes.

“Oh thank god, are you alright?” Shane asks, his voice still shaking.

“Am I-?! Are you?! The window-“

Ilya tries to walk out of the closet only to be wrestled back by fucking Eliot again.

“You can’t go out there.”

“Guard is gone.”

“Yeah, but he’s reset the alarm,” Hardison says. “There’s motion sensors in the room, only way to deactivate them is through the front door. Which is why he had to do your hockey trick instead of having Parker just climb in through the window.”

“But the proof,” Ilya frowns.

“Oh, I have it,” Parker says.

“But the guard said it was still in the safe.”

“I put decoys inside.”

“First rule of a heist,” Nate says, sounding annoyingly smug, “they can’t stop you if they don’t know you are robbing them.”

“Which also means we now need to get this stick and puck back with the rest of the auction items before it begins,” Eliot sighs.

Ilya hadn’t even noticed that he’d dragged Shane’s things with them into the closet. Then again, he’d been preoccupied with other things like his boyfriend getting shoved out of a window.

“Sorry, can we go back to the part where Ilya is trapped in a fucking closet?” Shane asks, voice sharp with annoyance despite the underlying fear in it.

“Technically, you are also still in the closet,” Ilya supplies.

“Fuck off, asshole, I’m serious. How are you supposed to get out of there now?!”

“And get the things back to the lame normal locked room,” Ilya agrees.

“Vents,” Parker says.

Ilya isn’t sure he understands but by the way Eliot groans like a child told to eat vegetables he assumes he’s not going to like it.

“What?”

“Well, I couldn’t use them to get in because there was still the issue with the motion sensors inside the room, but there’s ventilation vents.”

“She’s right. There should actually be one just above your heads,” Hardison provided.

Ilya looks up and, sure enough, there’s an air conditioner vent on the wall but-

“There’s no way I fit there.”

“If Eliot can do it, so can you,” Parker says, like she’s a motivational speaker. “Just think small thoughts.”

“What the fuck?”

“Just…” Eliot sighs and shakes his head.

“At least you’re not hanging from a fucking building,” Shane supplies, unhelpfully. “Can we get down, please?”

“The house’s grounds are surrounded by guards. You need to go up.”

“Up?!” Shane’s voice cracks. “It’s like three floors! We can’t just- I can’t just-“

Oh god, he is freaking out. That can’t be good. Ilya is trapped in a fucking closet and about to crawl into a tight hole with a man in a way that is entirely too ironic for him to fully appreciate at the moment, he can’t have his boyfriend plummeting to his death on top of that because he lost his cool.

“Hollander,” he says, voice firm, “you are professional athlete. You can climb a little building. Yes?”

“I can’t. I- I really can’t,” his voice still shakes.

Think, think, think.

“I make you deal, okay? If you make it to the top before I am out of the vents, you win.”

There’s a long silence only broken by Parker’s impatient sigh.

“What do I win?” Shane asks, voice small.

Ilya smirks. Got him.

Okay. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

Shane’s legs are shaking like he’s just made it out of a round 2 game 7 overtime. This is a terrible awful fucking time to discover he’s afraid of heights. Or, more accurately, of falling off of said heights.

“Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, my god,” he mumbles under his breath as he puts one foot in front of the other.

“Hollander, just don’t look down,” Ilya says in his ear.

Funny enough, sticking to his last name is helping Shane calm down. It’s familiar between them, and Ilya has used it often to calm him down in the years they’ve been hooking up, even before they admitted their feelings.

“I know that, Rozanov!”

“You can totally look if you want,” Parker shrugs next to him. “It’s fun.”

She’s climbing casually, like it’s no big deal, but he appreciates that she’s staying by his side even if she seems annoyed by his slow pace. Shane suspects that she could be up in the rooftop right now already, but she hasn’t left him alone, literally hanging here.

“Not as fun as this,” Ilya groans sarcastically, voice strained. “This vent is too tight. Maybe I’m claustrophobic.”

Shane laughs. “You are not claustrophobic.”

“I could be.”

“These vents all look the same to me,” Eliot sighs.

Parker makes an offended sound next to Shane.

“You’re going the right way. Now just go right- wait, no, sorry. Left.”

“Dammit, Hardison! It’s hard maneuvering in here.”

“Hey, man, you weren’t supposed to climb into the vents tonight, remember? You weren’t even supposed to be there! You were supposed to be in guard duty but someone wanted to watch Hollander take that shot.”

“I wasn’t gonna fucking miss it!”

“Does that count as flirting?” Parker asks, next to Shane, who is trying very hard to focus on the voices in his ear instead of the height he’s slowly gaining.

“No!” Hardison and Eliot reply.

Shane chances a look at Parker and nods. She smiles and seems satisfied with his answer.

“We are almost there.”

“Heard that, Rozanov?” Shane pants, pushing another foot forward and gripping the rope so hard his fingers are about to go numb. “I’m about to win. You should be used to it by now, yeah?”

“In your dreams,” Ilya says.

Just by his voice, Shane knows he is smiling. Despite the terror and the fear and the anger he’s been experiencing tonight, having Ilya in his head at all times has been comforting. He wonders if Hardison would let them keep his earpieces. He wouldn’t mind being able to talk to Ilya across the room or across the rink all the time.

“Yeah, sorry, Hollander, but it looks like they boys are almost there. Eliot, take another right, then you should find an exit for the auction items storage room at the end of that vent.”

Shane can’t help it. He picks up the pace. Next to him, Parker laughs and follows along. They are so close, almost to the edge. If he can just-

Parker climbs over the ledge then reaches down to help Shane. She’s deceptively strong, but he’s still a little worried about accidentally pulling her down with him. It takes a little maneuvering and he’s panting by the end of it, but he reaches the rooftop and rolls over until he’s panting on his back.

“I… win…” he sighs.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you don’t,” Ilya says smugly as he watches Eliot close the vent latch behind them.

“Oh, fuck you, no way!” Shane whines in his ear.

Ilya laughs, delighted by his anger and relieved to hear he’s finally out of danger.

“Yes way. You should be used to me being first by now.”

The sound Shane makes, so indignant, makes hot desire pool in Ilya’s gut. He watches as Eliot places Shane’s stick and puck back in their place, reverently almost, and delights in the knowledge that, no matter how big his obvious giant crush, Ilya knows exactly whose bed Hollander will be in tonight.

“Okay, we are done. Let’s get out,” Eliot slaps Rozanov’s arm in passing as he walks to the door. Ilya locked it when they left. He gets ready to grab the- where is-

Eliot just produces the key out of fucking nowhere and opens the door.

“How the fuck did you do that?” Ilya snaps, rushing after him.

They make it to the hallway and around a corner before Hardison says:

“Woah, woah, woah! Stop! You’re about to run into security. You are not supposed to be on that floor.” They turn around and start hurrying in the opposite direction. “Nope, not that way. More incoming.”

“Dammit, Hardison. Now what?!”

“Ilya,” Shane’s voice is sharp and filled with worry.

His heart is beating hard, his head spins a little, they are about to be royally fucked. But the thing is… Ilya knows this kind of trouble, this kind of party. He find the nearest ridiculous fake potted plant and falls to his knees and just as the guards are closing in on them… retches.

“Hey, you! You’re not supposed to be here!”

Ilya looks up, pretends to try to stand up and stumbles sideways. Eliot, not a complete idiot, catches up.

“Sir, uh, please. You’ve- you’ve had a bit much to drink-“

Mumbling a bit of Russian nonsense, Ilya slaps his hands away and tries to stand up again. He trips falls backwards into Eliot’s strong arms. He hears him clearly as he says to the guards:

“I’m so sorry… he’s… I’m just trying to get him back downstairs…”

He must be convincing judging by the sympathetic winces from the mercenaries.

“You need a hand, man?”

“Uh, no, no,” Eliot hurries, wrapping a hand around Ilya’s waist and holding him up. Ilya follows his lead. He does not want to guards trying to escort him anywhere. “I’ll just get him some water. He’s- he’s a fancy guest. I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

The guys nod. “Just get him out of this wing.”

“Thanks, man.”

Ilya trips a little more as Eliot drags him towards the stairs. He hears the guards giving the rest of their crew a heads up about a stupid drunk rich man in Russian.

“Not bad,” Nate says.

As soon as they are out of the guards’ sight, Ilya stands up straight and shoves Eliot away.

“Okay, we are out, now what?”

“Now, it’s our turn,” Parker says, chipper. “Ready to jump, hockey boy?”

“What do you mean jump?!”

Shane looks at the crazy woman next to him, wide eyed. The space between the Grande Maison and the next building is way too big.

“We can’t just-“

“Sure we can! It’s not that far.”

“But why?” Shane tries a different approach.

“We need those files and we need them before the betting begins,” Nate replies. “This is the fastest way. You don’t have a route back inside the building from here without tripping a dozen alarms.”

“But what am I-“

“That’s for later, Hollander. Now you need to get out of the property and get us those files.”

“Let her jump! She’ll- She’ll get you the files.”

“We don’t leave people behind,” Parker says, rolling her eyes like honor amongst thieves annoys her.

“Exactly. Now, hurry up.”

“It’s simple,” she shrugs. “Just run from that end to this one and… jump!”

Shane is shaking his head before she’s even done talking. He feels himself grow stiff, his legs go cold. Panic begins to darken the edges of his vision.

“Hollander,” Ilya’s voice breaks through. “Shane. Breathe. You can do this.”

“Ilya, I can’t. I can’t-“ his voice cracks painfully.

“You can do it. You are Shane fucking Hollander, yes? You are professional athlete. You are fast, you are strong, and your thighs, moya lyubov, could crush a man, they can jump across buildings.”

Shane feels heat crawl up his face.

“You are brave.”

He laughs.

“You are. You can do this.”

“Hollander,” Nate says slowly, “these people have been stealing millions of dollars from children, from hospitals, they’ve been taking what others give freely to help and helped themselves instead. Your and Rozanov’s charity, I thought it would only be a front but it’s real. You do care about it, about helping, don’t you? Tonight is the first step of that. Not the party, not the fancy canapés, but this…”

“Stop getting in his head,” Ilya snaps. “He gets it.”

“Okay.”

“Shane…”

“I can do this. I can do this.”

Shane looks at the building edge. He is Shane fucking Hollander. He is brave. He can do this. He has to do this.

He walks to the building’s opposite edge. Parker joins him there. She’s jumping a little, like a little kid excited to walk into the rink for the first time.

“Wanna race?” She grins and takes off.

“Oh, fuck,” Shane breathes out and runs after her at full speed. Right before he reaches the ledge, his foot leaving the ground he whispers, just in case: “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“Shane?” Ilya hisses, his heart pounding so loud that he’s afraid he will miss his reply.

He managed to sound calm, like he was keeping his cool, for Shane’s sake but he’s been locked in a bathroom feeling his legs quake for the past several minutes.

“Shane.”

Please.

“Fuck, I think I ripped my suit.”

Ilya laughs, hit by a wave of relief so strong that once gain his legs fail for the second time tonight. He sits down on the toilet lid, breathing heavy.

“Good job,” he says. “No more jumping off buildings ever again, okay?”

“Deal,” Shane laughs shakily.

God, Ilya needs to touch him, hold him tight and kiss him hard until his body forgets what this fear feels like.

”Alright, heads up,” Nate says after a moment. “Auction’s about to begin. Rozanov, Hollander, we need to get you both to the party. All eyes are about to be on you.”

Chapter End Notes

I WAS gonna leave you in a cliffhanger but I felt like I’ve been mean enough to Ilya. Plus, the fun of these heists is not so much in the danger but in the ridiculousness of their shenanigans. So I hope you guys are having fun with it too!!

(Btw if anyone is interested in watching Leverage after reading this fic, you can find it all in YouTube in the production company’s —ElectricNOW— page. Use a VPN if it doesn’t show up, it’s available in the US!)

Chapter 8: you are holding your light above me now

Chapter Summary

He feels the heat as bright lights settle on him. It makes him squint uncomfortably for a second before he remembers to smile and wave. People clap. Betting begins. The numbers keep climbing, but he barely listens because Shane will be next and he’s nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Notes

I am baaaaaaaaaaack!!!

(This is what happens when I don’t end it in a cliffhanger, I’m in less of a hurry /jk)

Ilya walks back into the ballroom still feeling his heart hammer wildly in his chest. Thankfully, his ability to retain a poker face under duress is forged in fire. He keeps his face pleasantly relaxed, sends a tight lipped smile back to the few donors that meet his eyes but carefully sidesteps conversation until he makes it to the bar. He gets vodka.

“Alright, everyone, get ready. Auction’s about to begin,” Nate insists.

“Yes. Everyone’s about to give them money. Great,” Ilya mutters bitterly into his glass.

“That’s the plan,” Eliot says.

Ilya can see him by the far end of the room, walking around with a tray full of champagne. He wants to ask what’s the fucking point of getting all those papers to expose the Laskins if they are all going to be be giving them millions tonight anyway, but before he can someone settles by his side:

“There you are,” Svetlana sighs. Without needing to flag him, the barman brings her a vodka too. She’s trained him well in the past couple hours. “Where have you been? I’ve been desperate for rescue for over half an hour.”

“I have been busy,” Ilya says. “Mingling. Donors. I am here on business, you know, Sveta.”

“Oh, yes. All that business with Ivana.”

Ilya wrinkles his nose, a quick sharp gesture, enough for her to see his distaste.

“I did warn you.”

“You did.”

Lights go down around the room. The conversations die down as spotlights center on the stage. Ivana walks into the spotlight, beautiful like a deadly snake, as is welcomed with a warm applause.

“Thank you. Thank you,” she smiles, sweetly. “My father wishes he could be here tonight but he had some urgent business meeting. I am sure everyone here understands how that is. Lucky for you, that means you get the prettier Laskin tonight.”

Several laughs ripple across the room and she brightens. Ilya feels a sick need to erase that smirk off her face.

“Don’t worry, unlike my father, I am not so good with speeches. I know we all just want to go back to the party, so let’s get this auction going, yes?”

More claps. A few happy cheers.

“Now, let’s begin with the very generous Italian Baroque art donations from the Augustini family.”

A new spotlight appears, surfing the crowd until it settles onto an elegantly clad old couple.

“Oh, great,” Ilya mutters, “they are highlighting the donors.”

“Shit,” Shane hisses in his ear, somewhere outside the building. “How am I supposed to get back in there?!”

“We are on it.”

“Why are you speaking English?” Svetlana squints at him, suspicious. “You’ve been acting weird tonight.”

“Because is more polite,” Ilya shrugs, stubbornly in English. “I am trying to be professional tonight, mix and mingle with donors. We are not all here just for the drinks.” He punctuates it with a smirk and a sip of vodka.

“And now, this lovely yacht, donated by the Claymont Cooperative.” The light lands on an old man, who smiles and waves at the applause before the betting starts.

Ilya looks around. They are going alphabetically, the Irina Foundation is bound to come up sooner rather than later. He watches as the betting goes on, and finally settles in a massive amount of money which would normally be good but just feels like a slap in the face right now.

“And now, a new comer! Give a big applause for the Irina Foundation,” Ivana grins, though Ilya recognizes some ice behind her voice. Oh, she must be mad that he left her waiting earlier. Good. “We will begin with the donation from Ilya Rozanov, the handsome Boston Captain and Stanley Cup from winner a few years ago,” that last note seems unnecessarily venomous. “Where are you, Ilyushka?”

He feels the heat as bright lights settle on him. It makes him squint uncomfortably for a second before he remembers to smile and wave. People clap. Betting begins. The numbers keep climbing, but he barely listens because Shane will be next and he’s nowhere to be seen.

The betting goes on and on. The numbers climb. Inwardly, Ilya can’t help but wonder if the beaten up stick and the sweaty undershirt be played with that night are really worth more than most people make in a lifetime. He is proud of those achievements, sure, but the value feels personal: the fact that he dedicated the win to his mother, the fact that even his father begrudgingly congratulated him, the pride he felt for the team he’d dragged from the bottom of the charts, the sweetness of knowing he beat Hollander to it. What is it to these people except another trophy? He had given it all away, happily, thinking that money would be helping people, but now…

Ivana excitedly announces the winner of the bet. Ilya wonders if she knows her father is about to embezzle that money for their family fortune rather than use it for charity. Sadly, it’s likely she does.

“And now, we have a second donation from the same foundation, from Montreal’s captain, Shane Hollander!”

The light moves across the crowd. Fuck.

Ilya’s eyes scan the faces around the dark room, but none is his Shane’s. He would know. Ever since he was seventeen, it’s like his body is naturally attuned to wherever Shane Hollander is standing. Like a moth to a flame. Whenever they are in the same room, it’s like there’s a magnet in his chest, like Shane is a lighthouse calling for him (calling him home, he knows now, like something deep in his DNA already knew where he belonged). Even in the dark, surrounded by a hundred faces, other voices, other bodies.

Ilya turns to his right two seconds before the light lands back on him. On them. Because here he is, like he’s been standing there the entire time. Shane. His hair is windswept, he’s lost his jacket and his shirt’s neck is unbuttoned. He looks so fucking good, Ilya has the irrational impulse to grab him and hide him away from the light and the prying eyes, where he can have him all for himself.

Apparently unaware of Ilya’s raging desire to undress him immediately, Shane smiles and waves at the crowd.

The applause is even bigger than Ilya’s, despite Ivana’s lackluster announcement. It makes Ilya’s heart swell. Hometown hero Shane Hollander, Ottawa’s own. In a few months, Ilya will belong to this city too and, in a way, it feels like it will make him belong to Shane even more. He will set roots in Shane Hollander’s hometown like a tree and cling to it like he can belong to it too.

The betting begins and Ilya’s possessive thoughts pity whoever is buying pieces of Shane’s past, not knowing who his future belongs to. Ilya turns to look at Shane while everyone’s attention is drawn elsewhere and finds him already looking back. A playful smirk dances across his face. Ilya can see it, even in the dark.

“How much did yours go for?” Shane whispers as the numbers keep climbing.

“You want to make it a competition?” Ilya smirks, delighted by Shane’s playful tone, even here, in public.

“If it was fair, it should go for twice as much as yours. Since I’ve got twice as many cups.”

Ilya fakes an offended gasp. What an asshole. He loves him so much it feels like his chest will implode like a supernova.

And then Shane nudges him gently, friendly, barely a push of his shoulder against Ilya’s arm, but the touch alone sets him on fire. Because he knows that this, more than jumping off any building or fighting off security guards, this is Shane being brave.

Ilya can’t help but send him a bewildered look, which is only accentuated when Shane smirks and shrugs. What? He seems to be saying. We are friends now publicly, aren’t we?

Oh, Ilya feels like he just stole something precious in front of all these prying eyes.

He misses the end of the betting entirely, too incensed by Shane’s closeness, here where everyone can see, and just as he feels like this entire night has been worth it, he hears:

“Shane Hollander.” Svetlana is leaning in front of Ilya, offering a hand. “Finally, we meet. I am Svetlana Vetrova.”

Fuck.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Shane steps slightly away from Ilya as he takes her hand. The movement is subtle but it doesn’t hurt any less. “I know who you are.”

“Yes, I know, my father was a big goalie. Has many fanboys.”

“O-Of course, yeah, but I mean, Ilya talks about you a lot.”

“Oh, do you, Ilya?” Svetlana sends him a look. Oh, the name.

“Yes, Shane is a good friend. I had to tell him about my oldest best friend,” Ilya shrugs, like his brain isn’t a pinball right now bouncing between terror and pure elated joy.

“Exactly,” Shane supplies, stiffly. “When we get together, to talk about the charity.”

“He talks about you too, you know?”

“I do not!” Ilya jumps, a little too loud. A few of the patrons still paying attention to the ongoing auction send them annoyed looks.

“Oh, he was obsessed with you for so long. Always wanting to beat you,” Svetlana’s smile is sharp like a knife. “He’d watch all your games replays.”

“Oh, were you?” Shane’s big brown eyes turn to Ilya, curious and amused. And soft, underneath it.

“I like her,” Eliot says, suddenly reminding them both that they aren’t, in fact, done with whatever tonight is.

“Is she… Does that count as flirting too?” Parker muses.

“No!” Eliot, Hardison and Ilya say at the same time.

“Yes,” Svetlana replies, “you were.”

More nasty looks are shot their way.

“Sveta, I told you not tonight,” Ilya whispers in Russian.

“Sorry,” she sighs, unapologetic. “Hollander, next year when you come to Boston, all three of us will get together and have a drink, yes?”

Shane blinks and Ilya knows exactly why he stumbles. Svetlana doesn’t know it yet, but Ilya won’t be in Boston by next fall.

“Hollander doesn’t drink during the season,” he says, “but yes, we will go out sometime.”

“Uh, sure,” Shane nods.

Apparently appeased, Svetlana sends the blonde old woman that’s been glaring at her a big sweet smile and walks away.

“Sorry,” Ilya whispers.

“No, it’s- she’s nice.”

The rest of the betting goes on. Shane doesn’t touch him again, but he stays close by and Ilya takes the win while he can.

And then, just as the auction ends, with Ivana still standing on the stage, it happens.

Ilya notices it first as a rumor across the room. Whispered voices, expanding like ripples in a lake. And, underneath it all, buzzing and ringing. Two hundred phones slowly receiving similar notifications. The voices grow louder.

Shane turns to look at him, his dark eyes wide and scared and filled with questions.

Is it out?

Oh god.

Do they know?

What are we going to do?

Desperately, Ilya wants to grab him and shield him from the eyes around them, the earlier possessiveness turned into something far more desperate. Worse than the fear is the clear pang of betrayal that crosses Shane’s features. Like Ilya, maybe he’d also thought they’d be safe, that the people holding their love for ransom were, after all, good guys.

In Ilya’s back pocket, his phone buzzes several times. He doesn’t reach for it. He doesn’t dare. He can’t.

Shane is braver. As soon as his phone buzzes, he pulls it out. No hesitation despite the clear horror in his face.

Cowardly, Ilya closes his eyes so that he doesn’t see Shane’s horrors come to life the exact moment their world crumbles to the ground in ashes. He can’t picture it clearly enough, replay the video frame by frame in his mind’s eye, as he did the day after they received Hardison’s threat. He imagines what they all see now, two young boys in tuxedos, playing at being grown-ups, hiding how scared and overwhelmed they are, forgetting about the world only for a moment and giving into the urge to find comfort in each other, lost in a second of joy and pleasure before fear comes crashing down on them again. It’s all his fault. He kissed Shane. He did this to him, to them, he’d been young and stupid and reckless and selfish and now-

“Holy shit,” Shane gasps.

Ilya flinches, knowing he can’t postpone the brutal reality much longer.

“Ilya…”

When he opens his eyes, Shane is practically shoving his phone on his face. With his heart thundering in his ears, it takes Ilya three tries to read the headline:

BREAKING NEWS: Authorities call for the arrest of Russian businessman Dimitri Laskin after he apparently attempts to transfer charity donations to offshore accounts — an anonymous leak reveals this is presumably not the first time.

Oh shit. Ilya looks up, meets Shane’s wide eyes and hands his phone back just to look at his own. He reads the notifications from several news sites:

Laskin Foundation under fire after several leaks proof mishandling of donations going back up to ten years.

Dimitri Laskin’s whereabouts still unknown as authorities move to seize his family assets.

Russian businessman’s funds frozen as he attempts to move his most recent round of donations to offshore accounts.

“Holy shit.”

Ilya looks around, at the tense and slowly angrier faces around them. On the stage, Ivana has gone deadly pale. The tension lasts two breaths, then the first angry question is shouted.

Shane takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. Around them, the fancy ballroom is slowly beginning to feel less like a charity gala and more like a full out scrum. On stage, Ivana Laskin fends off angry donors with the help of her mercenary security team. She looks like a castaway in a raft, surrounded by sharks. Despite the fact he had to watch her openly flirt with Ilya and hated every second of it, Shane can’t help but pity the poor woman left to deal with this fallout alone.

“Should we, uh…” he suggests vaguely, frowning at Ilya and pointing his chin towards her.

It just feels cruel to let it happen.

Ilya turns to him as if he was surprised by the suggestion. His eyes are unbearably soft, with a gentleness that he rarely bares in public, but quickly his face shutters with unexpected hardness.

“No. She can deal with these consequences herself.”

Shane can’t help but hesitate.

“That seems harsh.”

“Trust me, it’s not harsh enough,” Hardison sounds surprisingly cold too.

“Alright, everyone, we are almost done. People are walking out. Let’s take this chance to make our exit. Hollander, Rozanov, meet us at the rendezvous point.”

Ilya and Shane share a look, tired and relived.

For someone who makes a living of balancing at high speed over a literal razor edge, Shane is exhausted by this tightrope act. All the terrible, world-ending awful, disastrous ways Shane envisioned this night could end had come so close to becoming a reality… and sped by harmlessly. He is okay. Ilya is okay. No one has outed them to the world, or dragged them to jail, or literally shot them (he luckily didn’t know this was a possibility at the beginning of the night). So, yeah, they are okay, but most of all Shane is bone tired and fucking pissed off —surprisingly, not at the people blackmailing them.

It’s been a weird fucking night.

“I’ll go first,” he says, not wanting to stay in this party a minute longer than necessary.

Outside, the night is mercifully fresh. Soon, the summer will come to and end and, with it, the long year of waiting for Ilya to move to Ottawa. Shane tries to focus on that hope as he walks past the fancy cars picking up furious guests outside the manor and heads across the street.

The staff parking lot across the street is dark and lonely now that the party is over. It’d been slightly less empty when Parker had rushed him over and shoved him under a service car (thank goodness for yoga letting him fit his 200 pound frame in such a tiny space) to sneak him back into the party in the nick of time. Now, there’s no one around. Even the young busboy that’d been smoking in the far dark corner and that Shane’d been so concerned about, has left too.

So now Shane is safe. That is: safely walking alone at night in the middle of a dark empty parking lot on his way to meet with a bunch of criminals.

Great sane choices.

There’s steps behind him then, more hurried than his, but also comfortingly familiar. The tension in his body melts slightly when he feels Ilya fall into step with him.

His knuckles brush Shane’s, brief and featherlight.

“We are here,” Ilya says.

A black van at the end of the parking lot flashes its lights at them once. Together, they walk towards it.

The van’s side door slides open, revealing Hardison. He’s surrounded by monitors and wires and holding a bottle of unnaturally orange soda pop.

“Now, that’s what I call a grand finale,” he grins, wide and joyful. Infectiously so.

Next to him, even Nate has switched his grim scowl for a smug self satisfied smirk.

“Not bad.”

“I’m guessing you are the ones that leaked the papers,” Ilya says.

“You could say that,” Hardison shrugs. “Let’s just say a bunch of journalists and federal agencies got them, just in time to catch Laskin moving tonight’s assets around.”

“How did you make sure of that?” Shane asks.

“That’s why you needed the auction to happen,” Ilya gasps at the same time.

Nate nods. “The Laskins moved their assets almost immediately after receiving donations and once in off-shore accounts it was nearly impossible to properly audit them and retrace how much money they’d gotten and how much was actually going to the charities they claimed. Some still did, of course, to keep up appearances, but they kept the biggest piece of the cake.”

“So now you’ve got them red handed,” Shane says slowly. “How’d you even get federal agencies to react so quickly?”

“I’ve got my ways,” Hardison shrugs, smug.

“Probably didn’t help that Dimitri spooked and ran,” Parker says, suddenly appearing on Shane’s right, like she’s always been standing there.

“They caught him at the airport ten minutes ago,” Eliot adds, walking over from behind a truck. “He’s a flight risk so he’s probably gonna be waiting for his trial in prison.”

“Damn,” Shane whispers. As unsavory as he finds the man, he can’t help but feel a twinge of pity.

“These people don’t deserve your sympathy, malysh,” Ilya says, gently.

“No, I know. It’s just… a lot, I guess. But I’m glad we could help stop them. Wait. The charities, what happens with the money now?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Nate says.

“But that money, all those years of donations…”

“That money may be off-shore but the Laskins like to live… lavishly, as you have seen. I’m sure they have enough assets to put on sale and pay off that debt.”

“And we’ll make sure they do,” Eliot says, solemnly.

“Alright,” Nate claps his hands once. “Pack it up. We are done here.”

“Just like that?”

“Job’s done. Off to the next one,” Eliot shrugs. Then he walks forward, a hand stretched out. “It was a big honor, working with you guys.”

“Uh, thanks. Same,” Shane shakes his hand.

“Yes, yes, big honor,” Ilya rolls his eyes, shoving his hand out in a way clearly meant to interrupt. Shane elbows him gently.

Unbothered, Eliot looks just as starstruck as he shakes Ilya’s hand.

“You need to work on your building climbing,” Parker says firmly, standing in front of Shane next. “But you’re surprisingly flexible and that shot was a nice way to deal with the lasers. You could make a good thief.”

Ilya laughs next to him. This time, Shane elbows him harder.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to hockey for now.”

“Then, maybe you can teach me how to skate. I really like those blades on your feet.”

“The skates?” Shane blinks. “I mean, sure. I’d be happy to-“

“No. No, no,” Eliot bear hugs Parker and lifts her off the ground. “Last thing you need is another stabbing method.”

Parker groans, and throws her head back, going limp as she lets the enforcer drag her away like a rag doll. “You always say I should get into sports!”

“No contact sports for you.”

Ilya chuckles next to Shane. “You should definitely give her lessons,” he whispers.

“Oh, you don’t wanna do that,” Hardison chuckles, climbing off the van. “Trust me, once you see her-“

“It’ll be best to refrain from contacting each other while the investigation is ongoing,” Nate says dryly.

All three thieves share a look. For once, Shane thinks he can read it clearly: annoyance, the kind you feel for a pushy overbearing parent, not how you feel about an actual tyrannical asshole boss.

“Sure, man, whatever,” Hardison hops off the van and approaches them. “Gonna need those earpieces back.”

Damn. Shane can’t quite repress a disappointed sigh. It’s just been… nice, being able to hear Ilya at any time, even when across the room. It’s the closest they’ve felt while in public. They both hand the little bugs back. Hardison gently places them in a little case and tucks it away inside his bag.

Shane shuffles slightly, watching the man closely. When he straightens up and looks at them both, he can feel Ilya tense like he is bracing for an overtime face-off. Hardison’s eyes bounce between them.

“W-What?” He finally asks.

Ilya stays quiet. Shane knows his silences enough to recognize this one. The one that masks fear.

“So,” Shane decides to just rip the bandaid off, “the- the video, is it… are you gonna…”

The hacker’s eyes open wide, his jaw dropping.

“Jeez, man, no. Hell no.”

“But you will keep it,” Ilya says slowly. “To blackmail us more. Keep us quiet.”

“Dammit. You don’t get it yet? We are the good guys!”

“Good guys blackmailing us with ruining our lives.”

Hardison rubs a hand over his face and groans, throwing his head back.

“I swear to god, Nate- Fuck this. Listen, we were never gonna release that footage, alright?” He blurts out, whisper-shouting. “We wouldn’t- I wouldn’t fucking do that, alright? No matter what Nate says. He wouldn’t either. He’s just… he’s intense but he’s not actually an asshole.”

“Right,” Ilya deadpans.

“Well, not an evil one,” Hardison sighs. “He’s just- he doesn’t trust people. So this was part of the scam. It’s a bluff.”

“So you won’t-“ Shane hates how his voice trembles.

“No, man, no! Listen, that video? It’s scrapped from every single digital footprint, every server, even mine. No one will ever see it again. Well, except…” He shoves a hand back into his bag and pulls out a CD. “Here. For you.”

“You’re… gifting us our blackmail video?” Shane asks, as he grabs it.

Hardison shrugs. “You guys have been careful as hell for years. I thought maybe you didn’t have a lot of pictures of you two from back then being all lovey-dovey.”

Shane turns to Ilya, who looks just as surprised first, but then his eyes melt into a gentle smile. He can’t help smiling back.

“Like that. Sickeningly sweet,” Hardison chuckles. “So fucking cute, man. I wouldn’t out you two like that, and not just because Eliot would kick my fucking ass for messing with his favorite heroes. Guy has posters of you both in his room.”

From somewhere far away in the parking lot, there’s a clear distant shout: “Dammit, Hardison! That was private!”

Shane laughs, feeling himself blush. Eliot is hardly the first and probably not the last grown man with a poster of him. He does like the idea of someone having both of their posters. That feels less likely. It’s nice.

“Anyway,” grinning, Hardison swings his bag over his shoulder, “sorry for the lie, guys. We just had to make sure you two would help.”

“Maybe just ask next time,” Shane suggests.

“Or don’t,” Ilya says dryly, but not enough to mask his humor.

Shaking his head, Hardison peaces out.

The rest of the crew climb into the van too and then, drive away. Shane isn’t sure, but he’d swear Parker waves through the window as they pass them by.

And so, they are left alone. Ilya turns to Shane in the dark empty parking lot and smiles:

“My little thief,” he whispers, leaning close to Shane’s ear and sliding both hands around his waist. It’s dangerous, even here, protected by the dark. “It’s my turn to steal something valuable.”

“Yeah?” Shane breathes, throwing his head back slightly.

“Yes,” Ilya says and kisses him under the stars.

Chapter End Notes

This took me forever to write because life has been crazy busy and it turned into more of an ending than I had predicted. We’ve pretty much tied the plot up! So next chapter will likely be some sexy times (they deserve it) and an epilogue.

Thank you for your patience and for reading!! This story has been the most different from the series so far, so I hope you guys enjoyed the change of pace and meeting the Leverage crew (if you haven’t watch it, I can’t recommend it enough!!)

What did we think of this heist?? Should Shane look into crime as a retirement hobby once he’s done breaking hockey records with his super hot husband?

Talk to me, I’ve missed you!

Chapter 9: Epilogue

Chapter Summary

“I have been aching to do this all night.”

“You?” Shane whines, grabbing onto Ilya’s shoulders to remain on his feet. “I had to watch you flirt with someone else.”

Chapter Notes

Heyyyy sexy times in the first POV of this chapter but literally no plot so feel free to skip if you are not into that

Also this chapter took forever because I kept going round and round on how to send them off this time. I hope you like it!!

Ilya drives like a maniac. Shane knows this, has known (and worried) about it for years, so he really shouldn’t be surprised when he beats him home… by a lot.

Almost as soon as the door closes behind him, Shane finds himself pinned against it, his boyfriend’s thigh firmly pressed between his legs and his hot mouth against his.

Shane moans, half in surprise and half in relief. He’s been hard since the parking lot.

(If he is honest with himself, the only reason they are not fucking there right now is because the pesky little anxious voice in his head told him they couldn’t afford a second potential blackmailing video.)

Thankfully, Ilya seems as eager as him, grinding their hips together with urgency. His mouth moves to Shane’s neck. Teeth grace the sensitive skin right before Ilya’s hot tongue drags from his collarbone to his ear and it sends shivers down Shane’s entire body. His toes curl inside his shoes. Ah, shit, he hasn’t taken them off, he should-

Ilya’s hand wraps firmly over his dick. Overwhelmed, Shane throws his head back so quickly that he bumps his head against the door. He groans. Ilya laughs against his neck.

“Slut,” he whispers. Shane’s cheeks burn, but his hips spasm encouragingly. Ilya laughs again. “I have been aching to do this all night.”

“You?” Shane whines, grabbing onto Ilya’s shoulders to remain on his feet. “I had to watch you flirt with someone else.”

Ilya pulls back and his left hand comes up to grab his jaw. The grasp is firm, forcing Shane to look up at him.

“Means nothing,” Ilya says, slowly starting to stroke Shane through his suit. “I would take a second with you and your beautiful freckles over my entire conversation with her. Would let her burn if it kept you warm.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Shane chuckles, bringing his hands up to dig his fingers into his curls. “I don’t care about her. I just- I wanted to dance with you… flirt with you… take you somewhere… alone.”

Ilya’s hands let go of his face and his dick all at once but before Shane even has the chance to whine about it he finds both his thighs lifted. Muscle memory has him wrapping his legs around Ilya’s waist before he even processes what’s happening, then he’s getting kissed again, deep and hungrily, and he lets himself be carried away, safe and trusting in his boyfriend’s embrace.

He does manage to kick his shoes off as they go but that’s about as far as logical thought gets him.

Ilya drops Shane on their bed and begins kissing his neck while his dexterous hands work his shirt buttons. As he opens each of them, he trails kisses down Shane’s chest and stomach, slowly reaching the hem of his pants. Shane moans, back curving as he anticipates Ilya’s lips bellow his belt but, instead, Ilya pulls up and leans over him.

“I was right,” he says, softly. “You like being bad. Mister Thief, turning off lasers, climbing buildings, fighting guards… you just had to be good at that too, didn’t you.”

Shane preens at the compliment, smiling up at Ilya. “You know me. I’m an overachiever.”

“Yes. Always wanting to do a good job,” Ilya says, straightening up. He stands by the bed’s edge, still fully dressed in his fucking sexy suit, as he commands: “Show me how good.”

Shane licks his lips. He doesn’t have to be asked twice. He sits up and shimmies down towards the foot of the bed. He makes a quick work of Ilya’s belt and zipper and springs his rock-hard cock out of his boxers, not fully taking his pants off because he wants to suck him off like this, while he still looks every bit the gorgeous prize every single person in that gala wanted. Shane takes him in deep, until the back of him hits his throat and makes his eyes water.

Ilya makes a punched sound and grabs a handful of his hair, keeping him there with his nose buried against his pubic hair.

“Such an overachiever indeed.”

Shane hums, drawing another moan out of his boyfriend before he starts slowly bobbing his head. His hands trail up greedily up Ilya’s powerful thighs and up to his perfect butt, grabbing on to it for purchase as he speeds up. His tongue twirls, and drags under Ilya’s length, aiming to draw more and more obscene sounds out of the Russian menace himself. Shane is painfully hard I his own pants, but he’s enjoying making Ilya lose that carefully guarded control too much to care for now. When he feels his hips begin to spasm, he feels a rush of delight.

“Sh-Shane, wait, I’m gonna-“

Shane doesn’t wait. It’s a rare treat, making Ilya come this quickly. He sees the goal, the shot right in front of him, so he takes it. He moans around Ilya’s skin as he picks up his pace and almost chokes when Ilya’s hips push forward and shoot his load right against the back of his throat. Shane gags a little before he swallows, tears falling down his cheeks. When it’s over, he pull away, grinning up at his gorgeous and wrecked boyfriend.

Panting, Ilya’s eyes are dark and wide as he stares down at him. He brings up a slightly shaky hand and cups’s Shane’s jaw, gently digging his fingers into his cheeks.

“Oh, you-“ Ilya rasps. “You want to be bad tonight, no? Misbehave, break rules…” Ilya tuts, shaking his head. “Maybe you need to be put in your place.”

A rush of arousal shoots down Shane’s entire body and straight into his aching dick. He lets out a heady breath. Ilya’s smile turns wicked.

“Take off your shirt. Back of the bed. Hands on the headboard.”

Shane obeys without even thinking about it. He shrugs off his shirt and scoots backwards, bringing his hands up to hold on to the sturdy wood headboard. Ilya walks around the bed, methodically taking off his tie. He brings it up and ties one end to Shane’s right wrist, then loops it over the headboard horizontal plank and ties the other end to Shane’s left wrist. The knots are strong but lose enough that Shane’s wrists have some wiggle room and could force his hands out of them if he wanted to. Ilya tilts his chin up with one hand until their eyes meet.

“Too tight?”

Shane shakes his head. “It’s good.”

Ilya nods, grabs the stuff from their bedside table drawer and walks back around the bed. Then, unceremoniously, he peels back Shane’s pants and briefs in a single move, leaving him entirely naked, exposed and helpless. He is struck by the contrast between himself and Ilya, still mostly clothed. He is so turned on he might die.

Thankfully, Ilya doesn’t make him wait much until he is pushing his legs open and kissing a trail from his right knee to his pelvis. Then, he goes back and kisses his left leg the exact same way. The symmetry scratches Shane’s brain just the right way. Ilya’s hot breath barely ghosts over his throbbing cock before he pulls back, pushing Shane’s knees up and kissing his ass wetly.

Shane moans and arches as Ilya eats him out. His boyfriend takes his time, licking and kissing and teasing his hole.

“Ilya,” Shane gasps after what feels like forever. “Please.”

Ilya presses a cheek to his thigh and looks up at him from under long thick lashes. “Please what, my love?”

“Please fuck me.”

“No.”

Shane’s head, light with pleasure, spins a little, tumbling between dismay and even more arousal. “W-what?”

“I said no, Hollander. You make me come too fast, you greedy little slut. Now you must wait before I can fuck you.”

Shane feels his eyes prickle with frustrated tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please just- can you touch my dick. Please. It hurts, I just-“

“No,” Ilya repeats, firmly. “This is not reward Hollander. Is penalty for misconduct. You don’t get a say.”

Shane wants to cry, but then Ilya grabs him and rolls him over onto his stomach. The tie tightens up as both ends cross over Shane’s head, pulling his arms a bit harder. Then he hears the unmistakable wet sound of lube being squirted and is flooded with relief. When Ilya’s long and calloused fingers start working him open, he melts in a long string of babbled thank yous and pleases and oh god more please, Ilya, I need more.

He’s so far gone that the foreign texture takes him by surprise. It’s lubed but cold and oddly sleek as it pushes easily into Shane’s worked ass.

“Wha-“

He barely has time to recognize the toy before the buzzing begins.

When did Ilya even grab it? Must have been when he was taking the lube out. How did Shane not notice?

All questions are quieted by the overwhelming pulse of pleasure that makes Shane’s entire body trash and rock against the bed.

“Holy shit. Oh god. Oh god. Ilya, I can’t-“

The toy goes up a level and Shane all but shouts as his hips start rolling, desperately searching for relief. Tutting with disapproval, Ilya grabs Shane’s hips and angles them up, forcing him to arch his back away from the end.

“No,” he whines. “Ilya please. I can’t. I need- it’s too much, I-“

The toy buzzes even harder, crossing the threshold between pleasure and overstimulation and Shane whines desperately trying to wiggle away from Ilya’s hold, even if he knows that it won’t free him from the onslaught of pleasure. All his body knows is that it’s too much and that he can’t take it. He tells Ilya as much.

“You are no quitter, Hollander,” Ilya admonishes.

Shane feels clearly how one digit pushes the toy even deeper until it rests firmly against his prostate and he hears himself moan desperately as his body trashes in Ilya’s hold. His legs start shaking. The only reason he hasn’t collapsed is because Ilya is holding his hips up.

Time loses its meaning as wave after wave of pleasure crash onto Shane.

“Ilya-“ he manages to gasp after a small eternity.

His boyfriend leans forward and shushes him gently. “Almost there, love. You’re doing so good. Don’t you dare come yet.”

A soothing hand brushes his sweaty hair off his face and Shane lets the touch soothe him. And then the buzzing stops. The toy is pulled out of him without warning and despite the relief, Shane can’t help but whine at the emptiness it leaves behind.

“So hungry,” Ilya laughs right before he buries himself into Shane.

Shane moans, drooling on the bed. No, on the towel. At some point, it seems, Ilya put a towel under him. It makes his heart wobble with tenderness at his boyfriend knowing him so well that he doesn’t want to dirty their bedsheets this late at night… and thrills him because that rough texture promises he will be coming soon.

Ilya starts to move and all thoughts are lost to Shane again as his boyfriend pounds into him, harder and faster, the pace perfect to reach a high of pleasure that overstimulation skipped entirely. He is sharply aware of Ilya’s clothes still on him, he can feel his belt and zipper digging against his ass with each thrust. The idea of Ilya fucking him while still mostly dressed and looking so fucking sexy is driving Shane mad. God, he hopes it leaves a mark for later.

“Ilya,” Shane gasps after not too long, “I’m gonna-“

A firm hand wraps around his dick and gives it one single delightful stroke. It’s enough for Shane to come with a loud groan of pleasure and relief. Ilya keeps pounding onto him, brushing his overstimulated prostate a few times until his hips stutter. He pulls out just in time to come on Shane’s back.

They collapse together, panting and shaking. After a few seconds, Shane regains some awareness of his body just as Ilya is untying his arms. He rubs his thumbs soothingly across Shane’s wrists, but the tie was soft and fancy enough not to leave any burn behind.

Eventually, Ilya gets up and comes back with a couple warm washcloths to clean them both up. He gets rid of the dirty towel too and takes off his rumpled clothes. Shane just lays there and lets Ilya take care of everything until he is being pulled into a tight embrace beneath the covers.

“Hey,” Ilya whispers in his ear. “Are you good?”

Shane hums smiling. “So good.”

Ilya laughs, cuddling impossibly closer to him and burying his face inside the crook of Shane’s neck.

“I love you so much,” Shane sighs.

“I love you too,” Ilya says and kissed the top of his head. “So no more jumping off buildings, yes? Please. Was scary for me.”

“It’s not like I wanted to,” Shane grumbles while sleep begins to pull him under. “Maybe next time we think of another exit strategy.”

“Shane, no next time,” Ilya groans and hugs him tighter. “Stop thinking of how you could improve as a thief. Not everything has to be challenge.”

Shane yawns.

“Yeah but I’d be so good if I put my mind to it.”

“My little thief,” he whispers. “I should have known you would be good at it.”

“Because I’m so skilled?” Shane chuckles, leaning his head back against Ilya’s shoulder to smirk at him.

“No,” Ilya presses a kiss to his face, landing clumsily between his temple and his eye socket. “Because you already stole my heart.”

Shane feels his face burn. He rolls over to press his face against Ilya’s broad chest and groans, overwhelmed by the sappiest of feelings. “Shut up.”

2021 - Ottawa

The restaurant is dim despite the early hour. Outside, through the sun must be out somewhere, a thick layer of clouds has turned the Ottawa sky into a white canvas. It’s thankfully not as cold today as it’s been all week, the slight rise in temperature allowing for snow to finally fall, drifting fluffy and tender through the windless air. Ilya watches as a few flurries slowly melt into Shane’s dark hair and represses the urge to comb them out with his fingers like he would if they were at home. Soon, he promises himself.

“Mister Rozanov, Mister Hollander, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” a voice beckons them.

A gorgeous woman waits for them at a table by the far end of the room, away from the other couple patrons having an early breakfast here. Her dark hair is elegantly combed back into a sleek ponytail, accentuating her strong features. Her strong energy immediately reminds Ilya of Yuna, or what a slightly younger Yuna must have been like, walking into meetings with business sharks to build her son an impecable sponsorship folder. It might be that energy which puts them at ease almost immediately.

“Shane, please,” his boyfriend —fiancé, he reminds himself with a thrill— says, reaching across the table to shake her hand.

“And Ilya,” he adds, following his lead with a handshake of his own. “We use enough last names on the ice.”

“Of course,” she smiles back, wide and warm. “Call me Sophie then, please.”

It takes a second for her accent to register for Ilya. British. How curious.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Sophie,” Shane leads, all polite clean edges. “We were excited when you reached out. It’s not often we get to thank our long-time donors in person.”

“Oh,” she waves a hand dismissively. “Please. After three years, I consider you almost old friends.”

Shane chuckles at that, through Ilya can hear the confusion in his tone. Apparently, Miss Sophie isn’t following the carefully constructed script Shane had prepared for.

“Well, then, for old friends it’s even more about time we had some coffee together,” he provides, smiling when he gets her attention. “We were curious to hear from you after all this time.”

“Oh, I am sure,” she says, shrugging and starting to dig into her bag. “I have reason, of course. You see, I am here not only on my behalf but on that of my team. We are a… group, interested in investing in, well, good deeds. Such as your foundation.”

Ilya and Shane both nod. They’d known the Leverage fund was a society of sorts ever since they’d started investing in the Irina Foundation. He remembers it mostly because they’d been one of their earliest donors and, back then, they’d still had time to personally review every application.

Then, Sophie pulls something out of her bag. Ilya was expecting paper work of some sort, a folder or maybe a laptop with whatever she’d deemed so important to show them that she’d insisted on meeting in person. What she pulls out, though, makes his stomach drop: two very small, familiar and identical ear pieces. Next to him, Shane stills.

The woman’s smile doesn’t falter.

Hesitantly, they both reach out and put the little pieces in. Almost immediately, they come to life with sound.

“Hey, guys, it’s been a while!” Hardison chimes cheerfully.

“Rozanov, Hollander,” Eliot says, and Ilya can picture him clearly nodding at each of them. “S’up?”

“How are you boys doing?” Nate asks, sounding almost pleasant, which is maybe the cherry on top of this huge mountain of weirdness.

Shane sends Ilya a confused look as he says, “uh, what’s going on?”

“Oh, we all just wanted to say ‘hi’,” a new voice comes up from behind them as a tray with coffee and cookies is set down on the table and the waitress sits next to Sophie, smiling.

“Hi, Parker,” Ilya says.

“Hi,” she grins. “Congratulations on the engagement, by the way.”

“What? How-?” Shane stumbles through his shock.

Parker opens her palm and holds up an intimately familiar gold chain, with Ilya’s ring still tugged safely next to his mother’s cross. Ilya snatches it from her and cradles it next to his chest, feeling like his chest will cave in with the fear of having it stolen.

“Don’t do that,” Shane snaps next to him, protective.

“Parker,” Sophie sighs, like a mother scolding their child. “What have we talked about?”

“Some things are too precious for stealing,” Parker mutters flatly. When she looks up, she looks properly admonished. “I’m sorry.”

Ilya can’t really bring himself to say it’s okay but he manages a nod. Shane presses his knee to his, reclaiming his attention and sends him a questioning look. The contact is enough to slow down his heart rate a little and manage a more reassuring look for his fiancé. Gingerly, Shane takes the necklace for him and clasps it back around his neck. The gesture is simple and yet so very brave for how secretive they’ve been all these years that it makes Ilya’s heart wobble. Next summer, Shane had promised. And every day he is more sure that he meant it.

“Parker, why would you… It’s not like we needed that for confirmation,” Hardison sighs. “Hollander’s web browsing history looking for a ring was long enough to fill a terabyte.”

Shane blushes so quickly and so prettily that Ilya can’t help but smile, despite his scowl. “Why the fuck are you looking at my browsing history? Oh my god  do not look at my browsing history.”

“Just checking in, man,” Hardison says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Jesus Christ, people, we really need to talk about boundaries,” Eliot groans.

“Yes,” Ilya agrees.

“Anyway,” Nate’s voice clearly means to recover the reigns of whatever is is going on right now. “We actually had a couple reasons we wanted to chat with you both.”

“Going to blackmail us again?” Ilya deadpans. He hasn’t quite forgiven them for making them both so scared.

“Absolutely not,” Sophie snaps firmly. “Honestly, what a crude and unnecessarily brutish method. Nate knows better than that now, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, yes. No need to chew me up again,” the man groans. “I already said I was sorry.”

“Not to them,” Hardison points out.

“Okay, fine. Sorry. Now, can we focus? We actually have a schedule.”

“Please tell me you don’t need us to steal something again,” Shane whispers, almost leaning over the table as if Sophie and Parker needed that to hear him despite the comms. “When I said you could ask for help next time I was kidding. Mostly.”

“Oh, no, no,” Nate actually laughs. “No. We are actually here to help you.”

“How?” Ilya demands, frowning.

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” Sophie sounds pleased. “See, we happen to know that your friend, Barrett, is having some trouble with the NHL Commissioner over Dallas Kent’s accusations, is that right?”

“That’s one way of calling it.”

“Well, we have been contacted by one of the women who’ve had the… displeasure of one of such encounters with Kent,” Sophie’s mouth twists with disgust. “A woman that deserves justice, as do the others.”

“Wait, are you… pulling a Laskin on Kent?” Ilya’s eyebrows rise with delight.

“Not quite,” Nate says dryly. “Turns out the problem runs even deeper than Kent. The league is protecting him.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know what I’ve seen in Crowell’s emails,” Hardison laughs. “Plus, you’d be surprised how many unpleasant conversations people are just willing to have in front of their very badly protected computers. Hollander knows what I’m talking about.”

Shane, next to Ilya, grimaces and sinks a little in his seat. Ilya thinks back to a phone call, months ago, Shane upset and shaken after a bad conversation with the Commissioner. Back then, Ilya had been a little distracted by his own brain playing cruel tricks on him and not quite grasping how bad it must have been. So it feels a bit like a gut punch to see him shrink like this at the memory.

“That was nasty, man. Homophobia, racism, threats. It does not make him look good.”

“Wait, you’re not gonna release it, are you?” Shane voice shakes.

Ilya instinctively reaches to put a hand on his thigh, squeezing quickly before letting go. A small risk. Worth it just to try to give some semblance of comfort, even if it feels like too little too late.

“Nah, it’s all a bit veiled. Thinly, but… We don’t wanna give him any deniability.”

“So?” Ilya frowns.

“So we are currently running a job,” Sophie smiles. “On him.”

“Making sure the change is structural so that no one can get away with shit like Kent’s ever again,” Eliot says firmly.

“And you sure you don’t want help?” Shane straightens up, leaning forward slightly and Ilya can’t help but laugh because suddenly Shane looks fucking eager to participate.

(He’d be lying if he said he isn’t too.)

“Not this time,” Nate says.

“Though it would be very useful if you could not blow the internet up with a scandal before the con is over,” Hardison says.

“A scandal?” Shane looks at Ilya, paling. “We- we were gonna wait for the summer…”

“Oh, man, not the wedding or the coming out! You just gotta tell Pike to fucking check his fan videos before he sends them. I mean, no one’s gonna believe Brad now that the video has disappeared from his phone but, maybe, be careful where you’re smooching next time.”

Shane shoots him a panicked look. Ilya can’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine at the very very close brush with disaster. His limbs feel cold and his head a little dizzy. Oh, he is going to kill Pike next time he sees him.

“Holy shit,” Shane whispers.

“Fuck,” Ilya agrees. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I sort of owed you over the Vegas video thing.”

“It was a very hot kiss, though,” Parker shrugs, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite.

“Parker, we talked about this!” Eliot groans.

“You all saw it?” Shane goes from ghostly pale to tomato red in what has to be record time.

“No,” everyone says, most unconvincingly. “No, not at all. Nothing.”

Shane groans and presses his forehead against the table.

“Probably was very very hot,” Ilya grins, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Shut up,” Shane groans.

“Anyway,” Nate drawls. “Point is, we are currently running a con on Crowell. Which requires you two to pretend not to recognize us if you happen to… run into us the next few weeks.”

“That’s all?”

“For now,” Nate says in a way that isn’t entirely reassuring.

“Oh, Nate, stop worrying the boys over nothing,” Sophie sighs. “We just wanted to give you two a heads up. For old times sake.”

“Okay,” Ilya says and stands up, feeling like the meeting has run its course (meaning they’ve reached the limit of how many near-heart attacks his boyfriend can have in under an hour).

“Yeah, sure,” Shane sighs, following.

“Keep the earpieces. Just in case, too.”

They both nod. As they start walking away, though, he hears Parker mutter: “Eliot! Weren’t you gonna… you know?”

“Uh, no, I wasn’t-“

“Guys,” Hardison laughs, “Eliot wanted to k ow if he could have a play date with you both once the con is over.”

“Dammit, Hardison!” Eliot groans. “It’s not called a- I just thought maybe some ice time if they… fucking forget it.”

“No, that- that’d be nice,” Shane of course says immediately because he has never said no to a hockey invite in his entire life.

Ilya can’t even find it in himself to be jealous. These people have had their back so far. Maybe a little karma in return will be good.

“You could also come by the camps this summer. You are technically a former player, yes? We could always use more coaches.”

“Yeah, you’d probably be good at it,” Shane says, earnestly.

The sound Eliot makes at that is one he knows well. Flustrated. Now that he doesn’t think he’s trying to steal his boyfriend (now that soon Shane will be his husband officially in front of the whole world forever), Ilya finds it amusing.

“And maybe some kids need to learn how to fight- ouch!” He winces when Shane elbows him in the ribs on the way to their car. “Fine, sorry. No fighting.”

Shane rolls his eyes but he is smiling fondly, in that way that promises sweet kisses as soon as they get home. Ilya feels his heart speed up, right under the weight of his cross and his ring. This beautiful man, truly was born to be a thief. 

Chapter End Notes

It’s dooooooone. No, I will not write an entire second con where they play Crowell and Kent but you get to imagine it yourself!! I imagine that Troy and Harris get accidentally roped into it somehow while Hollanov get PURPOSEFULLY brought it half way through when something doesn’t go as planned and suddenly they need players for the con to work. Ilya and Shane would never admit to it but they are fucking thrilled to have a hand in bring Crowell down.

Also, Parker 100% gets her skating lesson during their ice time with the Leverage crew at the end. Nate gets a concussion when he falls on the ice and no one says it but they all consider it poetic justice.

Anywayyyy that’s it for our crossover procedural episode!!! I hope you guys liked it even if it was rather different than the rest of fics in this series (and that you are at least tempted to check Leverage out now if you haven’t).

I have at least one more fic idea to go in this series before I pause it for the time being. So stay tuned for more shenanigans and whimsy!!! ✨