Summary:

“Well, I guess you got what you wanted from me already,” Hollander continued. “Whatever. Fuck you.”

“Wait, no, Hollander.” Ilya turned, throwing an arm into Hollander’s path. “That’s not—”

“No, it’s fine. Stupid of me to expect anything else.” Hollander shook his head, gaze downcast, the barest hint of angry pink tinging his freckled cheeks. “Thanks for making it good, at least.”

It. His first time.

Ilya was the worst sort of asshole.

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In Sochi, Shane isn’t shy about calling out Ilya for ghosting after getting what he wanted. Once they’re safely away from Russia, Ilya forces himself to be honest with Shane about what that first time meant.