Chapter Text
Grunting, panting, whimpering, sweat flying and swears being muttered.
Any hotel gym was the one place Shane Hollander could let go fully. Alone in the middle of the night. Quiet and peaceful. He didn't have a home gym since his parents thought it was a good idea to get out, "stretch your legs, be free" until he got famous and couldn't go anywhere without being noticed now.
Tonight, he was closing his eyes and pedaling as fast as his legs could go. He was so stressed from this past season. He wasn't where he wanted to be physically and his team wasn't meshing. He was sharing a hotel room with his best friend Hayden. Him and his team were set to go against Boston tomorrow morning. Montreal's finest, up at 1am punishing his body for hours. Maybe it was a form of self harm. Honestly, it could be. He knew he was in pain and he was doing this to reach some unattainable body goal, but he kept going.
He slowed down and opened his eyes, putting his hands on top of his head. His thoughts were still 100 miles per hour. They never slowed down. He always heard his teammates talking about how getting laid made you feel like you were floating. Not for him. He's tried. He just ended up leaving, unsatisfied and feeling guilty for not being able to finish.
He was pulled from his thoughts when the gym door opened. A slightly bigger man with dirty blond curls and a distinct face walked in with a towel and water bottle. Shit. Was that... Ilya Rozanov? It must have been. He didn't know his team was staying at the same hotel.
Shane looked back down at his bike and pretended not to look at his muscles. He wish he was as big as him. He wanted to feel his arms maybe just once. Not in a weird way. He petalled a bit faster. Ilya hopped on the bike next to Shane and smirked at him. He didn't say a word though.
Ilya started up his bike and went just as fast. Already breaking a sweat. Shane looked at Ilya's feet and sped up a bit. He wasn't trying to show off, but he was trying to prove to himself he could go faster and longer. Ilya saw this and went even faster. The two of them battled for 5 minutes before the first to stop was Ilya. Shane smiled while looking down and came to a stop.
Ilya got off, wiped his face and slumped down on the floor next to a whole body mirror. Shane did the same, sitting right across from him. He felt bold after his small victory. "You're Ilya Rozanov. I'm Shane. Hollander." He reached out a hand, out of breath, sweat dripping down his neck. Ilya just smirked and nodded. He took his hand back. "I didn't know Boston was staying here tonight. How do you like it?" he tried to start a conversation. "Is hotel." Ilya said, never breaking eye contact. Shane nodded. Ilya took a swig of his water and Shane looked at it, jealous. He forgot his.
Ilya drank for a while, then took it away from his lips, holding it out to Shane. He shook his head "I'm good." Ilya didn't give up. He shook the bottle, reaching forward. Shane scoffed and grabbed the bottle. He tried to pour the water into his mouth from a couple inches in front of his face but failed and some spilled down his chin. His face burned red. "What? You think I am dirty, yes? Just drink it normal way." Ilya chuckled. Shane shook his head and put his lips on it, sucking. God, water was so good right now.
Ilya watched him, smirking. Shane stopped and passed it back. Ilya mouthed the words "Drink. More." He didn't know why, but he obeyed. Drinking more. An indirect kiss. He stopped, wiped his mouth and handed it back. Ilya grabbed it, stopping for a second to touch his hand in the process. Shane looked at their hands then back to his lap.
"You ready to lose tomorrow, yes?" Ilya asked cockily. Shane scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Not a chance. Montreal has this in the bag." he said confidently. "Wow. must be cheap dollar store bag then." Ilya teased. Shane looked at him with a stunned look. His stupid thick Russian accent didn't stop him from trash talking, huh? "Whatever, you'll see tomorrow." Shane said while standing up, heading for the door. "See you tomorrow Hollander. Good luck, you'll need it."
After his short shower, he put on a pair of shorts and laid in bed looking at the ceiling, the only sound being Hayden's quiet snoring. He couldn't stop thinking about his and Ilya's interaction. He needed to. It was nothing. But for some reason, he couldn't shake it. He couldn't be unfocused in the morning. He was the team captain and was the heart of the energy the team brought tomorrow. He closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep. Maybe after they won, he'd be able to get that stupid Russian man out of his head.