Archive of Our Own

Before Ilya and Rose’s first meeting, Shane worried that it would go completely wrong, that they wouldn’t get along at all, that Shane would be left scrambling to try and make the evening comfortable for everyone.

Turns out, Ilya and Rose get along completely fine. Slowly, Shane is coming to the realisation that that might be worse than dislike.

They’re on the floor of Shane’s living room because after three glasses of wine, Rose is a bit tipsy. She’s on the rug, making valiant attempts to drink her fourth glass lying down. Ilya is sitting with his back against the sofa, holding Shane firmly in his lap, ignoring his own drink in favour of tracing patters on Shane’s arms.

Shane would like another ginger ale, but he feels nice and warm like this. He’s also hesitant to get up and leave Ilya and Rose to their conversation, because they’re currently discussing Shane and Rose’s former sex life. For lack of a better descriptor.

“Disasters, I have heard,” Ilya says. He pulls Shane’s back closer against his chest, so Shane can’t see what is sure to be a shit-eating grin on his face.

“’Disaster’ is a strong word,” Rose says kindly. Shane buries his face in his hands with a groan while Ilya shakes with laughter.

“He would not tell me any details,” Ilya says. “But you should tell me, Rose. Then we will be friends forever. Will make me very happy to hear.”

“She’s not telling you anything,” Shane says decisively. Now if only either Ilya or Rose were the kind of people to be bossed around.

He feels Ilya press a kiss into his hair. “But you want me to be happy, don’t you?”

“I want you to shut the hell up,” Shane grumbles.

Ilya’s arms tighten around his waist. “No.”

“Asshole.”

“You did a great job, really, Shane,” Rose says, trying yet failing spectacularly to help. Shane wants to die. “Not very much worse than any of my other gay exes. Those two times we got far enough, you even managed to -”

“Rose,” Shane says. “Please stop talking. Please.”

Ilya laughs again. “Sounds memorable. I am proud of you, Shane.”

“Shut up,” Shane whines.

Ilya nuzzles Shane’s cheek affectionately, which would be very sweet if Shane didn’t know that Ilya is definitely not going to shut up.

Thankfully, Rose interrupts whatever Ilya might say next with a dramatic sigh. “Guys,” she says. “I love having gay boyfriends. I do. But at some point, I would like to sleep with someone again who can, you know. Help me accomplish my part of the whole scenario. Not just theirs. Sorry, Shane.”

Shane knows his face must be completely red. “Well,” he mumbles. “That – that part’s a lot less complicated with guys.”

“Is true,” Ilya agrees seriously. “Easier with guys. But still. Not so difficult with girls, if you’re great at sex like me.”

Shane pinches Ilya’s thigh, and Ilya kisses his neck. Shane shivers. They have two whole days until Ilya has to return to Boston.

“To be fair,” Rose says. “Shane did put in a lot of effort. The fact that it seemed so much effort was kind of my clue.”

“Because he is sweet and good person,” Ilya says. He strokes a hand down Shane’s stomach and rests it there. Shane feels the warmth seep into his skin through his shirt. Ilya kisses Shane’s temple, then puts his lips close to Shane’s ear so Rose doesn’t hear him whisper, “Is so much fun making you blush.”

Shane puts his hand over Ilya’s and presses back into Ilya’s embrace a little. His breath hitches, and he has to stop here, because Rose is very much in the room and hopefully not noticing that Shane is starting to get hard.

“Aww,” Rose says. “It’s true. Shane was an amazing boyfriend. See, that’s what I miss. I just need to find someone who’s an amazing boyfriend and actually wants to sleep with me.”

“Okay, Rose,” Ilya says. “You have come to right place. I will solve your problem. We will go out and find you straight or bi or pan guy to fuck.”

“Sure, but, like,” Rose says. “I don’t want to have a one-night-stand. I want a boyfriend, I want to fall in loooveee.”

Maybe she is a bit more than just tipsy.

“Yes, yes,” Ilya says impatiently. “You fuck first, then fall in love. Works, I can guarantee, look.” He gestures between himself and Shane. “Is foolproof plan.”

Shane groans. “I am not going out to find Rose a guy to fuck.”

“I know you are not,” Ilya says. “I was not inviting you.”

“Fuck you, Rozanov.”

“We will take Svetlana with us. She is good at telling things like this, has good, what is word? Gaydar. She knew with me immediately. At least, knew immediately when she came to my room to fuck and interrupted me giving blowjob to Sasha. All worked out. You will like her, Rose.”

Shane’s head turns and his eyes snap up automatically at the mention of Svetlana, seeking Ilya’s gaze. He knows it’s irrational. He knows there is nothing to be concerned about. He knows it’s unfair because they’ve been discussing his having slept with Rose and Ilya isn’t jealous at all, or at least not showing it. But Shane can’t help the slight unease he feels whenever Svetlana comes up. Ilya was ready to marry her, even if it was only for a passport, even if it was to be able to be with Shane. Shane nonetheless finds it hard not to play the memory of Ilya sing-songing she would help me on a loop in his mind whenever he hears her name.

Ilya’s eyes goes soft when they meet Shane’s. “Will be like girls’ night, Shane,” he says gently. “Like friends going out, okay?” He brushes a hand over Shane’s hair.

Shane nods and swallows hard. “I know,” he says.

He knows Svetlana is incredibly important to Ilya, that Ilya enjoys her company as a friend. Hell, Shane is pretty sure he will like Svetlana once they meet. From what Ilya has said, she enjoys talking hockey technicalities for hours. Which would be lots of fun. It’s just that sometimes Shane feels like there is a part of Ilya he can never understand, because he doesn’t speak Russian, doesn’t understand the history and culture like he wants to. Svetlana not only understands but shares all of that with Ilya.

It’s not like Shane’s not trying. He listens to language learning podcasts whenever he can nowadays. But sometimes he worries it’s not enough, that his progress should be faster. There are moments when he looks at a Russian sentence and feels like he hasn’t made progress since day one. When he feels that he’ll never be able to have a conversation with Ilya in his native language.

“Great,” Ilya says. “Rose, plan is agreed. We will go next month. You can come to Boston?”

Rose nods enthusiastically and tries to raise her glass, spilling wine (thankfully white) on herself and the rug. “It’s a date,” she says. Ilya whoops and lifts his own glass in a toast.

Shane can’t suppress a smile at Ilya and Rose getting along so well. It’s everything he could wish for, he thinks, as he gets a sponge to clean the wine off the rug, Ilya protesting all the while for Shane to come back to cuddle.

In hindsight, Shane should have been more careful with his wishes, as the saying goes.

On the night Ilya, Rose and Svetlana are out on their mission, Svetlana keeps texting Shane unrequested updates from the club. She sends a lot of selfies, some of the three of them, but mostly of herself pouting at the camera. Those are kind of scary. And confusing, because Svetlana knows Shane is gay and in a relationship with Ilya, right? Why is she sending pouty selfies? Is she trying to scare him?

The pictures of them smiling all together at first seemed kind of pointless considering they were meant to be looking for guys for Rose, then actually pretty fun, and then like a glittery trainwreck. There is in fact so much glitter that Shane thinks they might be at a gay club, which he isn’t sure is going to help Rose’s chances of finding a boyfriend who’s into women.

Either way, they’re clearly having a fantastic time. All Shane can think about is how horrible he’d feel if he was with them. How the music and the sticky floor and the lights would make him want to run. How Ilya would notice and take Shane away and bring him home and make everything quiet and calm and good.

How maybe, Ilya would be annoyed at having to do that, because he’d actually have liked to stay out longer.

Shane shakes his head unconsciously, trying to sort out his thoughts. Ilya wouldn’t be annoyed. He’d understand. And, anyway, that’s why Ilya didn’t ask Shane to come along in the first place. Because he knew Shane would hate a night out like that.

His phone pings again. Svetlana has sent two mirror selfies of her in what appears to be the club’s ladies’ bathroom. She’s smiling widely in both pictures.

Shane doesn’t know what Svetlana means by I think I’m starting to get it, and he’s not sure he has the energy to ask for clarification. He has to sleep. He has a game tomorrow, and he can already tell it’s going to be one of those nights where his mind will be reeling for hours before he manages to fall asleep.

He wants to text Ilya to get a love you, good night text back, but he doesn’t want to interrupt Ilya’s night. He gets clingy enough as it is sometimes, though knows Ilya doesn’t mind it. Yet.

When Shane turns on his phone in the morning, pictures of Ilya and Rose’s leaving the club are everywhere. Svetlana isn’t with them. Ilya and Rose are talking, not even walking that close to each other, but it’s enough for people to speculate wildly.

Shane’s vision turns blurry as he skims comment after comment making jokes about how Ilya had to steal Shane’s ex to win the rivalry, how hot he and Rose look together, how Rose must be going through a crisis if she decided that Ilya is a better guy to date than Shane.

He knows he should put his phone down and go on his morning run. But he can’t stop reading what people are saying. Before Shane’s thoughts can spiral more than they already have, he calls Ilya. It rings longer than usual.

“Hey, Shane, good morning,” Ilya mumbles when he picks up. Shane feels unmoored at the sound of his voice, scratchy from sleep and, presumably, a hangover. Ilya should be here with him, they should have woken up together this morning. Ilya should be holding him right now. It would make anything easier to face.

“Did you see the pictures of you and Rose?”

“Hm? Pictures? What is wrong, Shane? You sound like something is wrong.”

“Pictures of you leaving the club together.”

“Oh,” Ilya says. “Yes, paparazzi showed up. Took pictures of Rose.”

“Well,” Shane says. “You were in those pictures.”

“Okay,” Ilya says. “Yes, that makes sense. I was there. Svetlana already left before. But, Shane, what is wrong?”

“I – nothing’s really wrong, it’s just that people are saying online that you’re together. You and Rose. And that it’s like… they’re saying that you’re with her to… I don’t know. That it’s about winning against me. The rivalry.” Always the fucking rivalry.

Ilya scoffs. “People are so stupid.”

“Yeah,” Shane says. His throat feels tight, and his skin is both too hot and clammy, and the world seems to be tilting a bit. He lowers himself down until he’s sitting on the floor. “I guess they are.”

“You sound very bad, Shane.” Ilya seems serious and much more awake now. “Is this making you upset?”

“I -” Shane starts. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s being ridiculous. “No, it’s. It’s all okay. I’m fine. I was – I didn’t expect that to happen.” Which was silly, because obviously there were going to be paparazzi, and obviously people would talk about Rose and Ilya being at a club together.

“Okay.” Ilya sounds doubtful but doesn’t push. “Don’t look online any more, yes?”

Shane nods, then remembers that Ilya can’t see him. Fuck. He wants Ilya to be here, with his arms around Shane. “Yeah. I’ll go on a run or do some yoga before the game this afternoon.”

“Good,” Ilya says. His voice is sure, steady. Something Shane can hold onto. “You’re doing well, making a plan like this.”

Shane closes his eyes. He wants to keep Ilya on the phone, but he can’t think of an excuse to do so. “I’ll get going,” he says.

“I love you,” Ilya says.

“Love you, too.”

Shane doesn’t go for a run or do yoga. He isn’t sure why, but all he’s able to do is sit on the floor until he has to make himself get up and head out for the game.

He doesn’t score that afternoon.

Shane watches the clip online. It’s everywhere, Ilya winking at the camera, saying he doesn’t do relationships. Of course he was asked about it. The media have taken the pictures of him with Svetlana and are running with them, Ilya and Svetlana sitting in a bar and talking, and, sure, cuddling – platonically, platonically, platonically, of course platonically.

Seeing Ilya deny their relationship on camera is more painful than Shane ever could have imagined. Which is fucking stupid, because of course Ilya is denying their relationship. Shane would do the same, if someone asked him a similar question.

He tries taking deep breaths. It’s fine, he tells himself. Everything is fine. Everything is going according to plan, or at least as much according to plan as it can go. He and Ilya agreed not to imply any relationships at all to the press, to say they are single if they can’t get out of making a comment. It’ll prevent people from trying to dig up any more information. So it’s fine. Ilya is doing what they said they would do. It’s fine. Ilya is allowed to go out and have a fun time with a friend whenever he wants. It’s fine. And Shane knows, rationally, that he doesn’t have to worry about Ilya and Svetlana’s history, because Ilya loves him.

So it’s all fine.

Bizarrely, Ilya denying any relationship and being photographed with Svetlana only seems to make people more certain that something is going on between him and Rose, that it was a way for Ilya to get Rose’s attention, to make her jealous.

Everyone is talking about it even in the locker room, and everyone has a fucking opinion, and no one knows Ilya, no one knows Shane.

Shane feels a prickling under his skin as he gets dressed. He knows Ilya would laugh at him for being superstitious, but it feels like a bad sign.

“Hollander, look at this”, Drapeau says. “About Rose Landry and Rozanov.”

“I’ve seen the tweets,” Shane says, trying to focus on putting on his gear step by step. Easy. He can do this in his sleep. He’s done it a million times.

“No, but this shit is crazy, some chick wrote a story about them and sent the link to Landry on Twitter, listen to this: ‘After her controlling, passionless relationship with hockey’s golden boy Shane Hollander, Rose wants nothing more than to forget hockey even exists. Then she runs into Shane’s greatest rival and sexy bad boy’ -” He stops, wheezing with laughter, before pulling himself together enough to continue. “’Sexy bad boy Ilya Rozanov in a club. Before she knows it, they’re enacting a dangerous plan to mess with Shane’s head. But what is Rose supposed to do when she realises Ilya is so much more than he appears?’”

The other guys are shouting with laughter.

“You better watch out for that plan to mess with your head next time we play Boston, Capitaine,” J. J. says.

“’So much more than he appears’”, Comeau quotes. “Women are fucking weird, writing this shit. You know Rozanov is a thick asshole and nothing else, and they want to see him as some dream boyfriend. Fucked in the head, man.”

Shane’s done putting on his gear. His mind is frantically looking for something else to do, something that’s solely motions he knows. He can’t find it.

“Come on, Shane.” Hayden bumps his side. “It’s kind of funny, right? I know it’s weird that people write that kind of thing, but we’ve seen it before. It’s people online being weirdos. They don’t really think any of that.”

Shane nods. Then finally, they head out of the locker room.

He doesn’t end up scoring any goals that game. Or assisting them. Again.

“It’s just a slump, we all have them,” Hayden says on the way across the parking lot after the game. “Don’t even listen to what people are saying.”

The reporters had been fairly pointed with their questions. Shane has gone plenty of games without points in the past, but it always felt more like a natural dip, unfortunate but normal, as opposed to a genuine problem with his performance. Yes, everyone has slumps. Everyone except Shane Hollander. Shane Hollander isn’t allowed.

Shane is so tired, so exhausted, and it’s only been two games, which is ridiculous. It’s not like he gets points in every game all the time. Except it’s… not the best time for this to happen right now.

“Sure,” Shane says, because Hayden seems to be expecting him to give some sort of answer. Hayden is trying, Shane knows that. It’s not his fault that he doesn’t have the full context and is in fact making Shane feel significantly worse.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” Hayden continues. “Before the game. I didn’t realise that whole thing with Rose and Rozanov was getting to you like this. Try not to think about it, yeah?”

“Okay,” Shane says.

Hayden looks at him, his eyes full of concern. Something in Shane is screaming at him to get it over with and tell his best friend. But he can’t. He and Ilya have a plan, a plan to keep them safe. He’s not going to ruin it.

Hayden puts an arm around Shane’s shoulders. “Seriously, Shane. This is all bullshit. I mean, Rozanov is such an asshole. Rose will recognise that. I know you and her aren’t dating any more, but she’s cool, right? You guys are still friends, aren’t you? Once she and Rozanov are finished, she’ll tell everybody that you were a way better boyfriend. People know he’s a dick anyway. So don’t worry about this so much, okay? And I can ask Jackie to set you up with one of her friends. Everything will look better once you find the right girl, trust me.”

Shane nods mechanically. He doesn’t have the energy to muster any other response, even though he wants to shake Hayden and tell him Ilya is amazing, and he loves Shane, and Shane loves him, and how is it that people don’t realise it when Shane feels like it’s radiating off off him wherever he goes.

When Shane comes home from morning skate the next day, Ilya is in the kitchen washing a mug, his phone playing music from where it’s propped up against the backsplash. Shane watches him for a moment. Watches Ilya’s mouth as he hums to the song that’s playing, his hands as he turns off the tap and grabs a tea towel, the stretch of his shirt across his shoulders and back. Then Ilya spots Shane in the doorway and turns off the music.

“Ilya,” Shane says. “What are you – did you spontaneously fly over? I’ll be in Boston in three days.” Which Ilya knows, of course, as they’ll play each other. It makes no sense for Ilya to fly to Montreal when Shane is going to see him in Boston so soon.

It’s such a rash decision, exactly the kind of stupid thing Ilya would do. Shane thinks he might cry with relief that he’s here.

Ilya only nods. “You looked bad. In press video.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“No,” Ilya says reassuringly. “Only because I know you. No one else will be able to notice. You are very good at talking to the media.”

He reaches out a hand. Shane crosses the kitchen and entangles their fingers. He goes easily when Ilya pulls him into his arms.

“It’s, um. I just really – really wish people weren’t talking about it, or posting about it, or – yeah.”

“Shane, is okay. Will blow over, yes?”

Shane nods.

Ilya gives him a sly smile, and toys with the button of Shane’s shorts. “Maybe to make you feel better, I have to blow something over now.”

“Did you think of that line on the plane?”

Ilya smiles. “Is good, yes?”

“It makes no sense grammatically,” Shane says. He can feel the corners of his mouth twitching upward, and he can see the joy in Ilya’s eyes when he notices.

“Ah, okay. I did not know you did not want blowjobs if the grammar is wrong. I will fly back immediately. Sorry to bother you.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Ilya kisses him, drops to his knees, pulls down Shane’s shorts and briefs, and looks up at Shane through his lashes. “Yes, but you love me.”

“Yes,” Shane breathes as Ilya starts mouthing at the head of his hardening cock. Shane tangles his fingers in Ilya’s hair, the texture of his curls familiar and soothing. “Fuck, Ilya, I love you so much. Please...”

Ilya, because he loves Shane, too, does exactly what Shane doesn’t know how to ask for, and makes him stop thinking.

Shane feels ready to break or scream by the time he gets to Ilya’s place. His body has been so tense since the game that he’s in actual pain, and his mind is flitting from one unfinished thought to the next like a flickering lightbulb.

He wants to be alone. He wants Ilya to break him apart and put him back together for hours. He wants to put a fucking puck into a fucking net.

He stores his shoes and coat and travel bag carefully in the spaces Ilya always leaves clear for him. He can already hear Ilya’s steps moving towards the hall, and just a couple of seconds later, he’s in his boyfriends arms, being kissed slow and deep and soft and desperate. His thoughts don’t slow down but the tension starts to seep out of his bones a little. It’s the first break, the first relief, that he’s been able to feel in days.

He tugs at Ilya’s shirt, tries to get it off, clumsy with how much he wants to rush. He wants to feel, he doesn’t want to talk and definitely not about the game. Ilya covers Shane’s hands with his own, though, stilling Shane’s movement.

“Wait, Shane,” he says. “Later, yes?”

“Not – not now?” Shane’s mind is sluggish underneath the thoughts racing at the surface, trying to separate what matters from chaotic overwhelm. He manages not to say you don’t want me? but it’s a close call.

“Soon,” Ilya promises. “Food first. You have not eaten today, have you? Nothing real, only protein shakes.”

“How do you know?”

Ilya’s hands move to cup Shane’s jaw, his eyes wide and alert, like he’s trying to see inside Shane. He doesn’t need to try, Shane thinks, Ilya always sees everything about him and somehow manages to love it all.

“I just know, hm? What food do you want? I will get you anything you like.”

Shane swallows hard. “I don’t know.” His thoughts still won’t line up, sliding around like a puck over ice. “I’m sorry.”

“Is okay,” Ilya says. “Don’t say sorry. I bought soup. Nice healthy one, low salt. Good for your gross diet. Sounds good?”

Shane nods. He can eat soup. He can do that.

Ilya kisses him quick, then leads him into the kitchen, gets him seated at the counter, and starts heating up the soup. Not even in the microwave, he does it properly, in a pot. Shane watches him until it’s too much, then drops his head into his hands on the counter.

He hears the clinking of crockery, the sound of a bowl being slid across the counter, and then feels Ilya’s fingers comb through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Hey,” Ilya says quietly.

Shane releases a long breath and lifts his head. Ilya hands him a spoon, and Shane starts to eat. He barely tastes anything, but he does eat a few spoonfuls, grateful for the perfect temperature and texture.

“Eat, please, Shane,” Ilya says. “A little bit more, okay? You played tough game with no food. You need something.”

Shane shrugs. Merely moving his shoulders is an effort. “I haven’t been that hungry lately.”

“Shane,” Ilya says softly.

“I know it’s – whatever,” Shane says. “I know it’s – it doesn’t – it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it.”

“Is okay to think about it,” Ilya says. He’s warm, standing next to Shane’s chair, leaning back a little against the counter. He looks so gorgeous, feels so safe and right, that Shane shouldn’t even be allowed in the same room while he’s this inadequate.

“The whole thing didn’t even work,” Shane says bitterly. “Rose didn’t find a boyfriend who’s into women. And now all this shit is going on with people talking.”

Ilya tilts his hand in a so-so motion. “Kind of worked. I like women.” His voice is light, he’s clearly joking, but Shane feels like someone punched him in the stomach. Fuck. He’s losing control, there’s no air, he can’t breathe, Ilya can’t see him like this.

Shane scrambles off his chair, almost falls, blindly stumbles across the hall into the bathroom. He braces his arms on the edge of the sink, pressing painfully against the cold porcelain. Fuck. Fuck.

“Shane?” Ilya’s voice behind him is low and measured, like Shane might spook at any sudden noise.

Shane shakes his head. “’m fine.”

“Was a stupid joke,” Ilya says, approaching very carefully. “You know that, yes? I was – was trying to make you laugh. Nothing happened with me and Rose. We just left club together like friends.”

“Yeah,” Shane gasps. “Yeah, obviously. I know.”

Ilya steps up behind him. He gently manoeuvres Shane until he’s turned around and tucked against Ilya’s chest. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

“Don’t,” Shane whispers, shaking his head again. He can feel tears brimming in his eyes, threatening to spill over. “I’m being pathetic – I know you didn’t mean -”

“You are not pathetic,” Ilya says. “I should not have said that. It was not funny. I should have realised you would become upset. I – I don’t know what to do. How to make it better for you. I really -” His voice breaks. “I really want to make it better, Shane.”

A dry sob tries to wrench itself from Shane’s throat. He presses his teeth shut until he’s choked it back down. “Ilya, what if this messes everything up, when we announce the charity people will -” He’s cut off by another panicked noise. This time he can’t quite stop it from escaping.

“Shane, Shane,” Ilya whispers. “Is just people talking. Is only a few days. They will get bored, they will stop, they will forget. I will sign with Ottawa and we will start the charity next year and it will all go like the plan we made, okay? No one will care about this very soon. I promise. I promise you.”

“But you can’t know that for sure, and I haven’t scored in three games, and you’re dating Rose -”

“Shane,” Ilya says, hands coming up to frame Shane’s face. “What is going on? Why are you saying all this? Three games is nothing. Is, ah – blip, yes? And I am not dating Rose. You know that I am not.”

“Right, yeah, of course I know,” Shane rasps. His face is burning. He has no idea why he said that. “But everybody thinks you are.”

“Yes,” Ilya says. “Okay. So? Just because everybody thinks something does not make it true. Just because no one knows something does not mean it is not true. You understand?”

“Yeah,” Shane sniffles. He’s won’t cry over random people’s opinions online. He won’t.

Ilya smiles sadly. “No, Shane, understand, please. Just because no one knows that I love you, does not mean it is not true.”

“Oh,” Shane whispers.

“That is what you have been thinking about, right?” Ilya’s voice is as gentle as his thumbs sweeping across Shane’s freckles. “Why you have been in your head about this?”

Shane leans into Ilya’s touch. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck.” That is why he has been in his head so much about it all, he realises.

Ilya doesn’t say anything. He merely keeps a careful hold of Shane’s face.

“I -” Shane tries to say. He takes a deep breath. “I know we can’t, not yet. And I’m not – I’m not even ready for everyone to know. But sometimes. Um.”

“Yes. Sometimes,” Ilya agrees.

“And it’s so stupid, I’m so aware of that, but seeing people think you’re with Rose and it’s everywhere – like, it’s Rose, why the fuck would I be jealous -”

“You are jealous?” Ilya asks. “Shane. There is no one else for me.”

“I know,” Shane says. Ilya gently wipes away the few tears that have spilled down Shane’s cheeks. “It’s – it’s irrational, but I can’t help it, same as with Svetlana. And I have no right to -”

“You have right to feel how you feel,” Ilya says. “And I understand. Is history between me and Svetlana. And I – sometimes I am jealous of Rose. I like her. But – I don’t like thinking about how you were together. So I understand feeling this way.”

“But it’s fucking stupid of me to be jealous. I know I have nothing to worry about.”

Ilya hums in acknowledgement. “Remember when I told you you could sleep with other men?”

Shane tenses up. He doesn’t love thinking back to those few days of losing his mind over whether Ilya was trying to let Shane know he wanted to cheat.

“Felt like being tortured,” Ilya continues. “Was fucking crazy of me to suggest. I don’t want anyone else to touch you. To even look at you. It hurts when I think about it. I want to shout at people that you are mine.”

“You don’t ever have to worry about that. I don’t want anyone else,” Shane says. “I’ve told you.”

Ilya nods. “I know. I am talking about it now because you also have to know that is same for me. I do not want to be with anyone else, okay? I am thinking maybe when I asked, I made you doubt this. I want only you. Shane, you are everything.”

Shane presses his face against Ilya’s neck. “You were so casual about this sort of thing, when we talked it through.”

“Was pretending,” Ilya says thickly. “I should not have done that. I should have explained. I was trying to – I don’t know. Was so, so stupid.” He strokes his hands up and down Shane’s back. “Is you. Only you, Shane. Does not matter who knows or not, as long as we do.”

Shane pulls back enough to hold onto Ilya’s hair and look him in the eyes. “Ilya. I – I need -”

He cuts himself of by stealing a few soft, quick kisses from Ilya. Shane knows what he needs, but he doesn’t know how to put it into words. It’s all right, because Ilya will know.

Ilya strips them both slowly, right there in the bathroom across the hall from the kitchen instead of the bedroom or the en-suite. Once their clothes are pooled around their feet on the floor Shane looks from their shirts and pants to Ilya and back.

“You are okay?” Ilya asks, hands on Shane’s shoulders. “You want me to fold them so you can relax better?”

Shane’s mind stutters, refusing to contemplate making any sort of decision right now. He doesn’t want to have to think of outcomes and consequences and implications right now. “I -” he starts. He doesn’t know how to go on.

“Easy solution,” Ilya says. “Here.” He gathers up the clothes and throws them all in the laundry basket. “Better, yes?”

Shane nods. His mouth pulls up into a smile. “Ilya,” he says. There’s no need for any other words now. Ilya won’t make him worry. Ilya won’t make him face decisions he doesn’t want to. Ilya will make him feel good.

Ilya kisses him, easy as breathing, and whispers, “Shane.” Like Shane’s name means only good things. “Come here.”

It’s simple to do what Ilya asks. Shane wants nothing more than to be closer, and he gets lost threading his fingers through Ilya’s curls, in the slow slide of their mouths, in the delicious friction of their dicks rubbing against each other. The cold porcelain of the sink against his lower back is the only reminder that anything except Ilya even exists in the world.

Shane groans and sinks deeper into the sensations of their kiss, sucks a little on Ilya’s tongue, enjoys the heat and slickness and unhurried pleasure of it all. Ilya growls into Shane’s mouth in response, grabbing his ass and grinding their hips together properly, pressure everywhere right, sparks up Shane’s spine. A sound startles out of him that’s somewhere between a hitched breath and a whine.

Ilya breaks their kiss in order to speak. Before he can, Shane leans forwards to chase his lips. That earns him a smile and a quick peck, and Ilya’s fingers on his bottom lip. Shane nips and sucks at them automatically, encouraged by the soft groan leaving Ilya’s mouth.

“Enough?” Ilya asks, a sparkle in his eyes. As if he doesn’t know.

Shane shakes his head, Ilya’s fingers still in his mouth.

Ilya grins. “You want to suck my cock, hm?”

Shane nods and hums happily. Yes. He wants. Needs Ilya’s cock in his mouth, the taste of him, the fulness. He let’s Ilya’s fingers slip out of his mouth and tries to go to his knees. Ilya stops him.

“Not here on this floor,” Ilya says. “Too uncomfortable. We will make everything nice for you today, yes, Shane? Only nice things for you, because you are so sweet.”

“Ilya,” Shane says again. His voice comes out hushed. He wants to be sweet for Ilya, and he wants nice things, wants everything Ilya will let him have. “Ilya, I want -”

“Yes,” Ilya says. “You can have it. Whatever you need.” He takes Shane’s hand and leads him to the bedroom, sitting himself up against the headboard so Shane can kneel between his legs.

Ilya’s hands are gentle in Shane’s hair, guiding him down. It feels so good, not having to think, being told what to do, even though Shane doesn’t need it. It’s the most natural thing in the world to kiss down Ilya’s pecs and abs, to mouth at the tip of his cock, basking in his moans and murmurs of praise.

Shane takes Ilya as deep as he can, his nose bumping against Ilya’s stomach. He does everything he knows to make Ilya feel good, flicks his tongue and works his throat and moans around Ilya’s dick, savours Ilya’s taste and heat.

“Shane – fuck,” Ilya is panting, fingers combing through Shane’s hair, hands sliding down to his neck and his shoulders, touching and touching. Ilya’s hand on the back of his neck is maybe the only touch in the world better than his dick in Shane’s mouth or hand or ass. “Stop, here, here.”

Ilya easily flips Shane over onto his knees, his hand between Shane’s shoulder blades, pushing him into the mattress. And, oh, yes, please.

“Was thinking about this earlier,” Ilya says, nudging Shane’s thighs up as far as he can. “When you were stretching on ice.”

Shane smiles and rubs his nose and cheek into the familiar material of Ilya’s sheets, enjoying the smooth texture and drinking in the scent of Ilya’s body wash and cologne and of just Ilya. “You’re always thinking about this, whether you see me stretching or not.” His voice comes out a little slurry, but he does manage the words.

“Ah, but you knew what you were doing. You were looking at me.”

“Maybe a little.” Ilya looks so handsome in his gear, it’s not like Shane could not look. And Ilya skating – Shane could never look away from Ilya skating.

Ilya laughs and kisses up and down Shane’s spine, the joyful sound of his laughter and the hot, wet press of his mouth drenching Shane like syrup, everything gold and warm and hazy. Everything never as bad as Shane fears when he’s alone.

“Is all your fault,” Ilya says between kisses. “You are too gorgeous. I can only think about you, even during games.”

Shane sighs happily and pushes his hips back in invitation. Ilya chuckles. He brushes a finger behind Shane’s balls, knocking a whimper out of Shane. “You missed me these three days? You are very eager.”

“Fuck you,” Shane says lazily, arching his back as Ilya hunts around for the lube and a condom in the nightstand drawer. “Missed you so much.”

Time is slowing down and Shane’s mind is finally slowing down along with it. Everything is quiet, everything is peaceful. Any thrum under his skin is about nothing except Ilya’s touch now. No other thoughts. Shane doesn’t know how letting himself sink into this can be so achingly familiar and yet so exciting every single time, but it is, and he can’t do anything but thank Ilya for it and love him and keep up as best he can.

Ilya takes his time opening Shane up, his fingers deft and skilled, every touch full of want and care as always. Shane hardly knows whether to melt deeper into the mattress or buck his hips into Ilya’s touch, so he tries to do both and manages neither. Ilya chuckles and gently bites at Shane’s hipbones before easing out his fingers. Shane hears Ilya tear open the condom wrapper and his eyes flutter shut in anticipation. When Ilya finally pushes in, Shane tries to bite down on a whine, only half succeeding.

“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya’s voice sounds strained. “You feel so good.”

He’s not moving, though, and Shane really, really needs him to. He rolls his hips, and Ilya groans.

“That’s it, push back.” Ilya’s hands are petting and stroking him all over. “Come on, Shane. That’s it. You know what you need. Fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart.”

“I – Ilya,” Shane doesn’t manage more words than that, but he does follow Ilya’s instructions as much as he can. He doesn’t even have to think about it, his mind and his body are attuned to doing exactly what Ilya tells him. Ilya rewards him with flurries of praise and hard kisses against his shoulder blades. Shane does his best to keep a steady rhythm but it’s almost impossible when the heat and friction and praise are making everything fuzzy and perfect and more. He knows instinctively that he’s teetering on the edge of going to that place Ilya sometimes takes him, where nothing exists except their bodies together and Shane can let go, let himself be buoyed by Ilya’s love and touch.

He realises he’s asking – pleading – out loud when Ilya pulls his hips back, nails digging into Shane’s skin, and fucks him properly, hitting Shane’s prostate exactly right, punching the air out of Shane’s lungs with every thrust. Shane grabs at the sheets and whines and gasps and begs. It takes him a moment to focus on Ilya’s voice.

“Shane,” Ilya says. Maybe he’s said it a few times already. “You are good? You are here with me?”

“Yeah.” Shane chokes the word out on a groan, but Ilya hears him.

“Good.” Ilya’s so deep, the pace so punishing, his skin hot and sweat-slick against Shane’s. Shane never wants it to end. “And you’re -” Ilya’s breath is stuttering too, “Mine, yes?”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Shane gasps.

“And I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” Shane sobs. “Ilya.”

“Shane. Say it, come on.”

“Fuck – fuck, Ilya -”

Ilya’s hand in his hair, Ilya fucking him harder, you’re so good, Shane, I love you, I know you can do it, tell me, and Shane comes untouched, clenching on Ilya’s cock, babbling, yes, you’re mine, mine, Ilya.

He feels Ilya pulse inside him as his movements still, hears him murmur too low for Shane to catch the words, though he can tell it’s something sweet.

Ilya pulling out is awful, Shane doesn’t want him to go, he can’t go, Shane needs him back, now. He uses all the strength he can gather to roll onto his back while Ilya throws the condom towards at the bin.

Ilya moves as if to get up, probably to get a washcloth. Shane catches his wrist and shakes his head. “More,” he says. His voice comes out slurred and needy.

Ilya looks confused. “What do you -”

“Fingers,” Shane gasps. He must look and sound completely wrecked. He would have expected to be embarrassed to ask for something like this, but he can’t feel anything right now except the need to have some part of Ilya still inside him.

Ilya looks like he’s processing for another moment. Then he hooks Shane’s leg over his hip and reaches down to slowly push two fingers back into him. “This?” he whispers, brushing his fingertips over Shane’s prostate.

Shane nearly cries out, his soft dick twitching against Ilya’s hipbone, an almost painful tremor running across his whole body at the touch. Every single one of his nerves feels raw and too sensitive. More than anything, though, Shane revels in the reminder that Ilya is physically here, that they belong to each other.

“Shhh,” Ilya makes. “I’ve got you. You’re being so good. So good for telling me what you need, Shane. So easy like this after you took me so well.”

Ilya’s fingers are stroking gently, the slide of them inside him all that ties Shane to his body, to the bed and the house and the moment and to Ilya. Always to Ilya.

Shane tries to nod, but he doesn’t fully manage. He can feel tears spilling out of the corners of his eyes. Everything is too much. Everything is just right.

Ilya shushes him again and kisses the tears away and presses a tender kiss to his lips. His fingers nudge Shane’s prostate another time. “Look at you,” he murmurs in between more kisses. “Perfect. Beautiful. My Shane. I will never want anyone else.”

Shane whimpers involuntarily but he manages to lock his eyes on Ilya’s. He wants to agree out loud, wants Ilya to know that he feels the same, that he never wants to see anything again except this look on Ilya’s face. He tries but he can’t form a sentence. It’s okay, though, because Ilya has switched to murmuring soft Russian words against Shane’s skin. Shane lets the familiar cadence wash over him, floats on it, a wave carrying him on the surface instead of pulling him under.

Ilya gradually slows the movement of his fingers in tandem with his kisses, until he’s almost stopped and then completely, and Shane’s mostly come back from whatever threshold he was hovering in.

“Okay?” Ilya whispers. His fingers are curled inside Shane, still now. “I will cuddle you now before we clean up. Is okay? Then we bathe together, then you finish the soup.”

“Yeah,” Shane breathes against Ilya’s kin. He tries to catch some of the thoughts drifting slowly around inside his brain. “Jus’ – don’t stop touchin’ me yet. One more minute. Like this. Please, Ilya.”

Ilya nudges Shane’s cheek with his nose until Shane turns his head enough for Ilya to kiss him again, soft and light. He keeps his fingers where they are and uses his free hand to guide Shane to wrap his arms around him, then rubs slow circles over Shane’s back. Shane holds on as tightly as he can with his muscles still trembling. Wrapped up in each other like this, Shane could happily drown, but he knows Ilya will keep him safe.

He feels Ilya’s lips against the shell of his ear. “So good,” Ilya whispers one more time. And then, nuzzling against Shane’s temple, he adds one one of those things he sometimes says that take all the weight off Shane’s chest and shoulders and mind. “Anything for you.”

Svetlana arrives at Shane’s place looking like she’s just stepped off a runway and smelling of what must be very expensive perfume. Her outfit and make-up do look very nice. She peers around the hallway with interest, then presses a kiss to Ilya’s cheek and strolls into the living room. Shane and Ilya trail behind her like they’re the ones visiting.

“Hi, Rose,” Svetlana says. “Love those socks.”

“Hey girl,” Rose says, wriggling her fingers in a wave from where she’s sitting on the sofa. “Tell me where you got that bag or I’ll have to murder you and take it from your dead body.”

Svetlana turns around to face Ilya and Shane. She doesn’t look perturbed by Rose’s death threat.

Shane can feel himself go tense under her gaze. Ilya wraps an arm around him and Shane feels himself relax slightly. He’s nervous, but he does want to get to know Svetlana. With Ilya staying for a couple of days and Rose able to fit in time as well, it made sense to invite her today. Even though Shane wouldn’t have minded having Ilya all to himself after three weeks of not seeing each other.

“Shane Hollander,” Svetlana says. Then she continues in Russian, “I’m Svetlana. Ilya’s friend.”

“Oh, um,” Shane says. He tries to remember all the Russian he’s studied since the summer. “Good afternoon, Svetlana. My name is Shane. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Fucking hell, Ilya,” Svetlana says in English, turning her eyes from Shane to Ilya. “His Russian is already better than yours.”

Ilya mutters a few Russian words under his breath that Shane can’t understand yet, which means that they were probably very rude.

Shane feels himself blush. “Uh – thanks?”

Svetlana rolls her eyes, rooting around in her bag. “Confidence, Hollander,” she says.

“Yes, right,” Shane says.

Svetlana sighs. “Lovely to meet you in person, Shane. You’re very sweet. No wonder you didn’t handle that whole situation last month all that well.” She pulls out a charger with the cord all tangled, then drops her bag and starts trying to unravel it.

Shane can’t help but flinch and look down. It’s not as frequent as in the beginning, but people online still talk about Ilya and Rose occasionally.

“Svetlana,” Ilya says with a warning undertone.

“What?” she says, looking up from the charger cable in her hands. “Look at him!”

“Yes, look. He is perfect,” Ilya says, his arm firm around Shane, his tone not leaving room for argument. Shane squirms and blushes harder, though he can’t help but smile.

Svetlana rolls her eyes, finally untangles her charger, plugs it into a socket, then throws her arms around both Shane and Ilya. “About time Ilya introduced us, Shane,” she says. “It’s been what, seven years? Eight?” She squeezes her arms around Shane and Ilya’s necks, knocking their heads together, before letting go.

“I’ve seen some of your texts when Ilya thought he was being discreet, though,” she says with a wink.

“I would kill to see those texts,” Rose says.

“You are very violent today, Rose,” Ilya says. He’s running his hand up and down Shane’s arm, repetitive and calming. “This is second death threat in only a few minutes.”

Rose shrugs. Svetlana kisses Ilya’s cheek again, then heads over to the kitchen where she starts rooting around in Shane’s fridge. “Your texts were always pretty tame from what I saw, to be honest. Very cute.” Shane can’t help but wonder which texts she saw.

“I was going to suggest we all go out and try again to find someone for Rose, but I think maybe it’s too soon, huh?” Svetlana says as she takes a bottle of Ilya’s vodka from the fridge and pours herself a glass, then strolls over to the sofa and grabs the remote from Rose.

“Yes, too soon,” Ilya says. “But that club was fun.”

“You and I can go, Svetlana,” Rose says. “Come to LA, I’ll introduce you to some of my friends.”

“Fantastic,” Svetlana says. “I’ll come see you. It will be more fun without Ilya, anyway.”

She drops down onto the sofa and changes the channel, ignoring Ilya flipping her off. “Toronto and New York are playing right now,” she says. “Hollander. Sit here.” She pats the sofa next to her. “You’ll analyse all the details with me, won’t you? It will get too boring for Ilya and Rose, so you have to talk with me.” When Shane hesitates, she impatiently pats the same spot again and adds, “Now.”

Shane throws a helpless glance at Ilya as he sits down where Svetlana designated.

Ilya is grinning. “I do not seem like an asshole now, yes, Shane?” he asks. “I am nicer than Svetlana.”

Svetlana and Shane snort at the same time. Ilya pretends to be outraged, clutching a hand to his heart. “Rose, you are the only one here who likes me.”

“I do like you!” Rose says. “You’re fun and a great dancer! No offence, Shane.”

Shane sighs but doesn’t argue. Ilya sits down next to Shane, pulling him close. “We make fun of Hunter now, right?”

Before they can focus on the game, though, Rose gasps and looks up from where she was checking her phone. “Guess what, guys?”

“What happened?” Ilya asks.

“Apparently I’m dating my new PA. Someone posted pictures of him leaving my place after a meeting and it’s attracting a lot of attention. Seems like people have decided it’s a very sweet workplace romance.”

“See! People always move on to new gossip,” Svetlana says.

“Now they’ll leave us alone and you don’t have to be stressed, Shane,” Ilya says. Shane doesn’t say anything, simply presses closer against him. Finally, finally. Things will be quiet.

“And who knows, Rose, maybe your PA is going to be the love of your life?” Svetlana says.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Rose says. “He’s gay.”

Svetlana laughs. Ilya joins in. Shane feels himself starting to grin as well.

“All right!” Svetlana claps her hands. “We have to celebrate people moving on! Vodka, everyone. This game is not going to be good, anyway.”

“Is true. Is only Hunter,” Ilya agrees. Shane pokes his side and Ilya quickly kisses his forehead.

Svetlana’s got up and is heading to the kitchen, and the rest of them follow along. She refills her own glass while Rose takes two glasses from the cupboard and slides them over for her to fill. Ilya takes a ginger ale from the fridge and hands it to Shane. Shane feels a warmth settle in his chest when Ilya brushes their fingers together. It’s the smallest of touches, a little see, everything is all right.

Rose takes a swig of vodka and starts coughing. “Oh – my – ugh – wow,” she chokes out. “Right. Wow. Do you – do you have some cranberry juice?”

“In the fridge,” Shane says.

At the same time, Svetlana says, “Do it and see what happens, Landry. I will put an ancient Russian curse on you that will make it so you won’t date anyone again for the rest of your life. Not even gay guys.”

Rose makes a startled noise. While Ilya and Svetlana drink from their own glasses, she turns to Shane and whispers, “Is that a thing? Ancient Russian curses? Sounds like the premise of one of my early movies.”

Shane shrugs. “I wouldn’t risk it if I were you. The one time I suggested mixing vodka, Ilya threatened to drown me.”

“Was doing you a favour,” Ilya says. “Now you love and appreciate good vodka.”

“I love and appreciate you, not that disgusting paint cleaner you call a drink.”

“You know what is disgusting, Hollander? Fucking macrobiotic diet.”

“You ate that dish I made with the buckwheat noodles.”

“Eh,” Ilya makes. “Was not the best.”

“Right, so much not the best that you said it was delicious and ate two giant bowls.”

“Quiet before I eat you,” Ilya says.

Rose snorts and Svetlana cackles.

Shane scowls at them. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Ah, no one needs to encourage me,” Ilya says, putting his glass on the counter and taking Shane’s ginger ale. He sets the can down as well, before pulling Shane into his arms. “You are too tasty.”

“Stop it.”

“You are, your mouth and your freckles and your neck and your dick and -”

“Ilya!” Shane says over Rose and Svetlana snickering. His voice comes out embarrassingly squeaky.

“Is the truth. We are with friends here, yes? I have to tell them the truth. Have to show them how cute you look all blushing.”

Shane sighs, but he leans his forehead against Ilya’s shoulder. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Is because you are so boring. Ten years ago you saw hot guy smoking and all you could think about was that it was against rules to smoke there. You had to tell me I was breaking the rules. That is why now you are here.”

“That is not why I talked to you, it was because -”

“Ah. Because you saw hot guy who was even better at you than hockey and had gay wake-up and had to talk to him. Very understandable. Happens to many people when they see me.” Ilya presses a loud kiss to Shane’s cheek.

Shane feels a giggle bubble up inside him. It’s like he’s slightly tipsy, even though he hasn’t had any of the vodka. “Ilya,” he says.

Ilya leans his forehead against Shane’s. “Yes?”

Shane clutches the soft fabric of Ilya’s shirt between his fingers. “We are with friends. And they know.”

Ilya is beaming, and he’s holding Shane so tight. “Yes,” he says. “Sweetheart, you’re right. They know.”