Chapter Text
Shane finds himself, like most times in this very loud and anarchic locker room, the voice of absolute and apparent reason.
"No." He says, blunt and final.
Bood looks at him like he shot his sister. "But, Hollzy—"
"But whatever," he groans, actually in disbelief that he has to have this conversation. "No fucking line dancing for cellies. Are you guys crazy?"
Just to prove his point, Dykstra throws his hands in the air. "But we practiced!"
"You can't even execute that on the ice!" Shane says despairingly.
(Two days ago, after practice ended and they were all lulling in the locker room, Hayden was watching videos on his Instagram. Marly, who was actively participating in that activity, had yipped and shook Hayden's shoulders as he flicked a video away.
"Go back, go back!"
"Dude!" Hayden shoved at his shoulder but scrolled back anyway.
It was a video of a football team after winning a game. After the player crossed the goal line, he threw the ball to the ground, two of his teammates bumping his chest, and they start dancing, until not even a second later, the whole team appears out of nowhere and joins them.
A stretcher with an injured player goes through them. They don't stop. A player pulls the ref into the fray. They're spinning and going under each others' arms and showboating so hard, it can only be sad watching the other team hang their heads low as they walk in front of the spectacle.
Marly's eyes are wide, and in that moment, one of Shane's greatest headaches began.
"We need to do that."
"Do what?" Wyatt had asked from across the room.
Shane was blissfully unaware of the mess happening as he scrubbed himself down in the shower.
He had seen the video though. After walking in to more than half of his team suddenly linking arms and dancing around each other, he frightfully asked what was going on.)
It was non-negotiable. It was damn stupid. You can't just do whatever they did with skates on. That was an accident waiting to happen!
A whine from Young. Another complaint from Bood. An expletive from Marly. Nick just scowls. Shane sets his eyes on Hayden and glares, dares him to join this circus.
Hayden, who is admittedly his best friend and isn't afraid to make him even more irritated than he already is, pouts. "We did practice it…"
Shane doesn't even know when these guys spare their schedules to practice this stupid group celly when they can't even show up to breakfast on time. "You guys are unbelievable!"
"Now, now," Ilya calls to the room, walking in from the shower, hair still dripping wet. Shane can see the dark spots from where the droplets landed on his shirt. The idiot hasn't even dried off completely, the wet of his body making his shirt stick. He wants to take a towel and smother him. "Do not stress Hollander out. Is bad for baby."
Luca makes a confused sound from where he's lacing up his sneakers. The angel that he is, he spares Shane the irritation of not joining whatever nonsense the rest of the guys are cooking up. "Huh? What baby?"
"Him," he goes to his cubby, starts messing around with his bag, his back to the room. "Hollander is baby."
"Rozanov." Shane is at the end of his rope. This entire team can burn to the ground for all he cares.
"What? What I say?" Ilya turns to him with one of those smiles that aim to disarm. Unfortunately, they work too well on Shane, and it makes the stiffness of his shoulders relax even the smallest bit. "I state fact. You are sensitive, and you cry easy. Baby."
Before Shane can give Ilya his own verbal dressing, a blue bottle is thrusted in his direction, and he deflates with a grumble, the fight leaving his body.
"Thank you." He mumbles. For a long while, Ilya has been giving him his favorite electrolytes after they hit the rink. It's been an ongoing thing, one Shane can't even remember when started, but he can't help but feel anything less than grateful that Ilya has never forgotten to do it. Not even once.
The self-satisfied look the alpha has can probably power a generator, but Shane chooses to avert his eyes by twisting the cap open. He refuses to acknowledge when Ilya's ego inflates. It's horrible for everyone involved.
"Is that what that is?" Marly, the fucking asshole, chirps. "Baby needs bottle too?"
Ilya rounds on him like he personally checked him into the boards, his mood shifting so rapidly the air changes with it. "Do not call him that. I will kill you."
"What?" Marly sputters, beyond confused.
Shane pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly very overstimulated and very annoyed.
One day. He would like one day of peace.
Like always, Ilya chooses to walk him to his next class. Shane doesn't know why he does this. The kinesiology building is on the other side of campus from engineering, and it takes a significantly long time to walk end-to-end.
"Is no time at all," Ilya had waved him off once when he asked maybe a few months ago. "Maybe few minutes, I don't count."
Shane seriously doubted it, but he didn't ask again. It was like trying to negotiate with a brick wall. Ilya Rozanov does what he wants, and you can't really convince him otherwise.
Shane doesn't complain though. It's nice. Ilya chooses not to wear adhesive scent blockers, foregoing those for the icky lotion kind that wears off after five hours. After hours in the rink, Ilya's deep amber-musk scent is free to the world, and in these moments where they take their time walking to their classes, Shane finds himself oddly settled breathing it in with the midday air.
"So, why did coach tell me to tell you not to harass the freshmen again?" The side-eye he gives Ilya is innocent enough not to be condemning, but its obviously a warning in its own right. Ilya laughs nervously.
"I did not harass them. I treated them to lunch!"
Shane can see through his bullshit easily. "And what does that mean, Ilya?"
"Bah!" Ilya acquiesces without much of a fight. "So what, I made them break into vending machine. It stole my dollar!"
"You made them what?" An incredulous laugh bubbles out of his throat.
"Shitty vending machine outside library stole my dollar. Pointe dismantled the back, and Luca dug for my change. Very brave, you know? It was three PM."
"Ilya, you can't just ask the kids to do that." It may have been admonishing, but he can't help how amused he sounds. "What if they get in trouble?"
"Hey, they offer first. I took it." He shrugs easily, grinning. "And we get many of the chips and fifty dollars in exchange. Not bad, no?"
"That sounds like stealing. You're telling me you just stole food and money."
"And you will report?" Shane doesn't do anything but roll his eyes. Ilya grins, smug. "See? Didn't think so."
JJ has actively done worse, has done things Shane couldn't believe right in front of him.
"You shouldn't be encouraging this," Shane says, trying to keep the act up. He's strict when he wants to be. Nevertheless, he looks at Ilya with a smile. It's mirrored back. "You're their captain."
"They had fun. Pointe says he will never go hungry again." Ilya pulls out his phone then, swipes to his gallery to show him the video of LaPointe and Luca surrounding the vending machine from both sides. It tips over the smallest bit, and Shane feels his heart palpitate. "Is the most fun they had this week, they said!"
"Never record the evidence, you fucking moron." He can't help the fondness laced in his voice. Ilya was the most ridiculous man he's ever met. "You should delete that."
"I send first to the boys. I think they will find this funny."
Shane laughs as Ilya does as he says with no hesitation. "That's even worse, Ilya!"
"No, no, see," a quick flash of his phone, and Shane sees their team group chat immediately exploding. "They're laughing. Pike says, 'Shane is gonna get so mad at you,' but you are not mad."
They reach the stairway to the building, and they stop in front of it, Shane turning to cross his arms and question, "And how are so sure of that?"
Ilya pockets his phone but doesn't look away. "Pretty smile told me. You are not mad at me. I am right?"
"Am I right," Shane corrects offhandedly, his cheeks hurting. "Just don't do it again."
"You're boss," he shrugs. "No more vending machine. We steal from ca-fé next time."
"Rose works there. She'll murder you herself."
"Is little sacrifice. The small breads are very delicious." Ilya takes a step back and nods to the door. "Bye bye, Shane."
Shane can never get used to hearing him say his name in his accent. They've known each other for three years, but it's only been a little less than a year since he went from being just Hollander to Shane. It makes his ears feel warm.
"Bye," he says, voice small. "You have calculus homework due later by the way."
"Fuck," Ilya straightens, face wrought with sudden urgency. "I go now. See you dinner."
Shane waves at his retreating back, laughing when Ilya stumbles into a big group of freshmen. He can vaguely hear his broken apology as he races towards his building.
Shane has always loved hanging out with his friends back at their team housing. Not only was it semi-private (sans any of the team walking into the living room to get to the kitchen), but it was one of the spots where he can actively feel comfortable without the constant looming anxiety of uncertainty. Clothes strewn around shared spaces doesn't even bother him anymore because he knows every perpetrator responsible and throws it back in each respective room.
Rose is currently lamenting about the drama going on in her theater group while he, Hayden, and Jackie appropriately nod, hum, and gasp at every beat. Shane winces when she brings up a stabbing via six-inch stiletto that happened because of some understudy.
"Did it go in?" Hayden asks.
Jackie, resting against his shoulder, smacks him. "That is so gross to say!"
Rose grimly nods. "It was a bloodbath. Nila lost the part for that."
Shane only manages a disturbed, "Eugh…"
They move on pretty quickly from that. The lull of the late afternoon makes them melt into the couch as they jump from topic to topic—Jackie's med bio lecture with the crazy professor, Hayden's knee sprain, the mystery of whoever threw the toilet paper at the other school's mascot during the basketball game.
"It has to be that girl dating their forward." Jackie waves her hand. "She's known for stuff like that."
"Huh? Their forward? Jay Mackey?" Hayden's face pinches like he's confused. "I thought he had a boyfriend?"
"I told you this! They broke up, remember?"
"Well," Shane laughs. "Obviously he didn't. Hayd, even I know this."
They all ignore Hayden's offended 'Hey!' "It was pretty sucky. That guy was super hot too." Rose sighed, leaning her head against the back of the couch. "They were both alphas, right?"
The girls lean froward conspiratorially. Jackie nods. "Yeah, I think so. I think Jay likes alphas, but the other guy was fluid. What was his name?"
Noncommittally, Shane hums. "Philippe, I think. He's in my physiology class."
Rose and Jackie swing their head at him, and he immediately feels put out seeing their eyes widen. "You're classmates with him?"
He blinks. "Yes?"
If he didn't know Rose so well, he would've thought nothing of her growing smile. It looked innocent enough, but Shane knew what that look meant.
"Rose," he groans. "No."
"Do you think he's hot?" She wiggles her eyebrows.
"I mean, he's alright, but," Rose doesn't stop doing that thing. He would shove her off the couch if she were any other person. "Not like that!"
"Why not!" Jackie completely turns her back to Hayden, a spark in her eye gleaming with the same kind of excitement Rose has. "You've been single for forever! He would so go for you."
Shane balks. This isn't the first time they've tried to push him towards a relationship, but it still makes the same kind of embarrassment curl in his gut.
Hayden coughs awkwardly behind Jackie. "Uh, Jackie—"
"He's fit as hell too. I think you'd be cute together—"
"Jackie—"
Shane tries to divert, sweating. "I don't think he'd even see me like that,"
"Nonsense! You're Shane Hollander. I know several people who would want to get into your pants!"
"Really?" He says, disbelieving.
In that moment, the familiar smell of amber and musk touches his nose but its acrid and burnt at the edges. It's almost unpleasant.
He turns his head, and he sees Ilya and Bood at the kitchen island with a litany of chopped vegetables and meat sprawled on the counter. Bood is hesitantly backed up as Ilya has his knife gripped enough for the veins in his arm to bulge. Shane belatedly remembers it was their turn to cook dinner.
"Uh, cap," Bood tries to broach. "Let's chill, aye?"
Shane hears Ilya grumble, something maybe along the lines of 'I chill when I am dead'. A wave of worry overtakes him, so he calls out, "Everything alright there?"
Bood waves him off hurriedly. "I mixed canned and non-canned! Nothing wrong here!"
A rough sound punches out of Ilya's chest. "Yes. Idiot Bood. Mushrooms do not go near raw beef."
In his periphery, he sees Hayden sink into the sofa with an exhausted look on his face, his hand going over his eyes. "Roz, for the love of God, stop stinking up the place!"
"Shut up, Pike." Ilya growls.
Jackie and Rose give each other indecipherable looks, and it kind of freaks Shane out that they can talk to each other without actually talking to each other. Afterward, Rose turns to give him a contemplating glance while Jackie crashes into Hayden, whispering violently into his ear.
No matter how confused Shane is, everything settles eventually. The girls miraculously drop the entire conversation without a callback or complaint, and the tension instantly leaves the room once Ilya gets his scent back to normal. They turn the topic of conversation completely around and start talking about a recent date Jackie and Hayden had at a new Japanese restaurant near campus.
As Hayden drones on about the sushi, Shane can't help the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. He checks back to the kitchen, aiming to find one thing.
Their eyes meet. Ilya's already looking at him.
He tilts his head minutely. Are you really alright?
Ilya's face finally breaks into a small smile. A short, singular nod. Yes, do not worry.
They win their next game in overtime. While they savor the immensely gratifying feeling of clutching the win, Shane knows they could have done it within regulation time.
He beats himself up for it as they head into the visitor's locker room. It was an away game in Kingston, and he could not be more irritated with himself. He fumbled his shot in third period, repeating it once more minutes later without success either. Both times bounced against the net, opening up a play for their opponents. The memory of that failure leaves a sting in his gut that turns into a sick kind of embarrassment-slash-dissapointment. It was a miracle he managed a groundbreaking assist that landed Troy a snapshot that won them the game three-to-two.
He's so tired. He desperately needs to go home and dig himself into his nest. Preferably until he kicks the rolling discomfort in his stomach to the curb and sleeps for a solid eight hours.
The change, shower, and walk back to the bus is spent in mild detachment. He welcomes claps on his shoulder with a tight smile and a high-five from JJ with just his muscle memory. It's not until he's already mindlessly making his way to where he and Hayden were sitting on the way to the venue when he's steered by a hand on his back to face the other aisle entirely.
He blinks.
"Sit," Ilya says evenly, waving towards the pair of seats both he and Luca shared beforehand. "Or do you want inside seat?"
It takes a moment for him to reply. "But, Hayden… Luca…?" Shane mumbles, looking to where the man was only to see him in soft conversation with the freshman beside him.
"Told Pike you switch. Sit with me?"
Shane absorbs this slowly, feeling the request move like molasses in his ears, but he nods shortly afterwards. "Then, you can go first then."
Ilya slides into the window seat, and then looks at him expectantly, patting the chair down next to him. "Come on. We go home now."
It's the most relieving thing he's heard all day.
Shane drops down heavily, slumping into the backrest until he feels his spine crack in protest.
"I could've scored that." He says after a long moment of silence.
Ilya doesn't need to ask what he's talking about. "Mm," he hums. "You could have, yes."
"I could have scored that. Twice."
Ilya nods. "But you didn't."
Shane wants his nest so bad. He chokes out, "I didn't."
"Hey," a hand creeps into his view, open and waiting. Just there, unmoving. "Come here. Stew with me."
Shane doesn't know what that means, but he can take the hint. He timidly lands his hand on top of Ilya's, and the alpha gently pulls him in until their arms solidly touch and his head is rested on the peak of his shoulder.
"How is your feeling?" Ilya says, or more accurately, rumbles.
It makes Shane's eyes flutter, soothing the nerves in his chest. "How do you feel." He corrects softly.
"Okay." The way he says it is always the same. Oh-key. "How do you feel?"
Shane can't be anything but honest. "Disappointed. Irritated. A little annoyed, honestly." He sighs, breathes back in so heavily that it leavens his chest, before he lets it back out again. "Tired."
"Yes." Their fingers intertwine. Shane doesn't have the energy to pull away. "Tired means you played good game."
"What if we lost?" He says, almost under his breath.
Ilya leans his head against his. It's oddly comforting, like the feeling of a weighted blanket. "Doesn't matter. Good game anyway. You play good hockey even if we lose. You don't score? Fine. Everyone does not put the puck in the net all the time. You are not special."
"Gee," Shane chuckles. With an absurd statement like that, he doesn't know why it makes him feel better. "You really know how to make a guy feel special though, you know that?"
Ilya hums, amused. "My charm and broken English have enraptured you, yes?" He smells so nice right there and then, all deep and comforting. Shane can't help but turn his face over a little to touch his nose to Ilya's body.
"Asshole," he says, but the heat he tries to imbue is replaced with warmth. "You're English is fine. You're a lot better now."
When he and Ilya were freshmen, he couldn't speak one full sentence without a grammatical error that would make an old grade school teacher screech. That didn't mean he didn't have the confidence though. It always made Shane laugh whenever the most unintelligible sentence ever constructed left Ilya's mouth in the middle of a game or practice.
Now though, it's little things here and there. Ilya once told him he appreciated whenever Shane corrected his small slip-ups, and it's honestly something that didn't even come to mind anymore. Shane's been doing it since they've met.
"You helped many times." Ilya sighs dramatically. "Mr. English Professor."
"Shut the fuck up." Shane retorts as a yawn breaks through his face. He uses his unclaimed hand to cover his mouth, nesting it into the crook of his body after to get comfortable.
"Sleepy?"
Shane nods. "When we get home, I'm going straight to my nest." He mumbles, eyes already closed. "I need at least eight hours of sleep tonight."
Ilya traces small circles on his hand with his thumb. "You eat something first. I think JJ made, uh, the fried… tri-angles…?"
Shane laughs sleepily. Straight up giggles even. "Rangoons."
"Yes, those." Shane feels his thoughts start drifting and his eyelids getting heavier. "JJ used the air fry, so you do not need to worry over oil."
He hums in reply. "Okay, I'll eat."
Ilya squeezes his hand. Shane feels the lightest brush of fingers brush through his fringe. "Okay. Good." He whispers, followed shortly by a short string of Russian.
Spi spokoyno, kotenok.
Shane falls asleep.
It's November, so the weather hasn't been very kind to them. It's been freezing cold for the past few months, but that morning has really taken the cake for unbearable. Morning practice was alright, but the before and after the rink was another story.
Shane came in bundled in three layers, and was about to leave in one. Someone spilled their water bottle onto the floor after practice, and his luck could only do him a favor as he watched both his shirt and his thick cotton jumper fall into the spill.
"Fuck," he almost whines, unfolding his clothes to see big wet spots on both of their sides. "Great…"
"Who fucking spilled that without wiping it down?" Troy calls to the room. An uproar arises as they all blame Marly, Wyatt making a particular loud remark about the suspiciousness of his mostly empty bottle. They dog pile him. "Shane, you don't have extra?"
"No, it's okay. I'll probably head home first before I get to class then." He sighs as he packs his wet clothes into his bag, moving aside his electrolytes. If he was fast enough, maybe he'd be less than ten minutes late. The apartment was an eight-ish minute walk away, six if he sprinted.
Behind him, he hears Ilya scoff. "Even for Canadian like you, the temperature will be no match. You are going to freeze to death before we play the Oaks."
Irritated, Shane flips him off. "Fuck you. What do you want me to do about it?"
Ilya throws something at his face. He sputters, offended beyond belief. "Ilya! You're such a fucking ass—!"
Shane freezes, stares down at the discarded cloth in his hands. It's Ilya's team sweater, the big ROZANOV and 81 plastered on the back.
"Huh?" He genuinely verbalizes.
Ilya isn't facing him when Shane looks up at him. "What 'huh'? You want shirt too?"
Shane chokes on his confusion. "What? Wait, no. I don't need—"
Ilya already has a folded black shirt outstretched in his hand. "It's cold, Hollander. Take it."
"It's really okay—"
"Shane." Ilya says, no space for negotiation. "You will be late to class. You will hate that."
Shane purses his lips as he hesitantly reaches out for it. Ilya's got a point. If he was late, he would've stewed in it for half an hour. "What about you?"
"Worried?" He asks, teasing. Before Shane can retort with a dismissal already armed on his tongue, Ilya unpacks another set of clothes from his bag. "I had another. Do not perspire over it."
"Sweat it," Shane says. "And, you're sure?"
Ilya shoos him away. "Go on now, Hollander."
Shane makes do and occupies himself by pulling the shirt over his head. It's a looser fit with a wider collar, but the length is okay even if it usually isn't what he would go for. It goes to just below the crease of his thigh. What more though is the outpouring of Ilya's smell surrounding him so suddenly, it makes him lightheaded. It surprises Shane that he doesn't hate it. Not at all.
Unbeknownst to him, he whispers a little fragile, "Oh," at the realization.
It takes him a moment to compose himself, but when he does, he goes back to mindlessly rifling through his bag, checking his things. He fiddles with the sweater placed in front of him. Was it just him or was the locker room suspiciously quieter than normal?
"We go now?" Ilya asks gently, already fitted in a zip-up with his own bag hanging off his shoulder.
"Ah, yeah. One sec," He quickly throws the sweater on, trying to push aside the warmth of Ilya's scent from his hindbrain. It's big on him. He has to pull back the sleeves to his wrists so it doesn't impede his fingers. "Good?"
"Good," Ilya uncharacteristically whispers, almost breathing the word out instead of saying it. It makes something twinge in Shane's chest. His ears suddenly burn. "Let's go."
When they leave together, he thinks he distantly hears Marly go, "Oh! I get it now!" It's followed by the undeniable raucous sound of a collective groan.
Shane returns Ilya's clothes when the day ends, washed, folded neatly, and placed on his bed while he's out doing errands.
They end up in front of Shane's door the next morning.
Shane, subtly, brings it to his nose after making sure nobody is around.
It still smells like him.
Shane doesn't do parties. Sky is blue, birds fly, and Shane doesn't party. It's a fact of life.
It's a wondrous thing then that Rose has managed to divert such a fact two years into their friendship.
"I'm not fucking dancing." Shane tell her. More accurately, he shouts over the music because it's loud and crowded and so fucking loud.
"Aww," She whines. "Please! We've never been to a party together!"
"Rose, I don't go to parties."
He begrudgingly allowed her to dress him, only sighed when she pulled out her makeup kit, closed his eyes when she pulled him into the first club they saw the moment they got dropped by the Uber.
But dancing? He's not even drunk yet.
"Shane, I did not make you look so yummy and scrumptious for you to just sit around." Rose has a shot of something in her hand. Shane doesn't even know where it came from, doesn't know what it is. "Be pretty some place else. Right now, you're hot!"
The blush that overtakes his face brightens the blush Rose put there. Under the dark and stroking lights, it softens his cheeks, highlights the glitter under his eye, the dark smudge of eyeliner around his lashes.
"You're insane." He grumbles. The wide-eyed, puppy look Rose is giving him hits him straight in the gut, and he can only be so strong for so long. "Fuck. Damn, fine! Let me get a drink first at least."
Rose whoops, loud and excited. "I fucking love you, Shane Hollander! Here," she hands him the shot glass she was previously holding. "I knicked that from a couple of girls. Maybe if we use our wiles, they'll give us more free drinks!"
She's crazy, Shane thinks as he's dragged along the floor of gyrating and thumping bodies.
Shane ends up downing four shots of Vodka Citron, plus the one Rose had gave him. Two women in cocktail dresses, the one in black a beta, the one in silver an omega, cheer him on while another one wearing the shortest skirt he has ever seen records him as he tips the last of it in his mouth. He smacks it down and winces as it runs down his throat like lava and swirls unpleasantly in his belly. It was terrible.
Rose screams at him.
"Are you drunk enough to dance yet?!"
"Girl, I am!" One of the girls giggles, taking Rose's outstretched hand, and they twirl and spin each other around. Shane is eighty-percent sure they all told him their names, but for the life of him, the music and the alcohol have swept those memories away.
Rose pulls the other girls into a half-sway-half-body wave quadfecta, and for some reason, it has Shane laughing from the side like he can't help himself.
The girl in the short skirt shrieks as the song changes. "Fucking get in here!" And then he's pulled in with two sets of arms, and the rest of it is, frankly, a blur.
Time passes, the beat changes multiple times, and the faces he sees shift from one to another. Shane is pretty sure he's drunk drunk for real after taking sips from his somehow never-empty glass throughout the night.
Their group of five is suddenly nine, and it kind of overwhelms him. He doesn't know how they've merged with the table two rows away, but he stops thinking about it pretty fast.
After the lights shift from dark purple to a stark yellow and the crowd shifts a little in exhaustion, he's suddenly overcome with the need to talk to his teammates.
He pulls out his phone, already vibrating nonstop. It almost slips out of his hands as he unlocks the screen.
Sigma Status 😈😈🔥 MARCUS YOUNG STOP CHANGING THE CHAT NAME no
Fri 01:39
Hazy
Has anyone seen Hollzy?? I was gonna ask him if he had my nutrition text book
Cant find it
Marly
Noooope
Chouinard
Huh? He's not home?
Young
??????
Are we deadass??
Chouinard
What the fuck does dead ass mean.
Hazy
No! I knocked on his room, but he wasn't answering!! Are you telling me he's just gone!!!!
Haas
can we check on him?? he just might be in his room right, what if smth happened?
Bood
Did you text him
Ill text him
Hazy
I did!
LaPointe
LUCA HAAS YOU CANT JUST GO INTO AN OMEGA'S NEST
WHAT DID YOUR MOTHER TEACH YOU BRO
Haas
oh! mb…
Bood
He's not picking up…
Chouinard
That means his phone is on though.
Barrett
I think he left
Hazy
WHAT!
Chouinard
No fucking way.
Bood
Barrett do you know what time it is right now
Young
Bffr… Hollzy is scared of the night
LaPointe
Where tho?
Barrett
Dude fuck if I know
Marly
You know what boys
We gotta storm the nest
Roz
marleau.
you have rocks for brains?
is that what it is? fucking rocks?
do NOT fucking do this
you dont worry about hollander, u make sure u sleep with one eye open
he is in rose landry's apartment
like any other time he is not at home.
cannot believe this from u hayes, are u not perceptive one among us all
be ashamed
Hazy
Oh right…
Marly
Shit I was just kidding Roz
Roz
what is the term young said before
kys
Young
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
LaPointe
:o
LaPointe
:O
Bood
OK but why isnt he picking up his phone
Chouinard
Yeah I'm concerned about that too.
Haas
maybe he's already asleep? it is 1 am rn
Roz
you do not disturb him during these times
he can barely relax on normal day
Bood
Damn Ill text him an apology
Hazy
WAIT HES HERE
HOLZZY I NEED MY INTRO TO NUTRITION SCIENCE PLEASE
PLEASE
🙏
Chouinard
Why are you still awake?
Me
Mm i dont know
Book is on my dsek
You cn go in my room Hazy its oky
Chouinard
Whoa.
Hollzy… Are you…
Bood
ARE YOU DRUNK?
Young
DUDE
Barrett
Wtf
Like actually?
Hazy
Oh my god
Haas
is he okay 😭😭
Marly
HOLY SHIT!!!! HO. LY. SHIT.
Roz
hollander where are you
LaPointe
This CANNOT BE Shane Hollander
Me
Whyy not ?
??
A little
A little drunk
Yea
Roz
call me
Bood
I am so worried but so stoked
Hollzy how are you man
Chouinard
Have you ever even been drunk before?
Marly
I second this question
Hazy
I am not going into your room like this Ill just wait until tomorrow
Seriously tho
Are you alright?
Hayd
SHANE HOLLANDER WHAT ARE YOU DOING 😭
Young
Hes being drunk
Barrett
We got Mr Genius over here
LaPointe
Hes with Rose Landry right now isn't he??
Roz
shane call me
Haas
uhh
Bood
Whats wrong?
Haas
am i the only one besides hollzy and hayden that follow rose landry on instagram
Young
Why do you follow Rose Landry on Instagram Haas
,';)
Haas
bro stfu
Chouinard
Why? Why does that matter?
Hayd
HES IN A FUCKING CLUB WITH HER THATS WHAT 😭
Hazy
WHAT?
Shane winces as a picture loads on the screen. It's from Luca. It's a picture of him and Rose posed in front of a mirror. Rose is hanging off his shoulder, gaze on her phone, but Shane is looking into the mirror, his eyes half-closed and shiny. If he looks harder, he can see a bit of his tongue in-between his lips. He floats through his memories and vaguely remembers taking that picture while Rose was dragging him through the room, both of them tipsy.
Me
Oh
Thats me
:)
Bood
OH MY GOD
Marly
Okay……..
Is it crazy that I feel kind of scared? Just me?
Barrett
God damn
Young
Holy
LaPointe
Shit
Holy Shit
Chouinard
I had to avert my fucking eyes.
Hollander, what are YOU DOING?
Roz
pike.
where is he.
tell me now
Hayd
I DONT KNOW MAN
There's no location tag
Hazy
Hollander if you're reading this
Blink twice if you want to go home
Shane blinks twice. Nothing really changes.
Wyatt's right though. Shane really wants to go home. The bass is starting to get to his head, and not in a good way.
Me
I bliked
What now
Hayd
Now you find out where the hell you are dude
I'll get you
Roz
no
i will get him
hollander text me ur location
Hayd
Really Roz? You gotta do this shit now?
Roz
do what shit? i am sweating so much im drowning pike
i have never felt fear as visceral as this moment
Barrett
Shit, big word for Rozanov
Shane is gonna get crushed when he finds out he wasn't sober for this
Hazy
Ill join you cap
Let me get my socks on
Chouinard
Fuck.
Okay, wait.
Let me get the keys.
Marly
As much as I would like to join you guys on this little rescue mission
How the fuck are we gonna fit in the car
Bood
Nick has a fucking 12 seater for this exact reason shithead
Marly
Oh right
Alright wait for me
Chouinard
Let me get the other keys then.
I was going to use your car, Boodram.
Bood
What?
What the fuck? You weren't gonna say anything?
Chouinard
No?
Roz
can you slow motherfucking turtles go garage now
i will fucking walk and i will get to hollander before you finish ur fucking yapping
LaPointe
Can we come too
Bood
Fuck it team bonding I guess
@everyone Who is awake at this very moment, we are going to save Hollander from the clutches of evil (the club)
Come to the garage if you want to join
Young
Can we get Harveys on the way back
LaPointe
I'm pretty sure its closed
It's almost 2
Young
I can settle for McDonalds
Haas
are you sure we can actually fit tho? i dont think we've actually used the van for something like this
Roz
why pike is only one here
what part of go to the fucking garage you assholes do not understand
i will leave right now
Rose leans heavily into his side, sluggishly maneuvering her head so she can see his screen. "Ooh, is that your boyfriend?"
Shane laughs, but he isn't sure why. "I don't have a boyfriend." He tilts the screen and giggles, head suddenly light. "I think my teammates are gonna come get me."
"Teammates…" She whispers to herself, until she jumps suddenly and pokes him in the face. "So your boyfriend is going to be here too!"
"Why do you keep saying that?" Shane murmurs, suddenly dizzy. "I think I need to tell them where we are now…"
"That's fair. I got the most out of you tonight. I'm so glad." Suddenly, he's pulled into a hug so fierce, it stabs him in the ribs. He wheezes, but Rose only hugs him harder. "I love you, Shaney."
"Drunk," he replies. At her pout, he pulls her into a one-armed hug. "Okay, love you too."
"Okay," she breathes in once. Twice. Thrice. "Okay! Are you leaving now?"
"Mm, I think so. I don't know the name of where we are."
"Me… neither. Want me to join you?" She shouts as the music ramps up again.
While it has been fun to hang out with Rose, the need to be alone first overtakes him. The air outside is calling his name. He shakes his head.
"I'll figure it out." He hugs her again. "Tell me when you get home later."
Shane meanders through the crowd after Rose lets him go with a promise to see each other soon. It's a little disorienting having to navigate through the mess of bodies alone, but his head has cleared up a little after his last shot.
Just as he's reached the door, his phone vibrates and Roz flashes through the screen.
The picture accompanying the call was of Ilya during his most recent birthday. They brought a dog in—which Shane remembers was Hazy's sister's—just for him right after practice, and he had been obsessed. Him and the puppy look at Shane now with sparkling eyes. Ilya was dressed down to his compression shirt with his bottom gear still on, the puppy in his grasp in the cup of his big, pretty hands. Shane remembers taking the picture because Ilya had begged for him to, was one of the first things he said the moment saw the dog in Hazy's arms. 'Shane! Shane! Please, need picture with shchenok or else I die right now'.
He was so upset when the puppy had to leave. Hazy had to ask the rest of the team to hold him down, so he could escape in peace.
Shane laughs to himself at the memory, staring at the smile Ilya has frozen on his phone screen.
The call fades away, and that's when Shane realizes he's been staring at the caller ID for too long.
The phone rings again. Shane stares for another few seconds before answering.
He can't smother the happiness in voice when he brings the phone to his ear. "Ilya!"
"Fuck," A whoosh of breath sounds through the tinny speaker of his phone. "Fuck, malysh, where are you right now."
He hums, walking to the door. "I am innnn—ahh,"
"'Ah'? What is 'ah'?"
Shane squints at the logo by the entrance. "Wait, I'm trying to read it."
A burst of laughter coming from multiple voices erupts from his phone. A voice he can't really make out says, "Holy shit, alcohol makes Hollander illiterate."
"I am not illiterate!" He huffs. "The letters are small and weird."
"You, you, you," Shane hears Ilya say. "Zip it or I zip it for you."
A 'what the fuck does that mean' and 'sorry, cap' follow the command.
"Oh!" Shane exclaims suddenly, finally making out the shitty font. "It says acolyte."
In the background, he hears Hayden shout, "That's in fucking ByWard Market! Nick, go!"
The sound of the guys talking over each other fill his ears. He finally stumbles out of the door as Bood screams at Nick to speed through a yellow light. The bouncer lightly guides him out with a touch to the shoulder, and before he knows it, he finally slumps against a cold wall breathing in the cool night air.
"Barrett, stop it with the knees or I'm gonna throw you out onto the fucking street."
"Where the hell are we?"
"Fucking someone open Google Maps, for God's sake! Nick doesn't know where he's going."
"Can you shut up? I don't want to get pulled over."
"Dude, there's a McDonald's open!"
"I got it! Here's my phone. I pinned it."
"How long does it say?"
"Shane," Ilya's distinctive voice says, cutting through the racket of overlapping hockey boys. "Are you safe?"
He takes a cursory look around. The street is bustling with people, and the many other bars are packed. Right there, he was leaning heavily onto black painted bricks and the passing breeze sends a small shiver down his spine. Maybe he should've brought a coat, but Rose had forbade it, had dutifully said, 'hoes never get cold'.
As his arms prickle and his hair stands on end, he thinks solemnly, 'I can never be a hoe'.
Ilya grunts worriedly. "Shane?"
"Just a little cold. I'm alright. I'm outside." He finally answers. "I'm safe, Ilya."
"Okay. That's good. Very good, malysh." The soft sound of the car humming is the only thing that rings out of his phone, and it's a little disconcerting when the rest of the guys were so loud beforehand. "Luca's phone says we will be there ten minutes. Can you wait until then?"
Shane purses his lips. He feels unexpectedly shy.
"Don't hang up?" He mumbles.
"Okay, I will not. Anything you want."
Shane is lulled by the soft arguing of his teammates ramping up again slowly. It's long and winded, and he feels a little bit sad he isn't really part of the fray. He ribs at Nick a little who ribs him back ("Stay awake, Hollander. I know. Hard for you, right?"), pokes at Marly (Marly just laughs, not even able to chirp back between his laughter), but in his almost delirious, hazy state, he chooses to bask in the noise instead.
It's some time later he distantly hears, 'what the fuck is a malizh, Rozy?' but the question is never answered as Ilya starts talking about how their slowness getting into the van that night warranted suicides for the next seven practices. They all groan in unison.
"But I wasn't even there…" Shane pouts.
"No. Not you. You are exempt. These fuckers cannot compare to you."
Shane laughs, something light and airy. "You're mean," he says, even if he feels really fucking flattered.
"Yeah, Roz. So fucking mean."
"I was the first one to the garage actually. Can I not be a part of this?"
"Pike, you are the slowest one here, and I mean on the ice. You do eight."
As Shane laughs even more now with Hayden's scandalized bemoaning on the other end of the line, a waving hand in front of him makes him jolt in surprise.
He looks over to see a good-looking man with brown hair and blue eyes. He's wearing a button up polo with white jeans, and he smells like the perfume Rose says she really hates. He's wearing scent blockers, but Shane is getting the vibe that he's an alpha. If Shane squints, he looks vaguely familiar.
"Ah—" Shane coughs. "Oh, sorry, yes? Can I help you?"
"Hi," the man greets, a grin breaking through his lips. Shane has the insane thought that his smile doesn't suit his face. "Conan. We met inside."
Met is a strong word. Shane barely remembers telling this guy his name. "You were…?"
"I was part of the table your girls linked up with. My friends are still in there." He brings his hand to his lips, and Shane only realizes then that he has a lit cigarette in his hand. "You smoke?"
"Oh… No, I don't." A little bit awkwardly, he bites out a, "Thanks."
"Shane." Ilya's voice is static in his ears, cold in its delivery. "Who is talking to you?"
"Someone that I met?" It comes out sounding more like a stilted question than a statement, but he can't really take it back now.
But, and most, surprisingly, Shane feels the pull of his omega writhing in his chest because of Ilya's coldness. It makes something feral in him want to soothe him back into the warm and gooey side of Ilya he's somehow very intimately familiar with. In a lower register, he whispers, "Don't worry. I'm still alright. I'm just waiting for you—"
—Alpha.
He bites his lip.
"Put your phone on speaker, so we can tell him to fuck off!" Bood's voice crackles through the phone. Shane quietly snorts.
"Who's that?" Conan asks with his brow raised. "Was something funny?"
"I'm… talking to my friends." Shane shrugs, unsure what to say. He's half-surprised he's still continuing their conversation. "They're checking up on me."
"Cute," he chuckles. "You need to be checked on?"
"Huh?" Shane can hear Ilya start loudly swearing in long winded Russian. The rest don't even attempt to stop him. Shane's too hung up on the "needing to be checked on" part because he doesn't understand it. "Isn't that normal?"
"Depends," Conan takes a drag and blows it into the air. Shane retreats into the wall, scrunching his nose. "You intending to get lost tonight?"
What was this guy talking about?
"Fucking drive fucking faster, Chouinard or I break your fucking neck!"
"I know, Roz! I know, damn it!"
"I'm sorry," Shane tries to piece it together in his head, but he's getting lost somewhere in-between. "I'm not really following, I think?"
"Really?" Conan looks at him with what Shane thinks is amusement. "Like, you're serious?"
A swell of annoyance passes through him. "Uh, yes?" Does this guy think he's stupid? "Why wouldn't I be?"
"This isn't a bit? You're not acting coy just to get my attention?"
Shane can hear teeth gnashing together, strewn with audible Russian expletives again. "What a fucking tool," he hears Troy say distantly, vitriol laced in his voice.
From Hayden, "I'm gonna beat his ass if he says something actually disgusting."
"Why would I need to do that?"
Before Conan can retort with another quip Shane will continue not to get, a black van screeches to a halt in front of the building.
The door is slid open hastily.
"Shane!" Ilya calls out, hopping out of his seat and jogging towards him. He's in a sleep shirt and his favorite Adidas sweatpants Shane secretly abhors.
A dopey smile plasters itself on his face as he falls into Ilya's arms anyway. "Ilyaaa,"
"Oh, solnyshko, look at you." Big hands settle themselves on his waist to balance him upright. Shane giggles, instinctively shoving his nose into Ilya's shoulder. It kinda tickles. "I am going to send Rose Landry very angry text message once we get you home."
"We?" Shane asks, the warmth and smell of Ilya so distracting it almost makes him forget about—"Oh!"
He looks over Ilya's shoulder to the view of Bood and Nick in the front—Bood's window rolled down—Hayden, Marly, Troy and Wyatt in the middle where Ilya also was, and in the back through the slide open window, three of the four freshman's faces are there. Shane gasps happily. "You all actually came!"
Their faces are steely and almost threatening, but after a short bout of uncertainty, one where Shane genuinely fears that the anger is targeted towards him, he belatedly realizes they're not looking in his direction at all.
When Shane looks up at Ilya, he's not looking at him either.
He turns.
Conan's stuck against the wall looking all bug-eyed and sweaty, something like a pinned down fruit fly.
"Oh, yeah," He waves at the man with the horrible perfume, flourishing his hand towards Ilya and the car behind him. "My friends!"
Conan barely dignifies him with a response. He barely nods, barely puts out his cigarette, before he barely topples himself back inside.
"Oh…" Shane frowns. "That's rude."
"Forget about him. He does not matter." Ilya whispers against his hair. "Let's go home, yes? I will take care of you,"
Shane absolutely melts, feels the traces of something rolling pleasantly in his belly at Ilya's words. "Mm, okay, Ilya,"
"Always so good for me, malysh." Shane feels Ilya trace his thumb across his cheekbone, tacky now with sweat and glitter on his face. It's kind of horrible, but Shane doesn't have the wherewithal to care about it yet. "Come,"
A hand to his back and shoulder have him as he slowly sways to the open car door. He hears arguing, and then Hayden pointedly shoving Troy into the back with the freshmen as Ilya gets him settled in the seat before climbing in too.
Shane absorbs that he's in-between Hayden and Ilya, but it's almost literally it. Not a moment later though does he only realize he's practically half-asleep when the car pulls into drive, suddenly jolted awake when Nick stalls it.
Marly howls.
Ilya scowls. "You forget how to drive, Chouinard? You woke him up!"
While the rest of the guys laugh and Nick grumbles as he restarts the ignition, Wyatt bends to look him in the eye from across the width. "You doing okay there, cap?"
Shane's face pinches, turns to Ilya who doesn't look like he's going to answer that question. "Are you talking to me?"
"Oh, sorry, my bad. I mean, Capitaine Hollander." He stresses. "How's your head?"
Shane snorts, finding the unfortunate phrasing hilarious. "Well, no one's complaining."
Wyatt's head tilts. "What?"
From the front seat, Bood turns back to give him a concerned look. "Hollzy. Hey, come on, man. You gotta work with us here."
His light hiccups turn into puffs of laughter the longer Shane has to stare at Bood's pursed mouth. Ilya's thumb is doing that thing where it goes in circles but on his waist, and it makes his nerves light and jumpy. Combined, he can't help but slump and laugh, his head rolling onto Ilya's shoulder. "God, ah, I don't actually know. I never tried."
Wyatt is doing his best owl impression with his chin almost perpendicular to his shoulder. "What?"
Marly, true to his message a while ago, starts to look slightly perturbed. "Do we need to get him to a hospital or something? Can alcohol cause concussions?"
Troy sighs. "No, he just needs to sleep it off. Also an Advil."
From behind him, LaPointe does an aborted scream which he silences with a slap to his mouth.
Nick swerves ever so slightly. "Fuck!"
"Pointe! What the fuck!"
"Do you want to die?!"
"He's not talking about his head!" LaPointe explains. "Not his body-head at least!"
"What?"
"Holy shit, Hazy. Shut up."
"Ohh," Young and Luca drawl at the same time, looking more horrified by the second.
"I get it…" Luca says, grimly. "I… get it…"
Young groans. "Fuck all of you, except Hollzy. Big Mac, large fries, and fucking two large sprites. I do not need to be thinking of this right now."
"What? Thinking what?" Ilya sounds aggressively confused, but his thumb doesn't stop tracing circles into his skin. Shane is practically on his lap, oh god, he's so comfortable. "Explain, Pointe. You are not making sense."
"I just did!"
"Do not look at me, Roz."
"Young, I get you burger if you explain."
"Fuck,"
Shane laughs. He's so giggly when he's drunk. He didn't know that. "Can I get fries?"
The whole car stills into silence.
Ilya looks at him like he's given birth to Jesus Christ. "You are serious?"
Shane pokes him between his eyes, smiles giddily when he goes cross-eyed for a moment. "Are you serious."
"Okay, it is definitely time to go home." Hayden's tired voice floats into his ears and back out. "No fucking drive through."
Young chokes on his fake sobbing in the back seat.
—
"Hi," Shane giggles, looking up at Ilya.
A wet towel is pressed above his eyelids in a gentle caress. When he opens them again, Ilya's smiling too.
"Hello," he says like hee-low. "This is fifth time you say hi to me."
"Really?" He definitely feels less drunk now. Maybe more tipsy. He tries to recall the past ten or so minutes, and its all one big blur.
The most he can remember is Marly throwing a shirt and a pair of shorts at Ilya's head, and leaving with a, 'We're ordering food!'. Ilya had given the set to him, and he made out that it was his brand new laundry he hadn't yet put away. He had put it on clumsily after a quick shower and left his outside clothes folded on the counter.
"Yes, really." Ilya replies now, moving the towel over his face in slow strokes. He forgot he even had make-up on. Ilya had taken one good look at him as he opened the bathroom door and corralled him right back in.
One swipe reaches his eyebrows and it makes Ilya's palm encompass the half of his face. He feels his eyelashes flutter as he leans sleepily into the cup of his hand.
He hears Ilya breath out. "Ocharovatel'nyy."
Shane hums curiously as Ilya goes back to cleaning his face. "What does that mean?"
"It means you are so crazy." Shane feels Ilya leave the center of his legs, opening his eyes to see Ilya wring the towel in his hand under the sink. Under his thighs, he can feel the cool plastic of the toilet cover grounding him a little. "You go out, party, scare Hazy and Bood and Pike and Marly. Since when do you do this? What happened to golden boy title?"
It sits with him for a while. He tries to parse out how he's going to answer him, what with his brain made all syrupy and slow from the lingering alcohol in his system, but in his semi-cognizant spiral, as his thoughts move from one word to the next, he can't help but ask, "Did I scare you too?"
At that, Ilya laughs. It's a bright thing even with how deep it comes out of his chest. It makes something unfurl in his chest, but tenses his stomach. Ilya settles himself back in front of Shane. "Yes. I was most scared of all."
Shane tries to apologize but he's shushed for his troubles.
"If you want to say sorry, you apologize for worst crime of them all," Ilya's been so gentle. Shane feels like he could fall asleep at any moment. Even his voice his gentle as he's about to admonish him. "Why drink this shitty liquor? You get drunk off vodka that smells like bathroom cleaner, and you expect me not to get furious?"
He doesn't sound furious at all, but Shane plays along anyway. "Of course the Russian gets mad at bad vodka…"
"Malysh, do not insult me," Shane's breath hitches as he feels Ilya's hand hold his chin up so their eyes can meet. It's not a vice grip or even pinching at all, but it still makes his lungs seize. "Next time you want to get drunk, you do it with me. I give you better, yes?"
"Better...?" Shane slurs, cheeks warming. He feels drunk with something else, something that latches in his brain and ropes itself around his ribs, something he knows isn't entirely alcohol. The fingers on his chin and the hold of Ilya's eyes drag him further under, and it's all he can do but to swim in it.
"Da," Ilya's thumb brushes his bottom lip. He pulls it down slightly, and Shane feels it sink into the plushness. "Good vodka. Better vodka. Only Russian should enter this mouth, you understand?"
Shane's eyes unfocus and blur. His chest warms, and his heart expands into his whole chest. He nods dumbly.
"No," Ilya's thumb moves to the corner of his mouth, soothes a brush over the end of his lips. "You tell me. You use your words."
It's a compelling thing. Ilya isn't even using alpha commands, but Shane feels useless against the force of it all.
"I'll tell you when I wanna get drunk," he starts. He thinks his eyes are watering.
"Good," Ilya's voice is steady as his hands move to cradle his face. "Next,"
"You'll give me better…" His throat dries when he sees heat flare in Ilya's eyes. It's gone as soon as it arrived, but still. It was there, and Shane saw it.
"Always better." The words are rough in their escape. Shane almost whimpers. He swallows nothing. "Last,"
He feels his lip trembling. He has to blink away the haziness in his eyes. "I…"
Ilya coos softly, breathing the words. "Always good for me, malysh. Remember. You know what to say."
Heat swirls in his navel, and it somehow fills the crevices in his head. "Only Russian…" He starts, barely blinking, feels his thighs clench involuntarily. "…can enter my mouth."
Ilya heaves one heavy breath through his nose. Shane only absorbs his own slip-up then, and his face starts burning in slightly mortified realization. This exchange is quickly running away from him, and it's running fast. His thoughts start diving into the gutter, and it's horrifying and embarrassing and so so humiliating, but the only thing he can think about is—
Is—
Shane's eyes stray down towards the slight bulge in Ilya's horrible pants.
His mouth falls open.
Ilya lightly shakes his head, a barely there nod that places him back in the right direction. Shane darts his eyes back up, embarrassment curling in his diaphragm.
Shane takes one shallow breath and shudders when he smells Ilya's scent deepened, smoothed out. Just more.
"Can?" He rumbles, his eyes so deep and so utterly dark. "Or should?"
It takes a herculean effort not to moan like a whore.
He bites his lip hard. He's discovering new things about himself in that moment. New things about how Ilya Rosanov just makes him fucking feel.
"Sh-should." He corrects, a tinge of a plea touching on the edge of his voice. "Only Russian should enter… my," he swallows again, but this time, the saliva that coats his mouth makes the gulp ring in his ears. His eyes shake when he sees Ilya's mouth purse and his heavy gaze waiting. "My mouth…"
"Blyat," Ilya whispers stiffly, but his touch is no less gentle. "See, you are good. So good. Moy khoroshIY mal'chik, Shanyushka. You listen very well."
Shane gasps, a silent thing that's almost soundless. His eyes are half-lidded when he opens them again, unable to quell the tide of melted heat thrumming through his veins. "Ilya…"
"We finish here, Shane. I clean you up. I bring you to your nest, hm? Baby Hollander is sleepy, yes? Long night with Rose Landry." Ilya says in his most soothing voice, a mix of his rumble and control all in one. "I give you Advil and water later when you wake up. You wake up any time, forget stupid alarm."
Shane nods because any string of instructions from Ilya deserves to be followed to the letter.
It's only the fact that he's trying not to actively get so fucking wet right now that he's made silent with desperation.
"Do you want to eat with the boys?"
Shane clenches. No, he does NOT want to do that in the state he's in right now.
He shakes his head, panting softly through his mouth. He can nag their ears off the next afternoon for that. Right now, he needs his nest.
Somehow more than that, in the back of his mind, hidden underneath the muscles in his tongue, something he refuses to say outloud—
The towel drags against his jaw, goes to his ears, falls down the length of his neck.
A kiss to his forehead. "Ochen' khorosho."
Shane shudders.
—He needs Ilya.