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Shane has finally convinced Hayden to invite the Bears (Ilya) to his annual NHL Christmas Party. Obviously, Shane can't really help himself when Rozanov finally shows up. What time do I need to be there? I’m getting there at 8. See you at 9, Hollander. Tonight, Shane–and Ilya, apparently–were attending Hayden’s annual NHL Christmas party. This tradition started a few years back, about two after the rivals’ rookie season. Shane didn’t dare to ask to invite Ilya until recently because it would be risky, and just plain stupid. Well, he would venture to say he didn’t invite Ilya, he just mentioned that Boston would be playing in Montreal and it’d be chivalrous to ask the team to join Hayden at his massive penthouse. However, it wasn’t easy to convince him. Shane recalls Hayden’s intense sigh, which was more of a loud, elongated groan, and a dramatic throwing back of his head. It made Shane wonder if the public would rather watch a Pike versus Rozanov rivalry. Anyway, Hayden begrudgingly agreed and Shane fought back a smile. As 8 o’clock approached, Shane stood in front of his bed with three outfits laid out: a suit, a cashmere sweater and jeans, and a button up and slacks. At first he landed on the suit, slipping into it with ease. When he saw himself in the mirror, though, he could basically hear Ilya’s snobby comments. So fancy, Hollander. He shyly blinked a few times to shoo those thoughts and went back into his bedroom. He opted then for the sweater since he figured it’d be too cold for a short sleeve. As he pulled the sweater over his head he took in a deep inhale, hoping it would look presentable, at least. He examined the fit in the mirror once again, this time a small smile twitching up his lips. Shane eyed himself, loving the way his watch sparkled beside the deep blue sleeve and how his pants fit perfectly. Ilya returned in his mind, this time saying looking good, Hollander. This comment wasn’t sarcastic, it sent shivers down Shane’s neck, all the way to his lower back. The time now was 8:15, so Shane began his drive to Hayden’s. This was a drive he’s done a million times, so why was he so nervous? To distract himself from the anxiety that began to bubble up in his stomach he turned up the radio. It was playing some trashy pop song, and it honestly didn’t help him very much. Parking a few blocks away, Shane took the two minute walk to fix his hair. As his fingers wandered through the strands, he wondered if Ilya was on his way. Though he saw the man a week ago, both on the rink and in his private suite, he was anxious to see him again. Of course, nothing was going to happen, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy just being in his presence. Yes, Ilya was usually an asshole, and, yes, Ilya loved being an asshole, but Shane knew that wasn’t all he was. Shane reached the front door and could immediately hear music blasting. It was honestly pretty similar to what the radio had been playing. He wished Hayden threw a more festive Christmas party–one with mistletoe and charcuterie boards and vintage music. Instead it felt more like a club. Which, of course, Shane still enjoyed, but he liked slow moments, too. When he stepped inside he was greeted by a very, very drunk Hayden: “Shane! Ugh, you missed it, I, um,” Hayden took a deep breath and tried to figure out what he wanted to say. “Yeah, man, you missed it,” was all he could conjure. Shane shook his head and exhaled a laugh, “Already had a lot to drink?” “No, no, just a few shots.” Shane tilted his head in doubt. “Maybe a few glasses of wine, too,” Hayden smirked, “you want some?” “Uh, no, you have ginger ale?” “God, man, it’s fucking Christmas! Have a drink!” “I’m okay.” Shane shook his head and looked past Hayden. He saw Scott Hunter, still as handsome as he remembered, JJ, and a few other players he recognized by name. No Rozanov. “So, uh, you have some?” “Yeah, man, whatever. It’s in the cooler over there,” Hayden slurred, unimpressed. Shane patted him on the shoulder as he passed by. Under a table covered with drinks, Shane found a few coolers and opened a few before finding one filled with sodas. He reached for the coldest ale there was and grabbed it, quickly pulling back the tab and popping it open. As he took his first sip, he felt something brush against his arm. His eyes followed the sensation and noticed Ilya standing beside him, analyzing the different bottles of vodka laid out on the table. Shane quickly looked forward and cleared his throat, attempting to keep his gaze ahead. In his peripheral, he could see Ilya grazing his index finger over the lids of various drinks, mumbling something under his breath. Finally, he landed on one that satisfied him and poured a hefty amount in his glass. After taking a swig, Ilya turned his body toward Shane and leaned against the table. Shane couldn’t help but admire him. Unlike Shane, Ilya was wearing a loose shirt with the top three buttons undone. His cross laid perfectly underneath his collarbones, and Shane could see his stupid tattoo peaking out. For bottoms, Ilya wore tight fitted black pants and a belt with a chic silver buckle. The way the denim followed the muscles of his thighs made Shane blush. Ilya’s hair was loose golden curls, and it fell on his forehead in a way that complimented him beautifully. Without meaning to, Shane was checking Ilya out. “Like what you see, Hollander?” Ilya said, low enough that only Shane could hear. He quickly shook his head, leading his gaze back to what was in front of him. “Shut up,” he mumbled, taking another sip. Ilya smirked, his mole raising slightly as lips curled up. He hummed in response, scanning Shane in a way that made him take a sharp breath. He felt his whole body heat up as the Russian undressed him with his eyes. Shane quickly sped away from the situation, fearing that it would be too obvious if he stayed. As he walked away, Ilya couldn’t help but stare.
- Language:
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- AO3:
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