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Shane comes down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, making eyes at Ilya that beg "please behave" and behind him is Rose Fucking Landry. The actress. The woman Ilya had seen in the club, her hand up Shane's shirt. The woman Shane had fucked. Twice. They are doing nothing when the doorbell chimes. Well, not nothing; they are, as Shane would say, relaxing. On the couch in front of a movie neither of them is really watching, feet up, Shane leaning back against him, his hand in Shane's hair. They have fucked, showered, eaten and Ilya is scrolling his phone thinking idly about tempting Shane into something that would require another shower when it happens. Shane sits up, looks at him. "They are your parents," Ilya says. Since the conversation with Shane's parents three days earlier, David and Yuna Hollander have been very careful, very polite, about texting or calling before showing up to the cottage, but. The doorbell chimes again. Shane pushes up off the couch. "I'm sure they just forgot something," he says, an apology. "Be right back." He is not right back. Over the low volume the television, Ilya cannot make out the words but he hears Shane's tone of surprise and then a high feminine voice that is definitely not Yuna Hollander's. Ilya hits the MUTE button, trying to listen, but still the words are indecipherable, although Shane's voice is getting closer, along with the click clack of high heels on the tile. Ilya stands up. Shane comes down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, making eyes at Ilya that beg "please behave" and behind him is Rose Fucking Landry. The actress. The woman Ilya had seen in the club, her hand up Shane's shirt. The woman Shane had fucked. Twice. She is thinner and taller than Ilya remembered, and her mouth drops open when she recognizes him. "This is, um, Rose," Shane says, gesturing to Rose Landry like a host on a game show. "Rose, this is Ilya, my, um . . ." "Boyfriend," Ilya supplies. "Yeah, um," Shane says. "Ilya Rozanov?" Rose shouts happily, punching Shane in the arm. "You're dating Ilya Rozanov?" "Yes," Ilya says. "This is what 'boyfriend' means." "Can I hug you?" Rosa asks, coming down the stairs into the living room. "I have to hug you! I am such a fan. Your mid-air tip-in against Philadelphia was just the most amazing shot I've ever seen!" "Okay," Ilya says, because that was, in fact, an excellent goal, and Rose bounces into his arms, gives him a quick professional hug. She smells like citrus perfume. Over her shoulder, Shane mouths sorry. Ilya glares at him. *** While Rose freshens up and calls her people to let them know she's arrived, Shane drags him into the bedroom. "I'm sorry," he says before Ilya can even speak. "We made plans before you said you would come and I forgot to call her and—" "She cannot stay here." Ilya shakes his head, pacing back and forth in front of the windows. He can still smell her perfume. "She should go, now. Back to Ottawa." "It's almost ten," Shane says. "It's a two-hour drive." "So? Her car has lights, yes? What is the problem?" Ilya flings his hands up. Shane steps in front of him, stopping him. "Ilya. C'mon." "She is your ex-girlfriend," Ilya complains. "I. Am. Gay," Shane says and then glances over his shoulder like he's afraid someone's listening. That, that right there, is why Ilya does not want Rose to stay. This was supposed to be their time, their private time, and now here is someone else who has fucked Shane and he is supposed to be nice and let her stay? "You have female friends," Shane is saying. "Why can't I have female friends?" "My friends are not here, Shane!" Ilya protests. "I didn't tell you I wanted to marry her, Ilya," Shane snaps back, and okay. That is fair. Ilya sighs. "Tomorrow." Shane grimaces. "Actually, her flight's on Sunday afternoon, so . . ." "Two days?" "A day and half," Shane says, rubbing his hands up and down Ilya's arms. "Please. She's a good friend. Please." Ilya scowls, but they both know the decision has already been made. Rose Fucking Landry will be staying until Sunday afternoon. *** "Be nice," Shane hisses back at him when they come out of the bedroom.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,546
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77404046
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Ilya Rozanov has seen the tape on Hollander, seen his blazing speed and his quick hands, his almost psychic ability to know where the puck will be. Hollander is a magician on the ice, the best prospect in the world except for Ilya himself. But up close, Hollander looks young. Soft. Western. He has big eyes and freckles across his nose like a little kid. He is attractive in the way that many young men are attractive, his face not yet hardened by the work of the real world, and he seems nervous to be out here, nervous to be seen with Ilya. Because Ilya has been forced to learn everything about Hollander, Ilya knows that Hollander is older than him, not much, a few weeks. But looking at him, Ilya feels weary and old. He hates that.
- Part 1 of Bad Thing
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 10,838
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #77188526