Chapter Text
His hands were fisted in sheets, breaths coming out as broken moans, eyes shut as he felt pleasure overtake every single atom in his body. A hand slid from kneading his ass, up his back, to the base of his neck, to his jet black hair, pulling and tugging until he was being lifted from the bed, flush up to a sweaty chest.
“F-Fuck Roz-Roza-” He managed to moan out, eyes shut in pleasure as he hung his head.
“Open your eyes Hollander,” His low voice rasped in his ear, Russian accent more prominent now that they were both revelling in moans. Ilya’s hand rested on his neck, two fingers grabbing Shane’s chin, forcing him to look at the mirror in front of them, “Look at us. Look at how fucking good you take me.”
“Shit, Rozanov,” Shane whined, eyes threatening to shut again, not wanting to see how absolutely wrecked he was, how he was red, how he wanted nothing more than for Ilya’s hand to close on his neck.
“You close your eyes, and I stop fucking you,” Ilya threatened, thrusting sharply, knowing that he hit Shane’s prostate by the long drawled out moan that garbled out of his mouth as Shane’s hand squeezed Ilya’s forearm.
Shane struggled to keep his eyes open, the pleasure overtaking every single cell in his body and he didn’t want it to stop. He put his hand on Ilya’s that was resting on his chest and dragged it up to his mouth, sucking down on a finger. He felt Ilya falter in his thrusts, moaning his last name into his ear as Shane stared at the picture perfect pornography that was them in the mirror.
“Are you-” Ilya said into his ear, his other hand on Shane’s cock, angry, hard and dribbling out precum.
Shane nodded vigorously, damned sure that drool was leaking out of his mouth as much as it was dribbling out of his hard cock. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way Ilya held him. His eyes were fixated on his big hands - one jerking his cock off, the other squeezing at his pecs that he seemed to love. Ilya kept his eyes on Shane’s right in the mirror, looking at the way that Shane was staring at him.
Ilya leaned down and bit at Shane’s earlobe, sucking it into his mouth, releasing it before whispering gruff and low, “Cum for me, Hollander.”
Shane let out a stuttered moan, spurts of cum staining Ilya’s hand, his sheets and his chest as Ilya rocked into him, chasing his own release, working Shane through his own orgasm.
“Rozanov,” Shane groaned out, leaning his head back against Ilya’s chest, fucking his own hips back into him, “Please.”
Ilya bit down on Shane’s shoulder, jackhammering his hips into Shane, faltering in his strokes as he came into the condom.
“Fuck, I’m filling you up,” Ilya groaned, sucking into Shane’s shoulder, careful not to leave a mark, but still indulging in a moment of what could have been.
They stayed like this - Shane flush against Ilya’s chest, with Ilya’s lips on his shoulder, his neck, his hair, while their chests heaved up and down. For a minute they pretended like this wasn’t an intimate act. For a minute, they pretended as though time was frozen and they still hated each other. For a minute they were just here, basking in the aftermath and the glow of sex.
Ilya placed a kiss on Shane’s shoulder as he slowly pulled out, kissing his skin again when Shane hissed out at the discomfort. Wordlessly, he got off the bed to get a washcloth, knowing how much Shane hated the feeling of dried cum on his skin. He moved to wipe the spunk off of Shane’s skin but Shane grabbed the cloth from his hands to do it himself.
“Can you reac-” Ilya asked.
“Yeah, yeah I can,” Shane said, avoiding his eyes, clearing his throat, wiping his ass with the warm cloth.
No matter how many times they fucked, this part was always the worst. The awkward silence and the stunted conversation, neither of them sure of how to manoeuvre.
To dissipate the awkwardness, Ilya reached over to his bedside and grabbed a lighter and a cigarette.
Shane glanced over at him and rolled his eyes, “You really shouldn’t be smoking.”
The end of the bud bloomed bright red as Ilya took a drag and slowly blew the smoke out, “You tell me this every time.”
“And you still don’t listen.” Shane said as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing ever so slightly.
Ilya grinned, “Are you sore?”
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Shane quipped.
“ I’m the one who fucked your asshole, yes?”
Shane grabbed the washcloth and chucked it at Ilya who caught it with a shit eating grin only to throw it to the side.
“I’m leaving.” Shane said as he grabbed his neatly folded clothes from the couch.
Ilya’s heart lurched uncomfortably, but he swallowed whatever reaction that was and simply waved, “See you when I see you.”
Ilya blamed the sudden cold draft and his broken breath on the fact that Shane had opened and shut the front door.
They didn’t kiss.
It was the first thing that Shane thought of when he walked out of the room. The first thing he thought of when he woke up, feeling heavier, feeling like there was a weight on his chest and rocks in his brain. The only thing he thought of since yesterday, and the only thing he could think of while skating on the ice, missing shot, after shot, after shot, after shot.
“What’s up with you today?” Hayden asked, squirting water into his mouth, leaned up against the railing.
Shane shook his head, the heaviness only weighing him down.
“Shane?” Hayden asked, tilting his head as he took him in.
“Just…an off day, I guess.” Shane responded, grabbing a gatorade, drinking it as an excuse to turn away and hopefully get out of this conversation.
Hayden regarded him for a second and put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m here if you need to talk, buddy.”
Shane turned and shot him a small smile before turning around and taking his time putting the bottle back, only so he could catch his breath.
We didn’t kiss
. His brain thought over and over, and over again.
“Hollander! Pike!” The coach called out.
“Coming, Coach.” Pike called out, slapping his hand on Shane’s shoulder, skating off, followed closely behind by Shane.
We didn’t kiss
The puck was dropped in the middle.
We didn’t kiss
His hockey stick thudded against the ice.
We didn’t kiss
He pulled back and hit the puck, missing the goal completely.
We didn’t kiss
He breathed out, hanging his head, unsure of what he was more disappointed by, but the cold seeped into his bones regardless.
Shane tied the towel around his waist as he walked out of the showers, jet black hair dripping against the tiles, shaking the water out of his hair as he reached for the smaller towel, ruffling it through the strands.
“Did you guys hear about Rozanov?” J.J. said, sat on the bench, scrolling through his phone.
Shane’s heart stuttered in his chest as he attempted to look nonchalant, hoping that his brain wasn’t screaming the words “We didn’t kiss.” loud enough for them to hear.
“What about him?” Shane said, beelining for his locker in an attempt to look busy.
“Apparently there was an issue with his visa and they might deport him back to Russia,” J.J read out, scrolling through the wall of text.
Shane tried to peek over his shoulder to read along, but he couldn’t understand the language.
“Wh-What about the work visa?” Shane said, clearing his throat so that his obvious panic wasn’t showing. Ilya couldn’t go back to Russia. Shane would never see him again. He would never feel his calloused hands on his skin, would never feel his hot breath against his ear, would never feel his lips on his ever again. That was unacceptable.
J.J. skimmed through the article, “They don’t say much here. Something about there being an issue with his work visa and the League can’t sort out their issues with the Immigration Department. Rozanov has a week to either get a visa, or else they’re going to deport him. I don’t think he’ll be allowed to come back.”
“Oh.” Was all Shane could manage, looking at his phone that had no new notifications, well, none that mattered anyway. None from the one person he wanted to hear from.
“We’re so going to win the Cup again, especially now that they’re getting rid of Rozanov.” A voice said from the showers followed by cheers.
Shane had to school his face, leaning into the locker to hide the way that he was biting down on his lip. He grabbed his phone, not bothering to change, opening up the thread of messages from Lily.
2312, 9pm.
Not today.
Heard about your issue, Lily. I have an idea.
“Jackie asked if you could come over for dinner today? She said she found a new salmon teriyaki bowl that fits your bird food diet,” Hayden asked, fully dressed on the bench, typing on his phone.
“I have plans tonight, but tell her I said thank you and I’ll take her up on it next time.” Shane told him, pulling a shirt on.
“Plans? On a school day?” Hayden asked, eyebrow cocking up.
“Homework,” Shane joked, slamming his locker shut, gathering his stuff up, “'I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Shane rushed out of the locker room, hiking his bag over his shoulder, head heavier that it’s ever been before, heart racing at the very thought that this might be his last ever meeting with Rozanov. He didn’t want it to be. He couldn’t allow it to be! There had to be something that he could do.
So, Shane did what he did best. The second he walked into his house, he laid his duffel bag down near the door and beelined straight for his room, grabbing his laptop and his headphones. He was going to research the hell out of immigration laws and work visas until he found a solution.
“Murder lane never gets less scary.”
“You’re from Russia.” Shane shot back, door opened as he stepped aside to let Ilya in.
“And that should tell you how scary it is out there.” Ilya said, taking in Shane’s tired, red rimmed eyes.
Shane rubbed at his eyes as they walked up the stairs to the loft.
“Are you okay?” Ilya asked as he sat down on the couch.
“Are you?” Shane asked, genuine and concerned, “I heard about…”
“Da.” Ilya said with a nod, reaching around the couch for a pillow as he put it on his chest, “They called me for a meeting today to tell me. I don’t know how it went to news quickly. But I have one week to get visa or leave.”
“I was researching about the laws and we could get you on a LMIA exempt visa since you’re of significant benefit to Canada,” Shane explained, going through the first point on his laptop.
Ilya shook his head, “My lawyer tried to argue that in the meeting. There is clause in my contract that won’t allow that.”
Shane frowned, “What about a supplementary contract with another work visa?”
Ilya shook his head again, “Not allowed to have 2 visas. Lawyer tried.”
“What about-”
“Hollander! We tried everything! The league said no! I have to leave.” Ilya said, chucking the pillow behind him, “There’s only one plan now and if anyone finds out then…”
“What is it?” Shane asked, swallowing harshly.
“I have a friend, her name is Svetlana. Her father is Sergei Vetrov, a former Hockey player. He was goalie. She’s Canadian citizen and if I marry her, I can get green card and stay here.” Ilya explained, leaning back against the couch.
Shane could feel his heart race in his chest, bile rising up in his throat that was closing up, making it hard for him to breathe, but nauseous all at the same time. He couldn’t catch his breath, eyes welling with tears he refused to shed.
“Svetlana is my very good friend, and we have fun-”
“Fun?” Shane managed to breathe out.
Ilya shrugged, “She’s fun. Sometimes we, how you say, hook up. But of course this marriage won’t be for love. It’s just for my citizenship so I can continue playing.”
Shane couldn’t breathe. His hands were fisted, knuckles white as he listened to Ilya.
“She would do this for me. I know she would.” Ilya said, “The press conference is tomorrow, and I came up with a cover story. I haven’t asked her yet but-”
“Don’t marry her.” Shane blurted out, his heart unable to contain itself anymore, “Don’t marry Svetlana.”
“Hollander, I need Citizenship to keep playing. I don’t have any other option.” Ilya told him.
“Marry me.”
”Hollander, you know I can’t do that.”
“We can-”
“We CAN’T!” Ilya screamed out, standing up on his feet, chest heaving up and down, once ocean blue eyes darkened with a storm that had only been brewing finally being let out.
Shane looked down at his fingers, twiddling them, heart feeling like it’s just been punched out of his chest, completely wrung out of any emotion that he had.
Ilya hung his head and took a breath, “This isn’t a fantasy world, Hollander. We can’t…It doesn’t work like that.”
“Because of your family?” Shane asked softly.
“Because of Russia! I wouldn’t be able to go home to Russia!” Ilya all but yelled, “And you! What about you? You are so scared of being seen talking to me and now you want to tell the world that we’re getting married? Have you thought about that for a second? Do you know what that would do to you? Are you even ready for this, Hollander?”
Shane didn’t think about it. He didn’t think about any of that. All he knew was that Ilya was going to get sent away, and he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t do anything to stop it. If it meant that he would need to come out to save him, then he would.
“I can’t let you get deported,” Was all Shane said, eyes watering as he twiddled with his thumbs, doing everything not to make eye contact with Ilya.
Ilya studied Shane, intently. He looked at the way that Shane’s eyes were welling with tears that he wouldn’t allow himself to shed. He looked at the laptop screen that was still bright, filled with pages and pages of notes that he was sure Shane researched. He studied the way that Shane was playing with his fingers.
He wanted nothing more than to kneel down and take Shane’s face in his hands, caress his cheek with his thumb, kiss away the tear that made it’s way down his freckles. He wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay.
But how could he? How could Ilya promise something that he didn’t know would be true? How could Ilya give him reassurance when he himself had no idea what was happening? How could Ilya make Shane sacrifice his entire life for him when all they were, all they were ever going to be, were whispers in the night and kisses in the dark.
They had never seen the sunrise together, and were barely a gaze away from sunset.
“The press conference is tomorrow,” Ilya said, wiping his palms down on his jeans, “I need to go prepare.”
“Roz-” Shane tried, but Ilya simply shook his head.
“Don’t.”
“Please…” Shane begged softly, “Please don’t marry her. I know it wouldn’t be for love but there’s another way. There’s always another way.”
“That way is you?” Ilya asked, “Do you even hear yourself, Hollander?! Do you realise what you’re going to go through if we get married? If we tell the league and the world that we’re getting married?”
Shane could hear something crack and he was sure that it was his heart. But how could he tell Ilya that? How could he possibly tell Ilya the reason that he didn’t want him to marry Svetlana. Would Ilya even believe him? Does Shane even believe himself?
Words weren’t coming to him. So he did the next best thing -
Shane surged forward, grabbing Ilya’s cheeks in his hands as he crashed their lips together, desperately, headily, pouring all of his need, his feelings that he couldn’t say in words into this kiss. His thumb brushed against Ilya’s mole, pulling him further into the kiss, feeling a tear track itself down his own cheek as Ilya held his waist. They moved in tandem, the way that they always did. He could feel urgency in this kiss. Could feel how Ilya pulled him closer, closer, closer, despite being chest to chest.
Ilya pulled away first and Shane chased his lips, but Ilya stepped away, and stared at the front door, a frown on his face.
“I have to go now, Hollander.”
“Roz-”
The front door opened and shut and all Shane could do was look at the brown door and hope that Ilya walked through it again.
The lights flashed over and over again, nearly blinding Ilya. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to this. There were too many voices screaming at him. Too many asking questions that he could barely catch, let alone have the answers to. He felt a bead of sweat trail from the back of his neck to his back, absorbing itself into his crisp white shirt. He’d never been happier that he was wearing a blazer.
“Hello. I am Ilya Rozanov.” He said into the many microphones in front of him, clearing his throat as he heard the high pitched feedback coming from being too close to the microphones.
“You might have heard the stories about me being sent back to Russia because of visa issue,” He continued, his throat feeling raw, heat flooding his cheeks as he attempted to school his composure hoping that it was going better than he felt that it was, “All this is true. But I am here today to tell you that I am not going back to Russia, and this is because…”
“So, what do you want to do?” Svetlana asked, lying down in bed, propped up on what seemed like a million pillows. If they were green, they would remind him of Shane’s bedroom.
Not that he was thinking of Shane, or his bedroom right now.
“You’re frowning,” Svetlana commented, “Must be serious.”
“They said I could get deported,” Ilya answered in Russian, holding his phone further away from his face, “That I could never play hockey for the NHL ever again, or even be able to come back to Canada.”
Svetlana’s eyebrows furrowed, “Why?”
“Something about contracts and the law. I don’t fucking know! They were speaking so fast and using such big ass English words that all I heard was that I can’t play and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He spat out, holding the phone tighter in his hand.
“Nothing at all?” Svetlana asked.
“There is one thing…but it’ll be a huge favour to ask,” Ilya trailed off.
“Tell me.”
“We could get married.” Ilya threw out there without a second thought. This was Svetlana. He didn’t have to be polished, or beat around the bush. They were best friends and he knew that if anyone would understand, it would be her.
She nodded in understanding, “Citizenship would be very easy to get if you’re married to someone like me. We could even craft up a story about meeting in Russia, and how when you came here, I was your only friend, which translated into spending lots of time together, and then love. We could be married for about 2 to 3 years, after which you would have gotten your citizenship and enough time would have lapsed where we could cite irreconcilable differences and divorce quietly and then you could move on with your life as a Canadian.”
Ilya couldn’t help but grin, that was the exact story he thought of on the ride to Shane’s house. His smile faltered, and he hoped that Svetlana didn’t catch it.
“What’s wrong?” She asked immediately, “We could go with another story if you’d like.”
“No. That’s not it,” He shook his head, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Tell me.” She insisted, lightening the mood as she said, “You can trust me with a secret. Once we’re married we have immunity, you know.”
“It’s complicated,” He brushed off.
She cocked her brow, deadpanning, “More complicated than asking me to marry you for citizenship so you can continue to play hockey without getting deported back to Russia?”
Ilya sighed, leaning back against his headboard, trying to avoid eye contact with Svetlana through his phone.
“What is it, Ilyusha? What’s bothering you? It can’t just be this. You already had a plan in mind, so what else is it?” She asked softly, gently.
“I..” He said, trailing off, not even knowing where to start, or what he was allowed to say.
“There’s someone else?” Svetlana said, more than she asked, tiptoeing closer, allowing Ilya to take the step, but just gently encouraging him the way that she knew that he needed.
“I don’t know.”
“Ilya…” She coaxed, “It’s okay. I’m here for you. We can figure this out together.”
“There’s someone else. I think.” He finally admitted out loud, “But I don’t think we can ever be together. Even though I think both of us want to be.”
“Why?” She asked.
“Because it wouldn’t be allowed. Either in Russia or the League…Although the League might consider it, and things might just change there. But definitely not in Russia.” Ilya said, sniffling. He looked away from the screen for a second to try and school his composure, but he didn’t think that it was working.
Svetlana kept the smile on her face, nodded as Ilya looked at her, almost wanting confirmation that she was still here, that she hadn’t left yet. She encouraged him to go on with nothing more than kind eyes and the fact that she hadn’t run away yet.
“He’s special to me,” Ilya admitted in nothing more than a whisper, bracing himself for the backlash that he was sure he was going to get.
“Does he know that?” Svetlana asked him softly.
“I don’t know.” Ilya admitted, “I…I want to think that he does.”
“You’re special too, Ilya. You know that, right?” Svetlana told him, let the words form physically in front of him, falling down in the palm of his hands until he saw physical proof of it. He let the warm words wrap around him like a blanket, hugging him tight.
Ilya looked away, unable to handle the intensity of the compliment. He wasn’t used to anything that wasn’t sharp words thrown like a javelin, meant to hurt and bleed his confidence until he was nothing more than a shell; a vessel to be used and abused.
“Tell me about him! What is he like? Who is he?”
Ilya hesitated for a second, “He umm…he asked me to marry him too. For citizenship.”
“You want more than that, don’t you?” Svetlana said, her smile only growing.
Ilya paused, but nodded, slowly, as though speaking it out loud would only make it come true, and he wasn’t sure that he was ready for that.
“Choosing between what might be love, and your country is hard.” Svetlana spoke his fears out loud, “But in the end, what would give you the most joy in life? Love? Or whatever is left in Russia?”
“All this is true. But I am here today to tell you that I am not going back to Russia, and this is because…” Ilya said, swallowing, trying to maintain his composure as he looked into the camera, leaning into the microphone as he made his decision, “I’m getting married to Shane Hollander.”
The entire room went silent as the words sunk in. Within a split second, the flashes of the camera only increased, as did the volume in the room as every single reporter only screamed questions at the top of their lungs, dying to get more of the story.
Ilya nodded at them once and stood up with a scrape of their chair. Before walking off, he leaned down to the microphone.
“My love life is none of your business, and honestly, I would have kept this secret a lot longer if I had the choice to. This is not a ploy to get citizenship, but something that the immigration offices have forced me to do. Congratulations. You outed two people who never wanted to get out of the closet.” He looked directly at the cameras as he said, “I’ll see you when I win the Stanley Cup for the second year in a row.”
Shane leaned against the counter as he watched his salmon bowl go round and round in the microwave. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ilya and the press conference that was probably still going on right now. He couldn’t bear to watch it. How could he? His heart was breaking just thinking about Ilya stood at the altar in a nice suit, eyes bright as the skies above him, grin just as big as he took Svetlana’s hands in his and promised to live happily ever after together.
Sure, all of this might just be for show, but Shane didn’t have to watch it. He didn’t have to hear his heart breaking in time with the wedding bells.
There was a knock on the door, followed by the ringing of the doorbell, and then another knock.
“I’m coming! Jesus! Calm down!” Shane yelled at the door, brisk walking to it, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat.
He swung the door opened to a dishevelled Ilya who was standing there, eyes wild and darkened as he looked at Shane.
“So,” Ilya said, “What now, Husband?”