Chapter Text
Ilya knew something was wrong when he looked at his phone to see five missed calls from Jane.
He stripped out of his pads and yanked on his sweatpants. He was pulling a sweatshirt over his head when the assistant coach poked his head into the locker room.
“Roz, can you spare a couple minutes? They want you for post-game.”
“No,” Ilya said. He slung his bag over his shoulder. He was tacky with sweat and his heart was still pounding from a last-second sprint down the ice that ended with him dinging a winning shot off the crossbar. A rare win for Ottawa, one Ilya had planned to celebrate with his new teammates. The rookies were skittish around him, and the veterans were wary of his reputation. Ilya needed to prove to them he was, against all odds, a nice guy. Refusing an interview was the type of asshole behavior he wanted to avoid.
But Shane’s phone calls threw all that right out the window.
“Rozanov-”
“I have to go. Sorry. I can do pre-game tomorrow.”
The coach eyed him from the doorway. Ilya held his gaze as he walked towards him. It was a standoff Ilya didn’t plan on backing down from. Shane had called him five times while he was out on the ice. When Shane was supposed to be on the ice too, playing Pittsburgh.
After a second, the coach shrugged and stepped aside. “Tomorrow.” He hesitated. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, bye.”
He forced himself to walk out at a normal pace. He nodded at the cameras and managed something like a smile at the comments on his game-winning goal. He didn’t answer when someone asked why he was in such a rush to leave.
Ilya waited until he was in his car, alone and in silence, before he took his phone out of his pocket. 5 missed calls from Jane, and one unread text.
Call me as soon as you see this.
Shane picked up on the second ring.
“Ilya.”
“Shane. What’s-”
“My dad’s in the hospital.”
Ilya’s fingers went numb, the phone almost slipping from his grasp.
“He- um, he was in an accident?” Shane’s voice pitched up at the end, like he wasn’t sure.
Ilya’s free hand clenched the fabric of his sweatpants. He didn’t know if he was breathing or not.
“One of our neighbors saw it. They said the other car ran a red light and hit him-” Shane was breathing, too much. Gasping through words. “They followed the ambulance to the hospital but they can’t get any information and we don’t know- they said he wasn’t conscious when the paramedics-”
Shane cut off, struggling to continue. Ilya could picture him, head between his knees as he panted for air. Locking everything in so tightly it threatened to detonate from the inside, but keeping it there anyway.
“Ilya.”
Ilya took a deep breath. He knew what Shane was asking without asking. What he would never let himself ask, because the risk was too big. For both of them. Ilya would take it anyway.
“Hollander.” He uncurled his hand to lay flat on his thigh. “Listen. Everything will be okay. Hmm? Everything is okay.”
“We don’t know what’s happening; they won’t tell us.”
Ilya stuck his keys in the ignition and swapped Shane to speakerphone while he buckled his seatbelt. “I will go. What hospital?”
“They won’t let you in-”
“I will make them. What hospital?”
“Ilya-”
“What hospital?” Ilya looked behind him as he reversed out of his spot. “I’m leaving now.”
“Riverside. If you drive past my parents it’s-”
“Yes, I know it.”
“Okay.” Shane exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
“Twenty minutes,” Ilya promised. “Is your mother with you?”
“Yeah. She’s on the phone with our neighbor. I- Mom, Ilya’s driving there now. Yes, right now. No, he-”
“Ilya?”
Ilya gripped the steering wheel tightly. He never wanted to hear Yuna Hollander sound like this. Scared. Small. “Hello, yes.”
“I don’t think they’re going to tell you anything.”
“I will make them.”
He waited for a response, but nothing came. Ilya alternated glances between his phone and the road to make sure he wasn’t disconnected.
It was the longest drive of Ilya’s life, all seventeen minutes of it. None of them spoke. Only Shane’s labored breaths punctuated the silence.
“I’m here,” Ilya finally said, after he parked in the first available spot he could find. The wind tore at his clothes when he stepped out of the car, cooled sweat now freezing on his skin. “Yuna, where do I go?”
Yuna directed him with brief, brisk instructions. Ilya could hear the relief in them, to have something to focus on other than the horrible overwhelming obvious.
Ilya found the Hollanders’ neighbor in the waiting room on the third floor, a middle-aged woman in the thickest parka Ilya had ever seen. She stood up and waved him over, but Ilya walked straight to the nurses’ station.
“My friend’s father was in very bad car accident. He sent me to check if everything is fine.”
The nurse at the desk looked up at him slowly. “I assume you’re with her? For David Hollander?” She pointed at the neighbor. Ilya nodded. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told her, and his wife over the phone. They have Mr. Hollander in the OR right now. We’ll inform you as soon as we know more, but right now there’s nothing I can disclose.”
“OR? You mean surgery?”
“Yes.”
“For what?” Ilya struggled to translate from Russian to English questions he knew by heart. Questions about vitals and blood pressure and cognitive function and reaction time. Questions pointed enough that doctors would tell him things, not force him into a stupid back and forth. Ilya’s least favorite word used to be ‘maybe.’
“I can’t disclose that. I’m sorry.” The nurse gave him a sympathetic look. “We don’t have his file yet, so even if I could tell you, I don’t have any more information than what I already said.”
“I-” Ilya was frustrated with himself, not the nurse. He took a breath and reminded himself of that. “When will we know?”
It wasn’t the right question. “Maybe in an hour or so?”
Maybe. That fucking word.
Ilya moved across the room to drop down beside the neighbor and her gigantic parka.
“You’re Shane’s friend?” she asked. “I’m Ellen.”
“Ilya.”
Ilya’s phone buzzed in his hand. A text.
What’s happening?
“Motherfucker-” Ilya ignored Ellen’s shocked eyebrow raise and slotted his phone against his ear again. “Shane. Sorry, I-”
“It’s fine, it’s- did they tell you anything?”
“He’s in surgery, the nurse said. Maybe an hour before they tell us more.”
Fucking maybe.
“Okay.” Shane was quiet for a long moment. “Okay.” His voice broke over the word.
“Shane,” Ilya said softly.
“Okay. Yeah, okay. We- an hour. My mom and I just got to the airport; she’s trying to find us a flight. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“You didn’t finish your game.”
“No, uh- no, Mom pulled me as soon as she got the call.”
Ilya leaned over his knees. He could feel Ellen staring at him, but he didn’t care. He was focused on finding the right words. He needed to ask the right questions. To the nurse. To the doctor. To Ellen. To Shane.
“How long…” Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, stalling. Fucking motherfucker.
“Start of the second period, I think?” Shane always knew what Ilya meant, right question or not.
“Fuck, I should have- I’m sorry I didn’t pick up.”
“You were playing, Ilya. There’s no way you could’ve known.” Shane sighed. “Did you win?”
“Does that matter right now?”
“It might make me feel better.”
Ilya felt the ghost of a smile cross his face. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. One to nothing.”
“Who scored?”
“Me.”
“When?”
“Last second. Off the crossbar.”
“Showoff.”
“Mmm. Was good goal from good hockey player. You are not familiar with that, I think.”
Shane’s laugh was weak, but there. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yes.” Ilya didn’t say the rest. He couldn’t find the space to translate it from Russian. Yes, I am an asshole. Yes, I will be an asshole if it means you’ll laugh at me. Yes, I’ll be an asshole if that’s what it takes to distract you from how much pain you’re in. If it stops you from crying and breaking my heart.
“How is your mother?”
“Okay. We’re okay. Better knowing you’re there. You- call me, the second you hear anything.”
“Do you have to go?” Ilya asked. “Where are you?”
“Well- no.” Shane sounded surprised. “I’m hiding in the bathroom. No, but you said…”
“I’ll wait. We wait together, hmm? Better for you.”
Shane was silent for several seconds. Ilya nearly repeated himself, but then Shane said, almost angrily: “How do you always know that?”
I know you better than I know myself. I know what you need because I know you better than anyone else in the world. I know because I love you.
“I am asshole.”
“I was holding it together really well until you called.”
Ilya hummed. “Like I said.”
“Ilya, I…”
Ilya glanced at Ellen, who seemed to be alternating stares between him and the nurses’ station. “Keep holding. Tell me your plan.”
Ilya spent the next few minutes drinking in the steady drone of Shane’s voice as he listed out fastest flight paths and shortest layovers, or the possibility of renting a car and driving themselves if something didn’t pan out soon. Ilya kept nodding even though he knew Shane couldn’t see him.
“Ilya?”
“Yes, Shane.”
“We just got on standby. We need to head to the gate in case.”
“Okay.”
“I’m gonna hang up now.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Ilya’s chest constricted. Shane and that damn word. Ilya was starting to hate it as much as maybe. “You can call me back. I will still be here.”
“Is it-” Shane took a breath. “Is it okay if I don’t hang up?’
“It’s okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay is the only word you know now?”
“I know asshole.”
“Good. Brain still works.”
“I love you.”
Ilya wanted to say it back. Ellen’s stupid parka rustled in the chair beside him. “Yes. Same.” And, because it was the closest thing he could say to ‘I love you’: “Shane.”
Shane’s end of the line went silent. Ilya pulled his phone from his ear and let it hang loosely from his hand.
“How do you know Shane?”
Ilya could think of nothing less he’d like to do at the moment than making small talk with Ellen and her parka that could probably be seen from space. He sat back in his chair and looked at the woman who had dropped everything to help the Hollanders.
“Hockey.”
“Oh, did you play with him in high school? You know, we always knew he was going to be a star. Well, my husband did. I’m not much for hockey. More of a soccer fan myself.”
Ilya nodded at her. He hoped the smile on his face wasn’t as scary as the one he saw when he watched back ESPN’s game coverage. Better for the both of them that she had no idea who he was. The nurse hadn’t seemed to recognize him either, though Ilya was wary of a man on the other side of the room who had glanced in his direction a few times.
Ilya bounced his knee and told himself it wouldn’t be the most outrageous thing in the world if someone saw him here. He and Shane had announced their charity at the start of the season and had already been seen together in public once. Ilya was exactly what Yuna must have told Ellen—a friend.
Time bled away as he waited with Ellen. At one point she handed him a peppermint from her purse. Ilya took it and noticed her hands shaking. He wanted to say something comforting, but his English had all but fled. Even if it hadn’t, there wasn’t much to offer in a situation like this. Ilya sucked on his peppermint and willed his phone to buzz again. His head was completely empty. Peppermint on his tongue. Antiseptic in his nose. An unpleasant itch across his skin, demanding a hot shower. Eyes focusing and unfocusing on his shoelaces. Over. And over. And over.
Ellen’s parka startled him out of his daze, zipper scrapping on her chair as she shot to her feet.
Ilya was up in the next breath, phone to his ear again.
“Shane. Shane, a doctor is here. Shane.”
There was no answer, but Ilya waited anyway. The doctor walked towards him and Ellen with a grim expression on his face. Probably also alarmed by Ellen’s parka and how it was going to swallow her.
“I was told you’re friends of the family?”
Ilya’s mouth flooded with saliva, stomach churning. He didn’t like talking to doctors. But he would try, for Shane. He nodded next to Ellen.
“Are they on the phone with you?”
“Trying.” Ilya grimaced. He needed the right words. “Trying to get him.”
“Alright. I won’t go into details until I can speak with one of them. But he is-”
Ilya swallowed down bile.
“-out of danger. He’s stable. Resting now.”
“Ilya?” Shane’s voice crackled to life in his ear. “What’s happening? Is he- did they-”
“He’s alive.”
Ilya didn’t mean to put it so baldly. But it was the truth, the answer to the question that had terrorized them for the past hour.
“My dad’s- he’s okay?”
“Alive, yes. He’s alive. I don’t know what else yet. Doctor is here. I will put you on speaker.”
Ilya only caught half of what the doctor said. He spoke very fast, and Shane replied even faster. Yuna took over at some point. Ilya heard her say something about authorization and Ilya Rozanov.
Then Ilya was being led past the nurses’ station, leaving Ellen and her parka behind. She was on the phone again, maybe with Yuna. She flashed Ilya a sympathetic smile. Ilya wished he’d said something to her. Thank you, maybe. But now he was following the doctor down a long corridor and into a room.
Ilya’s right knee buckled.
Shane took after his mother, but David Hollander looked alarmingly like his son, laid in a hospital bed. Ilya just nodded at whatever the doctor said and sank into the nearest chair. One of David’s arms was in a cast, one of his legs in a brace. Ilya couldn’t remember the English word for the tubes running up his nose. He’d learned it once, watching some soapy American medical drama Svetlana liked.
“Ilya.”
Shane again. The doctor was gone. Ilya was alone with David and too many beeping, blinking machines.
“Shane.”
“You’re with him now?”
“Yes.”
“Is he awake?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Ilya studied the flutter of David’s eyelids. “Possibly.”
“Can you- will you tell him we’re on our way? We’re about to board, we…tell him, okay?”
“You are telling him now,” Ilya promised. “Still on speaker. Say hello.”
“Oh.” Shane’s voice was wobbly in a way that made Ilya’s chest ache. “Dad, it’s me. It’s Shane.”
Ilya wasn’t sure if he imagined David’s head tilting towards Shane’s voice.
“Mom and I are gonna be there really soon. I love you, okay? I love you, Dad. Wait with Ilya. I love you.”
Ilya scrubbed a hand over his face. “He says…hmm, maybe my English is not so good? He says Ilya Rozanov is best hockey player in the world. Much better than his slow son.”
“Wow. He said that.”
“Mhmm. Is true. He just told me. We are laughing about it right now. Ha-ha-ha.”
“Ilya.” Shane sounded brighter, somehow. Ilya felt like concrete was pooling in his veins. “Thank you.”
“Was nothing-”
“It wasn’t nothing. I- we’re about to get on a plane for four hours and…thank you. I love you. I love you.”
Shane was in the middle of an airport terminal. He was about to board a plane. He was probably dressed head to toe in his Metros gear. And still, he risked this. Ilya could risk a little more.
“I love you too.”
Ilya sat with David after Shane hung up. He dozed off a few times, all the adrenaline of the day finally dropping into a bone-numbing exhaustion that made him feel like he could barely lift his head. David didn’t wake up at all. Ilya wished he’d paid better attention to the doctor, to know if that was normal.
He knew that whatever Yuna had told the doctor gave him special permission to be here. It was well past visiting hours—it was the middle of the night—but no one had disturbed him or asked him to leave. Ilya was dimly aware that he was supposed to play a game tomorrow. He had practice in less than eight hours. He would have to go. ‘Family emergency’ wasn’t an excuse that applied to him anymore.
He had just fallen asleep for the fourth or fifth time when he was woken up by a familiar hand on his arm. He blinked, straightening in his chair.
Shane collapsed into his arms.
He shook against Ilya’s chest, face pressed into his neck. Ilya smoothed his palm in firm strokes down Shane’s back. Yuna was already beside David, touching him in a way Ilya hadn’t dared. She pressed her hands to his chest, his face, his arms, like she had to convince herself he was real. Ilya met her bloodshot gaze over the top of Shane’s head.
“He’s okay,” Ilya said, a little to her and mostly to Shane. “He’s going to be okay.”
Yuna gave a tight nod. She jerked her wrist across her face as if she could shove the tears back into her eyes. Then she bent down and kissed Ilya on the forehead. He froze, head cradled in her hands.
“You are a miracle, Ilya Rozanov. A miracle.”
Ilya shifted uncomfortably. “Really, was nothing.”
Yuna shook her head. She was tearing up again. Ilya didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t know how to keep looking her in the eye.
Shane gave him a reprieve, lifting his head and slowly loosening his death grip around Ilya’s neck. “You smell terrible.”
Ilya rolled his eyes.
Shane extricated himself from Ilya’s arms (much to Ilya’s dismay) and stood up again. He looked as terrible as Ilya probably smelled. Ilya watched him drift towards his father, eyes darting in every direction. Yuna moved to stand behind him, a supportive arm on his elbow. Ilya stood up as well, but made his way to the door.
“Bathroom,” he mumbled, when Yuna glanced his way.
Ilya walked stiffly down the hall, joints cracking in protest after sitting for so long. He wondered if Ellen and her ridiculous parka were still in the waiting room. He had practice in five hours. He desperately needed a shower.
David was in a horrible car accident. David could have died. Shane could have lost his father.
The way I-
Ilya suddenly bent over, hands on his knees, and vomited.
Notes:
Ellen sorry I made you up and dunked on you 500 times
Chapter 2
Notes:
me? adding to the chapter count? it's likelier than you think...
also changed this to explicit bc I felt compelled to let them get their freak on and not even god could stop me
Chapter Text
Shane felt like he could finally breathe for the first time since his coach sent him off the bench.
He knew then something was wrong, wrong enough to pull him from the game. When he saw his mom waiting in the tunnel, blood drained from her face, he knew it was his dad.
He called Ilya the second he got back to his phone in the locker room. He called two more times while he was changing, before he realized Ilya was probably still out on the ice. He called again in the car, because even though he knew Ilya wouldn’t pick up he wanted to hear Ilya’s voice telling him he’d never listen to his voicemail. Shane sat with his mom in tense silence in the back of the car that was taking them to their hotel. She reached over to hold tightly onto his hand. Shane squeezed back and called Ilya one more time.
A knot stuck in the base of his throat, hard and painful. He knew he needed to cry, or scream, or do something to get out the swell of grief and completely mind-numbing fear that was building inside him. It eased a little, talking to Ilya. Enough Shane could get air into his lungs. Hearing his dad was alive, alive, not dead, let him get through the flight without having his heart explode.
But now, seeing his dad with his own eyes—bruised, battered, but alive—Shane could finally let the knot unravel.
He stood beside his dad and just breathed, deep enough to feel dizzy.
His mom rubbed his arm. “You okay?”
Shane nodded. “Now I am.” He turned to look at her. “Are you?”
She nodded back. “Thank god Ilya was here. I don’t even know what would have happened if…” Neither of them wanted to finish that statement. His mom took his dad’s hand. “You are not allowed to do this again,” she told him. “Next time I’m the one who gets to scare the shit out of this family.”
“What about me?”
His mom ran her spare hand gently over Shane’s hair. “You already had your turn.”
Shane felt a real smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. His parents were pretty freaked out when he went down on the ice. His mom let herself fuss over him for almost two days before she even thought about making a plan for the next season. Ilya was there then too.
They waited quietly together after that, an unspoken agreement between them to not leave until his dad woke up. Shane was exhausted, but he pushed for his mom to sit in the chair while he leaned against the wall. At one point he glanced away from his dad’s face to the clock on the wall.
“Where did Ilya go?”
His mom startled out of the same daze he’d fallen into. “He said he was finding the bathroom. That was a while ago, though.”
Shane pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna call him.” The knot in Shane’s throat tightened again. In another life, he would just walk out the door. He would wander the hall calling Ilya’s name. He would stop someone and ask if they’d seen his boyfriend. But Shane couldn’t do any of that, not if he and Ilya wanted to get to the future they were both so desperately working towards.
Hi, this is Ilya; I will never-
“Shane,” his mom said, sharp.
Shane missed when he tried to shove his phone back into his pocket. It clattered to the floor, but he didn’t care. He shot up from the wall and grabbed onto his dad’s other hand.
“Hey,” his mom whispered. “Hi, honey.”
“Yuna…” His dad was groggy. He blinked a few times. “Where’s…is Shane-”
“I’m right here, Dad,” Shane promised. “I’m here.”
His dad slowly turned to look at him, already smiling. “I heard you on the phone.”
“You…” Shane struggled for a second to understand what he meant. “Oh, with- with Ilya.”
“Mmm. Ilya was here. Right?”
“Yes,” his mom cut in. “He came and waited with you for us.”
“I thought so.” His dad sighed and closed his eyes. “He’s a nice guy, Shane. Good pick.”
“I tried my best.” Shane’s laugh was wet in his ears.
It hit him then, finally. The enormity of the whole situation. How wrong things could have gone. That his dad might never have smiled at him again. And-
“Oh, Shane,” his mom murmured, and then Shane felt her arms around him. He pressed his face against his dad’s hand and cried, overwhelmed by it all. “Shane…”
“I’ll be okay,” he hiccupped. “I’ll be- I’ll be okay, I just need a minute.”
His mom just hummed and started carding her hands through his hair again.
“I’m alright,” his dad whispered to him. “I’m gonna be just fine.”
Shane knew that wasn’t entirely true, at least not right away. But his dad was alive and talking. He couldn’t ask for much more at this moment. So he gave himself another thirty seconds before he forced some semblance of control over his body again. His mom was probably just as shaken up as he was, and his dad had been in a literal life-or-death situation. He needed to be strong for them.
His mom tsked and wiped at his face when he felt calm enough to lift his head again. Shane summoned up everything in him to give her a watery smile.
“I should call Ilya. He’ll want to know Dad’s awake.”
Shane stepped out into the hall a minute later, phone in tow. He wrinkled his nose at the harsh scent of floor cleaner that was emanating down the hall.
“Shane.”
“Il-” Shane stopped himself. He was conscious of just how many times he’d said Ilya’s name on the phone at the airport. He was speaking quietly most of the time, but it was still a risk. He’d been so all over the place, thoughts whirling, that he hadn’t cared. It hadn’t mattered in that moment. His dad could have been dead. He wanted Ilya with him, no matter the cost.
Shane remembered the cost now. Not just for him, but for Ilya. Ilya had only just started with Ottawa, nowhere near being able to apply for Canadian citizenship. Even a whisper of their relationship was still dangerous for him. Ilya had risked so much, coming to the hospital. Their ‘new friends’ cover would only stretch so far.
“Shane,” Ilya prompted. His voice sounded strange. Shane struggled to place why.
“Where are you?”
“Driving.”
“Dr- driving? Where?”
“Home. I have practice soon.”
“Oh. Shit, right. Right, I forgot.”
“Shane Hollander forgot hockey schedule. Call the newspapers.”
Shane smiled in spite of himself. “My dad’s awake. He said he knew you were here with him.”
For a long moment, all Shane could hear was the faint rumble of Ilya’s tires. “Good. That’s good.”
Shane bit at his lip. “Are you...hey, are you okay?”
“Okay,” Ilya sighed. “Is that your favorite word now?”
“Il-” Shane stopped himself again. “I’m serious.”
“I am okay. Tired.”
“You should call out of practice; you need time to sleep.”
“And say what?”
Shane stared down at his sneakers. Somewhere in the rush from the airport to the hospital his shoelace came untied. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, no...” Ilya sighed again. “No sorrys. Was very hard day.”
“Thank you again.”
“Ah, no thank yous either. Please.”
Shane didn’t know why Ilya sounded like that. Maybe he really was just tired. Shane was tired too, too tired to press any further. It wouldn’t do either of them any good right now. Still, he wanted to help, if he could. The words stuck in his throat as he felt a shyness with Ilya he hadn’t in years now. But if Ilya wouldn’t let him say thank you, he could say this instead.
“Look, we both know what you put on the line, doing this. And I just...I want you to know- I need you to know- that I would do the same for you. No matter what, okay?”
This time, Ilya sounded a little bit more like himself. “I know, Shane.”
“Okay- alright. Yeah. Shut up,” he muttered, because he could hear Ilya laughing. “Text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
Shane glanced at the door to his dad’s room. He figured he’d give his parents a few more minutes alone. His mom hated crying in front of anyone. “I think my mom and I will head home later this morning, after we see the doctor.”
“Let me know what they say.”
“Yeah, of course. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but...” Shane hated that the amazing, life-changing thing their relationship had blossomed into still had to be a secret. But it had to. For his sake. For Ilya’s. For the plan to work. “I’ll probably come to your house when we leave? If that’s okay.”
Damn. He really did say ‘okay’ a lot.
“My house is your house too, yes?”
Shane trapped his lip between his teeth to keep it from trembling.
“Shane?”
“Yeah. I’m here. I’ll, uh...I’ll see you when you get back from practice.”
“Mmm. Good...” Ilya muttered something in Russian. “Motivation, I think.”
“Oh, I can be plenty motivating.”
“Shane Hollander makes sex joke. Call world officials.”
“Oh my god.” Shane shook his head with a laugh. Ilya laughed too, but Shane could hear the exhaustion in it. He walked straight off the ice after a game. He was about to do it all again in a few hours. “Please text when you get home.”
Ilya didn’t reply right away, which made Shane’s heart spike painfully. “I can stay on the phone. If that’s what you want.”
Shane slid down to the floor and sat against the wall. “That’s what I want.”
“Mmm. Is what I want too.”
Shane woke up in Ilya’s arms.
He shifted as carefully as he could so he wouldn’t wake Ilya. Swiping his phone off the nightstand, he saw that it was almost one in the afternoon and his mom had texted that she was headed back to the hospital. Shane didn’t have to come, if he didn’t want to.
Shane wanted to.
But Ilya sighed something in his sleep and curled tighter around Shane. Shane sank into his warmth, eyes drifting shut again. If there was one silver lining to this whole catastrophe, it was a few more days in the season with Ilya.
He woke up again to Ilya’s phone alarm blaring.
“Sorry,” Ilya mumbled in his ear. “Sorry, ignore.” He left a trail of hot kisses down Shane’s neck before reaching over him to silence the alarm. “Go back to sleep.”
Shane blinked sleepily as he rolled over to face Ilya. He traced the slope of Ilya’s nose, the curve of his lip, drinking in what he’d been too overwhelmed to appreciate last night. He dipped his head to kiss Ilya’s throat. “Stay.”
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya groaned. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Do what?”
“You know what. I have to leave soon.”
“How soon?”
Ilya flopped over top of Shane. Shane welcomed it, nose buried in Ilya’s curls. Shane was pleased to see he’d showered since last night. “Forty-five minutes?”
“Plenty of time.”
“For you.”
“Hey.”
Shane couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about his cock stiffening against his thigh. Ilya felt it too, judging from his smirk against Shane’s neck.
“You missed me,” he crooned. “Very bad, so bad.”
“Shut up.”
“Mmm. Put my mouth to better use, yes?”
Shane squirmed when Ilya bit teasingly at his nipple. He let his head fall back against the pillow while Ilya kissed his way down Shane’s chest, leaving warm wet marks across his skin. Ilya’s hands skimmed up his sides and pressed firmly over his chest, one traveling down again to lock over his hip. An involuntary hum climbed up his throat. He loved Ilya pushing him deep into the mattress, or the floor, or into Ilya himself. Anything that made Shane feel like he was being pressed out of his body—or rather, pressed out of his head. Anything that made his body tingle, grounded by Ilya’s touch while his mind floated somewhere else, some place where the only thing he knew was pleasure and-
“Ilya,” he breathed, when Ilya took him into his mouth. Shane twitched, hands fisting in the bedsheets, eyes scrunching closed when Ilya swirled his tongue around the tip of Shane’s cock. “Fuck- Ilya, oh my God-”
Ilya’s hair tickled against his thighs while Ilya bobbed his head, pace steady enough to make Shane tremble with need, but slow enough to completely torture him.
Shane arched off the bed when Ilya’s hand slipped from over his hip to cup his ass, teasing his entrance.
“Ilya- Ilya- holy fuck-”
Shane opened his eyes when Ilya slowed, and then stopped. He lifted his head off the pillow. Maybe Ilya wanted to actually fuck, forty-five minutes or not. Part of Shane, a big part of him, was overcome with the need to make Ilya leave on time for his game. He was supposed to be the sensible one of the two of them, the one that resisted their shared impulses. Right now, Shane was too shaken by yesterday to care. He needed Ilya. He hoped Ilya needed him back.
Shane started to shift onto his front, but Ilya’s forearm pressed deep into his stomach. Shane’s dick throbbed, a gasp breaking from between his lips even as he gritted his teeth.
He expected Ilya to flick his eyebrows up at that, or make some asshole remark. Shane’s own ‘fuck you’ was on the tip of his tongue.
Instead, Ilya slipped his fingers between Shane’s, easing his hand from its grip on the sheets.
“On me,” he whispered. His voice sounded strange again. Distant. That was the word Shane couldn’t pinpoint last night. Ilya sounded distant. Ilya placed Shane’s hand on his bare shoulder. “On me.”
Shane understood, nodding. Ilya’s eyes seemed cloudy. The dark marks under his eyes were almost purple. Then Ilya swallowed him down again faster than he could blink. Shane jolted up against the arm Ilya pinned over him, nails digging into Ilya’s shoulder. He grabbed a fistful of Ilya’s hair for better purchase and wrapped his legs around Ilya’s back. Ilya hummed, the vibrations against Shane’s cock sending pulses of need deep into his stomach. Ilya squeezed his chest, the way he usually did.
Almost the way he usually did.
The small piece of Shane that wasn’t completely untethered and guided by Ilya’s tongue hot and wet against the underside of his cock, Ilya’s nose buried in the dark hair between his thighs, knew this was different. Ilya usually grabbed him like this. But not usually tight enough to bruise.
Shane liked it—Ilya knew he liked it—but in moments like this, times where tenderness overrode sheer lust, Ilya was always very gentle. That was maybe the most surprising thing Shane learned about Ilya Rozanov. More than anything, he liked to be gentle.
Shane circled Ilya’s wrist with his fingertips, stroking the soft skin there in time with his own breaths. Ilya’s pulse thundered under his touch.
"Ilya...” Shane struggled to piece together a coherent thought. A question. Anything, other than the pleasure that was building white hot, low in his stomach, each time Ilya sucked him down the back of his throat. Shane’s chest burned under Ilya’s grip. Ilya’s arm dug so deep Shane thought he might crack a rib. “I’m here,” he muttered, locking his ankles around Ilya’s back. “I’m here. I’m here...”
It wasn’t what he meant to say. But he kept saying it anyway, because it was the only sentence his lips could form, other than Ilya’s name. And Shane could have said that even if he had no mouth left to speak.
He let his touch be soft where Ilya’s was crushing, let his fingers skim over the expanse of Ilya’s back and down his arm. Let the wave of pleasure he was cresting guide him, rising up, up, up, featherlight, until it crashed, taking him with it. He crashed into Ilya, legs tight around him and hands tugging, trying to pull Ilya up, to look at him, damn it, and finally getting Ilya’s mouth against his, tasting himself on Ilya’s tongue.
Shane panted into Ilya’s mouth when they parted, still reeling from the comedown. Ilya nosed at his cheek, lips at the corner of his mouth. Gentle, sweet. Shane’s chest stung. He felt hot little flashes where Ilya’s nails had broken skin. Shane kissed him again.
“I have to go,” Ilya murmured.
“But you haven’t- I should-”
“Tonight.” Ilya nipped at Shane’s bottom lip. When he pulled back enough for Shane to see his face, he smirked. “Motivation, yes? I score winning goal, you...”
Shane skimmed his palm down Ilya’s back, enjoying the flex of muscles he felt there. That was maybe the second most surprising thing Shane learned about Ilya Rozanov. How much he reacted to Shane’s touch. “Whatever you want,” Shane promised. “I’m here.”
Ilya’s gaze softened, only for a moment. Shane’s chest ached from Ilya’s phantom touch. “Whatever I want. Dangerous thing to offer, Hollander.”
Shane shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “I like a little bit of danger.”
Ilya grinned. “Is why you like me.”
Shane couldn’t help it. He cupped Ilya’s face in his hands, guiding him in for a soft kiss. He rested his forehead against Ilya’s, their eyelashes brushing. “I love you.”
“Mmm.” Ilya was distant again. “Lucky for you that I love you too. Otherwise, very embarrassing.”
Shane laughed and shoved Ilya off of him. “Go get ready for your game.”
He listened to Ilya in the shower while he called his mom for an update. His dad was still stable, still resting. The doctor’s report from that morning hadn’t changed. His dad was being kept another night for observation, and then would be discharged if all continued to look okay. Shane would come and stay for a while so his mom could run home again and get everything prepared. Shane smiled as his dad insisted into the speaker than neither of them needed to spend the night with him. He was perfectly fine. ‘Perfectly fine minus a broken arm, a broken leg, and internal bleeding,’ his mom complained.
Shane ended the call with a firmer sense of relief than he had when they left the hospital. His dad was awake, talking, and cracking jokes. Of the three of them, he was always the one to remain calm and unruffled. Having him take that position back was a weight off Shane’s shoulders. He didn’t think he’d be able to see his dad like that again, motionless in that hospital bed, without completely breaking down. He'd already lost control.
Ilya kissed him goodbye, still damp from the shower. “Call me if you need anything. I will check between periods.”
“I’ll be fine,” Shane promised. “Just going to sit with Dad for a while. We’ll watch the game.”
Ilya winced. “Maybe is better if you didn’t.”
“And miss you scoring twenty goals?” Shane tried to inject his voice with enthusiasm. It was only a month into the season, but they both knew Ottawa was a team in desperate need of improvement. Ilya was playing the best he ever had, but he could only do so much alone. Shane knew how terrible losing felt. Losing consistently was almost unbearable.
Not for the first time, Shane felt awed at how much Ilya loved him. To give up Boston for him. For them. Their future.
“Ah. Right.” Ilya’s smile was impenetrable. He kissed Shane again. “Bye-bye, Hollander.”
“Bye.” Shane watched him leave, eyes tracking the hard set of Ilya’s shoulders. Ilya winked at him from the doorway, and then he was gone.
Shane laid in bed and wondered what Ilya wasn’t telling him.