Work Text:
When Rozanov left, late that night, and Shane was left to put the sheets through the wash, he felt lonely and empty. Which was dumb - Rozanov had come over and they’d fucked like always, but then… increasingly, the sex was leaving Shane more depressed afterwards than relaxed.
He was the master of denial, but even Shane had to be honest with himself after eight years of this bullshit. He was- alright, he could admit it to himself, at least. He was probably gay. That was one issue, but he thought that was pretty much a lost cause at this point. He liked sucking dick, he liked a cock in his ass, tits held no appeal to him like they did to all the other guys in the locker room. No, being gay wasn’t ideal, but it was a fact of his life. Fine, he could deal with that.
The other issue was even worse. He was gay for Rozanov - and not just in a oh my God he’s hot and knows how to use his dick type of way. That had always been there. Now there was more. There was an impulse to ask Rozanov to spend the night, an impulse to text him when he heard a funny joke, an impulse to plead with him to not go back to Russia this summer because Shane knew he hated it and worried about him.
All of that was completely unacceptable. Shane stared at the washing machine as it whirred, feeling more alone than he had in years. It was just sex - he knew that, Rozanov certainly knew that. Shane could not keep indulging himself with these feelings.
He was gay, he thought to himself. For so long, he’d only allowed himself to have Rozanov, and had stuck whatever he and the other man were into a box in his mind, locked it, and refused to open it, for fear of what it might mean. It meant he was gay, okay. If he accepted that, it meant he no longer had to limit himself to occasional nights with the Russian. He’d still be careful, secretive, but he could see other men. And maybe it would help, to not have all of his sexual pleasure coming from just one person. It could help him to get some emotional distance.
Maybe, he might stop wanting Rozanov entirely. What a relief that would be.
Shane made his decision, right as the washing machine started to beep. He took out his phone and downloaded Grindr.
~~
ONE MONTH LATER
Hollander was in the shower when it happened. Ilya heard the notification go off, and it was like his hackles raised immediately. He stared at Hollander’s phone in disbelief, lying face down on the nightstand. It couldn’t be. Hollander wouldn’t. He was too paranoid, too shy, too boring. But he knew that sound.
He reached out, picking up the phone like it might burn him. There, on the lock screen, was a notification from Grindr. A message from someone named Joey. Ilya put the phone back, feeling sick.
He’d teased Hollander plenty of times, saying he should go out and fuck more. Hollander had never actually done it. His mind was suddenly swimming with thoughts. How long? How many others were there? Were any of them better than Ilya? Did Hollander actually like any of them?
That was when Hollander re-entered the room, a towel wrapped around his waist. Ilya stared him down.
Hollander gave him a perturbed half-smile. “Uh… you okay?”
“I don’t know,” Ilya said. “I didn’t realise my dick wasn’t enough for you anymore.”
“What?!”
Ilya nodded to the phone. “Joey sent you a message.”
“Oh, shit!” Hollander cursed, his face flushing red.
“You should keep your phone on silent, Hollander, if you’re going to have apps like that on it.”
Hollander glared at him. “Well, the only people who would recognise the sound probably have their own secrets, don’t they?” he shot back.
“I guess so.” Ilya ground his teeth together. “So? Aren’t you going to respond?”
“Not right now.”
“That’s not very polite.”
Hollander narrowed his eyes. “Are you… jealous?” he asked suspiciously.
Ilya scoffed. “You can fuck whoever you want, I don’t give a shit.”
“...Right.” Hollander pulled on his boxers before he dropped the towel. “Because it’s not like you don’t fuck other people too, you know.”
“I know.”
“And it’s not that you- you aren’t enough, or whatever.” Hollander turned even more red, looking down. “But, like, we don’t get to see each other that often.”
“I know.”
“And, you know, it turns out you can have a lot of anonymous sex if you’re gay. People are surprisingly okay with it.” He said it earnestly, like he was the first person in the world to make this discovery.
Ilya forced himself to swallow, keeping his face carefully blank. “Is that so?”
“Uh, yeah.” Hollander ran an awkward hand through his hair. Fuck, he was so sweet, even when he was talking about all the sex he was having with other men when Ilya wasn’t around. “And, um, I don’t think many gay men, like, watch hockey? Because I haven’t been recognised when I go to meet someone. My profile’s anonymous, obviously, but when I show up… they don’t know who I am.”
“Sounds great,” Ilya said flatly. “Good for you.”
“...Right.”
“I need to sleep.”
“Right, yeah, I should be going back to the hotel.”
Ilya nodded. “Keep that phone on silent, Hollander,” he said. “Don’t risk it.”
“Uh, yeah. I will.” Hollander grabbed said phone, pulling on his clothes. “Um, see you next time?”
“Next time.”
Hollander left, and Ilya heard the front door open and close. He grabbed a cigarette from the pack he kept in his bedside table, lighting it almost frantically and taking a long drag. It did not help to soothe his mind.
It didn’t matter, he told himself. Hollander was a free man, he could sleep with whoever he wanted. He and Ilya weren’t anything, it didn’t matter.
He still felt sick.
~~
SIX WEEKS LATER
They finally had another game against Montreal, and Ilya was on edge the whole week leading up to it. Honestly, he’d been on edge ever since he heard that stupid fucking notification from Hollander’s phone. He was constantly just holding himself back from punching someone or something.
How many people had Hollander fucked since Ilya saw him last? Five? Ten? More?
No, probably not, Ilya told himself. Hollander was not that exciting. He wasn’t going to meet up with a random guy every other night, that wasn’t his style. But Ilya hadn’t thought Grindr was his style. He’d thought he was Hollander’s style, just him.
He knew it was hypocritical - Ilya had sex with lots of people, always had. And yet something ugly twisted inside him when he thought of Hollander bent over for someone else, letting someone who wasn’t Ilya make him feel good.
He played like a beast during the game. He had too much aggression, needed to get it out, so he felt no qualms about repeatedly slamming Hollander into the boards and stealing the puck. He could tell Hollander was getting frustrated with him, could feel it in the way Hollander’s eyes were tracking his every movement, but he ignored it.
For all his efforts, the teams were still an even match. Boston barely won in the end, 3-2, but Ilya would take it. He pushed through his shower and interviews quickly, fighting to get back to the locker room and get to his phone.
Marlow saw him and laughed. “Texting your Montreal girl?”
“Fuck off,” Ilya snapped, even as he opened the text thread with Jane.
Ilya: tonight? your place?
It took a while for Hollander to reply, and Ilya started to get stressed. Maybe he really had found someone to replace Ilya with. Maybe Hollander was never going to reply to him again, and this was it.
Then three bubbles appeared.
Jane: yeah, lmk when you get there
Ilya exhaled, the tightness in his shoulders loosening somewhat. He grabbed his shit, ignoring the other players as they made celebration plans, and went straight to call a cab, ready to get to Hollander’s as quickly as possible.
He still had to enter through the back, and grimaced as he did, wondering how many other men Hollander had dragged through this entrance over the past few weeks.
“You were playing like a demon today,” Hollander said instead of hello. “What got into you?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, right.” Hollander raised his eyebrows. “Well, are you gonna fuck me like that too? Or did you waste all your energy?”
Fuck. He was more confident than normal, Ilya noticed immediately. He’d definitely been sleeping around. His resolve steeled. Hollander could sleep with whoever he wanted - Ilya would make sure no one else compared to him.
“Is that what you want?” he asked innocently. “Hard and fast, until you’re crying and begging me to let you come?”
Hollander’s eyes widened, but he didn’t turn into the stuttering mess he once would have at a little bit of dirty talk. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Please.”
Ilya grinned, although it was hollow. “Bed. Now.”
They rushed to the bedroom, and Ilya pulled off his shirt, watching as Hollander insisted on folding his own clothes like always.
A sickening thought crossed Ilya’s mind suddenly, that the other men Hollander took home might have been making fun of him for his little quirks, the ones Ilya secretly found so endearing. That maybe they laughed at him, and then Hollander would stop halfway through, pretending it was fine even though it would be bothering him the whole time. Something inside of Ilya’s ribs clenched at the idea.
Then Hollander was done, settling naked on the bed, and Ilya dragged himself out of his mind. He grabbed the bottle of lube, pouring some onto his fingers and he knelt over Hollander, examining the man below him.
“So,” he said, pushing Hollander’s knees to his chest, exposing him. “How have you been?”
“Uh… fine?” Hollander looked at him in confusion.
“Just fine?” Ilya circled his rim with one finger. “I thought you were supposed to be having all this wild, anonymous sex.”
Hollander frowned. “Okay, I never said wi-”
Ilya slid the first finger inside, and Hollander cut himself off with a groan. “So, is boring sex then?” Ilya inquired, as he crooked his finger.
“It’s- oh, fuck.” Hollander glared at him, but it didn’t have much effect when he was panting like that over just one of Ilya’s fingers. “Do we really have to talk about this right now?”
“Da,” Ilya said simply, moving the finger in small circles.
“It’s- it’s just, fuck, just sex,” Hollander said. “What do you even want to know?”
“How many?”
“I dunno. Um, a few?”
Ilya scowled, pressing a second finger inside. Hollander moaned, pressing back against Ilya’s knuckles.
“A few,” Ilya echoed. “Can they fuck you like I do?”
“Fuck you!”
“Maybe, if you answer my questions.”
“They- fuck.” Hollander’s voice began to shake, as Ilya continued to twist and scissor his fingers. “They fuck me fine, asshole. It’s none of your business.”
Ilya hummed, taking his other hand to hold Hollander’s chin and force him to look Ilya in the eyes. “They fuck you fine,” he said. “But I fuck you best, yes?”
“You- piss off.”
“Say it, or I won’t fuck you at all tonight. You can message Joey instead.”
“You’re such a-”
Ilya squeezed a third finger inside. “I am starting to get bored,” he taunted. “Maybe I open you up and just leave you like this, yes? I can go out and find other people to fuck too, Hollander. Tell me why it should be you who gets my cock.”
“Be- because you do it best,” Hollander whined, screwing his eyes shut. “Please, Rozanov, just- just fuck me.”
Something inside Ilya roared in victory. It was so much better than beating Hollander on the ice.
“Good boy,” he praised, withdrawing his fingers and rolling on a condom. “Hands and knees, I give you what you want now. Fuck you the best, just like you need.”
Hollander nodded, turning himself over, and Ilya slid inside him in one smooth motion, not stopping until he bottomed out. He only gave Hollander a second to adjust before withdrawing and slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.
“Oh, fuck,” Hollander moaned, grasping at the sheets. “Rozanov.”
“Fuck you best,” Ilya hissed, pistoning into him. “Think anyone else can do this to you? I get you drunk on my cock, mine.”
“Sh-shit. More, please.”
Ilya grunted, holding onto Hollander’s hips tighter. It was rough, the sounds of skin slapping together filling the room, and Ilya was still plagued with images of other men coming through the door, pressing Hollander down like Ilya was doing now, of hearing every one of those little noises coming from his mouth.
He fisted a hand into Hollander’s hair and yanked, lifting his head up from the bed.
“You want to come?” he growled.
“Please.”
“Tell me again.”
“You fuck me the best. Rozanov, shit, just- touch me, please, I want to come. Let me come, please.”
Ilya dropped Hollander’s head, and it flopped back down. He reached for Hollander’s dick instead, and it only took three strokes and he was coming all over the sheets. Ilya didn’t stop after Hollander came, he carried on fucking into him brutally, chasing his own release.
“You can take it, can’t you,” he asked, voice going hoarse and guttural from the exertion. “Take it from everyone else, so you can take it from me.”
“Roza-” Hollander broke off into a whimper. “Yeah, I can take it.”
Ilya thrust in as deep as he could and he came. He wished he wasn’t wearing a condom; he wanted to be inside Hollander without a barrier, wanted to come inside him and mark him like it would ward off anyone else.
He wasn’t, though, so he pulled out instead, rolling to the side and taking of the condom, panting and out of breath.
“...So,” Hollander said, after a minute of them both lying in silence.
“Shut up,” Ilya warned. He didn’t know what had come over him.
“Are you, like… actually jealous?” Hollander sounded disbelieving.
“No.”
“So what was that?”
Ilya looked away. “Was hot sex. Thought you knew all about it now.”
“That!” Hollander exclaimed. “You’re being jealous!”
“Am making fun of you. I do this a lot, is not new.”
Hollander sighed. “Fine, whatever. Be an asshole. But I’m allowed to sleep with whoever I want, just like you.”
“I know. I don’t care.” It was a ridiculous lie, but Ilya said it with a straight face anyway. “I go now.”
“Yeah, fine.” Hollander tapped his shoulder, making Ilya look at him. “But we’re still… good? For next time?”
Ilya registered the uncertainty on his face. “Yes,” he agreed. “ Next time. One month.”
“Alright. In a month, then?"
Ilya nodded, getting up. He’d shower at the hotel, he decided. He didn’t want to stay any longer, unlike how he usually felt, where he’d come up with any excuse to extend his time with Hollander by even a few minutes. He dressed, and headed for the door. He couldn’t resist a snide comment as he left.
“Will it still just be ‘a few’ a month from now?”
“Fuck off!” Hollander yelled, but Ilya was already leaving.
~~
The first thing Ilya did when he got back to Boston was go to a club. If Hollander wanted to fuck half of Montreal, then fine. Ilya could fuck all of Boston. He didn’t care.
But it was a disaster. He danced with plenty of women, but couldn’t muster up a lick of interest in any of them. His head was stuck on Hollander, if he was also hooking up with someone right now - if he thought of Ilya when he did, or if he found it easy to forget Ilya.
Ilya left the club alone and furious with himself. He went home and jerked off angrily to the thought of boring Canadians with pretty freckles and soft lips that were supposed to be his.
He came in his hand with a groan and wiped up the mess with a tissue. He dropped the tissue on the floor like an insult to Hollander that the other man would never know about. There, see, he thought. I don’t care at all about you, I can do what I want. I can dump gross tissues on the floor even though you’d find it disgusting. You don’t control me.
It only made him feel marginally better. He had a very unsatisfying night's sleep.
He spent the rest of the week following a similar pattern. He would go out, and try to forget, and then he would fail, and spend a lonely night with his right hand, thinking about Hollander and everything he could be getting up to while Ilya was stuck in America.
One evening, he opened Grindr himself. He had his own account, had for years, safely hidden on his phone and with notifications turned off. He hadn’t actually used it in years. But maybe fucking another man would help, he thought.
He’d forgotten what the app was like. He was immediately bombarded with images of shirtless torsos and things even more graphic, and soured instantly. Imagining Hollander swiping through the same images, picking out exactly what and who he wanted to fuck him that night.
Shit, Hollander could probably find his ideal type in just a few minutes. He could find a big, muscly top that didn’t have a stupid bear tattoo or taste like smoke or bully him relentlessly. One that was nice. Ilya had never been special - he had been available, and easy, and safe. But never who Hollander would actually choose, if he had options.
He didn’t even jerk off that night. He drank cheap vodka from fucking Target and felt sorry for himself, and performed terribly at practice the next day.
After a week, he came up with a new strategy. It wasn’t really a conscious choice, more of an impulse decision. It was about eight pm, and Ilya had managed to convince himself that Hollander was definitely fucking someone else that evening. His evidence? Nothing, except for an overactive imagination. But it could be true. And Ilya just had to stop it.
Ilya: what are you doing right now?
Jane: nothing, why?
Ilya: thinking about fucking you
Jane: …uh, okay? three weeks to go
Ilya: touch yourself
Jane: what?
Ilya: is sexting, hollander, keep up.
It took a few minutes to get a response to that one, as Ilya watched his phone anxiously.
Jane: i dont really know what to do? ive not done this before
Ilya smiled, pulling his dick out of his pants.
Ilya: is not hard, even you can figure it out. Are you touching yourself?
Jane: yeah
Ilya: where?
Jane: my dick
Ilya: good boy. Id suck you if i were there, just how you like it
Ilya struggled to type with just one hand, but he made it work, working himself faster as he sent the message.
Jane: oh fuck
Ilya: play with your balls, i know you like that.
Jane: what else?
Ilya: stretch you on my fingers, get you ready for me. Get you moaning and begging for it.
Ilya: only fuck you once you were desperate. But id fuck you so good, make you scream
Jane: shit, im close
Ilya was too.
Ilya: come for me.
Ilya came all over his stomach, snapping a picture and sending it before he could get second thoughts.
Ilya: if you were here i would make you lick it up
Jane: fuck off
Ilya: ah, you are being rude to me again. You came?
Jane: obviously
Ilya: no pic? :((
Ten seconds later, Hollander sent a photo, and Ilya was granted a picture of his beautiful abs covered in his come.
Ilya: hot. I think i could go again just from seeing that
Jane: fuck off, im tired now and i have to shower again
Ilya: you are so boring. sweet dreams, old man
But he felt such an immense sense of relief and satisfaction, knowing that he had made Hollander come that night and no one else, that he realised this might just work.
~~
In fairness, he might have gone a little overboard. Trying to sext Hollander every single night was probably too much. But it wasn’t like he knew Hollander’s schedule and could distract him only on nights he was supposed to meet someone else. Every night was a possibility. So Ilya started sexting him every night.
The second night went okay. The third night took a bit more convincing. By the fourth night, Hollander was definitely weirded out, but he went along with it after Ilya sent a picture of his erection.
By the fifth night, Hollander was not having it.
Ilya: thinking about your hole…
Jane: no.
Ilya: what do you mean no?
Jane: you cant possibly want to do this again!
Ilya: im so hard right now.
Jane: then find someone to fuck! leave me alone, im busy!
Ilya: wanna fuck you
Ilya: you have the tightest fucking hole, always feels so good around my cock
Ilya: best mouth, best hole
Jane: so wait two weeks, asshole!
Ilya: come on, hollander. tell me what youd do if i were there
Jane: no.
Ilya growled at his phone screen, his erection starting to flag.
Ilya: you know you want to
Jane: i have a life outside of tending to your orgasms, rozanov!
Ilya: stupid life.
Jane: no its not! fuck you
Ilya: i make you come too. everyone wins.
Unless someone else was making Hollander come tonight, Ilya thought.
Jane: stop bothering me, rozanov
Ilya: who is so important you dont want to talk to me?
Jane: oh my god, is that what this has been about???
Jane: im not fucking anyone else tonight, you possessive freak
Jane: im at hayden’s place, jesus
Jane: will you leave me alone now?!
Ilya breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t send another text.
~~
When Shane downloaded Grindr, this was not what he had expected. Of course, he hadn’t actually intended for Rozanov to find out in the first place, but it also wasn’t a secret - at least, not from him. They weren’t exclusive, Rozanov had probably fucked hundreds of people since he and Shane started up. Shane had always been allowed to sleep with other people, he just… hadn’t.
Sleeping with other men was supposed to help him get some distance from Rozanov. Instead, it meant the man was ever-present in Shane’s life like never before.
He wasn’t sure exactly what Rozanov thought Shane was getting up to. He had four total encounters, and they had all been good. He’d had fun. Not anything mindblowing, not anything that compared to Rozanov, but not bad by any means.
But the way Rozanov now sent him extremely graphic texts every single evening, he must think Shane was going out every single night.
It had been like this for two weeks now. Shane had been completely lost, at first, by the sudden onslaught. Then it had clicked. He knew Rozanov had been jealous, no matter what the other man had claimed. Everyone said Shane was easy to read; well, Rozanov wasn’t much better.
Shane wished he could say it didn’t make him pleased. But it did. He knew it shouldn’t - so Rozanov was possessive, that didn’t mean anything except that he was an asshole, and Shane had already known that. But he couldn’t help grinning when his phone buzzed again that evening, and admire the other man’s commitment.
Lily: wanna fuck your face
Lily: make you choke on it
Lily: would be fun, no?
Shane rolled his eyes, even as his dick began to twitch.
Shane: oh, is it time again?
Lily: think you could come just from that?
Lily: i think so, if it was me
Lily: dont worry, i fuck you afterwards, make you come twice
Shane started to jack off, breathing heavier.
Shane: youd let me come twice?
Lily: yes, make you come so many times
Lily: my cock in your mouth, my cock in your hole
Lily: my cock, always
Lily: you need it
Shane couldn’t help but tease him a little.
Shane: i dunno, its alright. Not bad
Lily: shut up
Lily: is best
Lily: would shove it in you so deep, leave you open and ruined
Lily: just for me
Lily: youd love it
Lily: make you scream my name
Shane’s orgasm came out of nowhere, splattering all over his stomach.
Shane: fuck, rozanov
Shane: you really need to work on this possessiveness, you know
Shane: its unhealthy
Jane: one more week and i ruin you for real 😈
~~
By the time Boston finally came to play Montreal, Ilya had completely lost any sense of shame he once had. After Hollander had clocked him, there really wasn’t any point in hiding what he was doing.
And he felt confident, at least, that he was satisfying Hollander - him, and no one else. If Hollander knowing he was a possessive psycho was the price he had to pay for that, then, well. He’d take it. And make him come every single night from dirty texts alone, instead of faceless strangers that Ilya hated.
He was in a good mood on the ice, winking at Hollander as they got ready for their first face off. “Big plans tonight?” he asked.
Hollander still flushed a little, and Ilya grinned.
Not even Boston losing could ruin his good mood. He was still smiling proudly in the locker room as all of his team mates grumbled and commiserated with each other.
Marlow glared at him. “Get your good mood out of here and go see your chick. Your happy face is annoying me.”
Ilya saluted his team as he left. “Have fun tonight, boys,” he called, and went eagerly to Hollander’s apartment.
He had Hollander up against the wall as soon as he was through the doorway, pinning him there with hands on his hips and lips grazing his ear.
“You have missed me, yes?” he whispered. “Text is not as good as real thing.”
Hollander groaned. “You know I have, asshole.”
“I have had so many ideas about what to do with you.”
“I know, you’ve been keeping me very up to date on your thoughts.”
Ilya grinned. Hollander’s snarkiness just amused him, he was so glad to have the man back under his hands. “Has been fun, no?”
“...Yeah, I guess.”
Ilya kissed him. Maybe a bit slower than normal, but not so much that Hollander would notice. He squeezed Hollander’s ass playfully. “Bedroom,” he said. “We have long list to get through.”
Hollander shot him a quick, bashful smile before turning around, and Ilya followed him up the stairs eagerly. He lay Hollander out on the bed, stripping him and folding his clothes for him, kissing each inch of bare skin as he went.
Hollander stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open. “You, uh, don’t need to bother with that,” he said, gesturing to the sweatpants in Ilya’s hands.
Ilya raised an eyebrow as he folded them. “Is how you like, no?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Then I do. Shush.” Ilya finished what he was doing and lay the clothes down gently before returning to his primary task - ruining Hollander for anyone else. He took him in his mouth and sucked hungrily, and Hollander groaned, arching up.
Ilya hummed appreciatively, running his hands over Hollander’s thighs as he bobbed his head. He flicked his tongue over the head, rolled Hollander’s balls in his hands, looking up at Hollander from underneath his eyelashes.
“Roz- Rozanov, I’m gonna-”
Rozanov pulled off quickly. “Not yet, dorogoy,” he murmured, crawling back up to kiss him, long and dirty. “Not until my cock is inside you.”
Hollander nodded, getting that beautiful, dazed look in his eyes. “So fuck me, come on, please. Or are you all talk?”
Ilya bit back a grin. “Ah, I show you. I make you come so hard you cry.”
“Yes, please.”
Ilya reached back, opening the draw of Hollander’s nightstand.
He froze. The condoms had been restocked.
Hollander hadn’t finished the condoms with him. Which meant there had been more people. Plenty more.
He tried to remember how many had been left last time he had been here. More than a handful.
The joy he had been feeling all day dissolved, and he just slumped.
“Rozanov? Rozanov, what’s wrong?”
Ilya laughed bitterly. He didn’t want to fuck anymore. He rolled completely off Hollander and to the other side of the bed. “You had to buy more condoms,” he said.
“I… yeah?” Hollander spoke carefully. “It’s not like I wouldn’t use them.”
“I know. Which means you did use them.”
“Rozanov… you knew this.” Hollander stared. “Don’t tell me you’re actually mad.”
“I’m not.” It was true, he wasn’t mad. It was worse - he felt hurt. “Was it- even when we were texting?”
“...A couple of times,” Hollander murmured.
Ilya nodded. “Thought I was keeping you busy enough,” he admitted.
“I know.” Hollander was starting to look concerned. “I also thought it was, like… a bit of a joke? Are you…?”
“I don’t fucking know.” Ilya ran a hand down his face in agony. “Is none of my business, I know. Don’t know why I fucking care.”
Hollander stared at him. “...Really? You have no idea?”
Ilya cursed in Russian under his breath. “I am sorry,” he said.
“Why?”
“This was supposed to be…” he gestured vaguely. “Nothing. Fun. I have ruined it.”
“By being jealous?”
“Da. Is not… not fun for me anymore, I’m sorry. I go now, enjoy your other men.” He started to get up, when Hollander grabbed his arm and pulled him back onto the bed forcefully.
“Are you seriously about to walk out of here instead of talking to me right now?”
Ilya’s mouth twisted grotesquely, and he stared at where Hollander’s hand was wrapped around his wrist. “Nothing to say,” he said shortly. “I cannot- cannot share you. I’m sorry. My own fault. So I should go."
Hollander’s grip tightened. “Hey, asshole,” he snapped. “Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want to share either?”
“I know, I was hypocrite."
“Just- Jesus fuck, Ilya, just tell me why you’re jealous!”
Ilya looked up uncertainly, meeting his eyes. “Ilya?” he asked, unsure.
Shane held his gaze. “Yeah.”
“Shane,” Ilya sighed, like saying the name took a weight off his shoulders. “Shane. Shane.”
“Ilya. Why are you jealous?”
“Because I- I want you,” Ilya admitted. “All of you, all the time.”
Finally, Shane smiled. “Yeah?”
“So much.”
“Will you… would you stop too?”
“I already did. I only ever thought about you anyway.” Ilya’s vision was starting to get blurry, and he blinked, keeping the tears at bay. “I am obsessed, I think.”
Shane laughed, and clambered fully on top of him until he was straddling Ilya’s lap. Ilya’s hands found his waist and he held him there, grounding himself.
“I like you, Shane,” he whispered. “I have stupid, schoolgirl crush, and it makes me act like stupid schoolgirl.”
“I like you too, asshole,” Shane whispered back, and then he cradled Ilya’s face and kissed him.