Summary:

”Shane Hollander, Montreal’s perfect captain,” Ilya mutters. His breath tickles Shane’s ear. Shane turns his head, tips his chin up and lets Ilya kiss him right against the front door until his lips are buzzing with it. He is what Ilya says he is — he’s boring and proper, polite. He sticks to his meal plan and eats brown rice and vegetables and steamed fish, and no processed sugar. He tries not to make his parents worry. He gives perfectly fine, safe interviews and ignores it when the press tries to get him to say anything that would be out of line, and he is professional and good at it. No one needs to know that he lights up under Ilya’s touch like the New Year’s Eve sky, how easily he goes down to his knees for him, how his heartbeat kicks into overdrive the second Ilya leans into his space. It is only for Shane to know, and for Ilya, maybe, if he would like to. Or: Shane Hollander and the pressure of being in the spotlight.