Chapter Text
Lily: Come over?
Jane: I can’t. We have a game tonight!
Lily: Come over. Not for long. An hour?
Jane: No! Come on, it’s a terrible idea.
Lily: Everything we do is a bad idea.
It was eleven am when Ilya texted him. Shane was coming out of his hotel bathroom in Boston. The team had just arrived from the airport and Hayden had immediately claimed his normal bed and began unpacking.
Even as he was saying no in his texts, Shane found himself slipping on his shoes and grabbing his coat.
There was no way he wasn’t going. He knew that. He knew he would take whatever time with Ilya that he could even if meeting up before a game was something they’d never done before. Ever since their conversation in Tampa at the All-Star Game, things had eased back into a familiar routine. Texting, chirping at each other about their next game or the goals they’d scored. The only difference was now it happened more frequently. They texted every day. Sometimes it was as simple as Ilya sending him a picture of his ridiculous breakfast with a teasing, “You know how good this tastes? Better than green smoothie.” They texted about games they happened to be watching. About traveling. About what teams they thought would be in the playoffs, and which would be the hardest to beat.
There was an ease to their interactions that had been missing before. As if finally admitting that they both wanted each other; wanted whatever was between them to keep going helped crumble a wall that had already been starting to crack.
Ilya texting him on a game day wasn’t new, but seeing each other before a game definitely was. With the exception of the few sexts or teasing chirps before games, they’d always kept a line of only allowing the meet-ups to come after the game was played. They’d let the game, the hits into the board, the adrenaline and thrill of playing against each other be their foreplay, always leading to some of the best sex. Although, with Ilya, the sex was always amazing. Shane wouldn’t have believed it before he’d met him, but almost 10 years later and he had never wanted Ilya more.
But now he wanted more than just sex. Shane also wanted more time. More quiet afters and soft touches. More whispered words and being held in strong, steady arms. Just more of them, together, before the reality of it all snapped back into place.
Shane briefly wondered what had caused this change in routine for Ilya. There was a whisper of concern that wrapped around him, as he looked at their texts, worrying that this was a harbinger of something Shane didn’t know about, something more than Ilya wasn’t saying. His fingers tightened around the phone, but instead of sending the text to ask, he just gave a passing excuse to Hayden and opened the app to call a ride.
By the time he was in the backseat of his rideshare, his anxiety was peaking. He couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts that filled his brain, no matter how much he tried to fight them back. What if something was wrong? What if Ilya wanted to see him before the game to tell him he’d made a mistake in Tampa, that this couldn’t be more; that they were done. He knew they both wanted this but what if something else had happened. What if this was the last time, or he was being sent back to Russia or…
It wasn’t until he was standing in front of Ilya’s house, his fingers pressing the doorbell, that he realized he hadn’t truly taken a proper breath since he’d gotten in the car. The car was long gone, and when Ilya didn’t answer right away, he knocked.
The moment the door opened and he saw Ilya in the doorway, shirtless, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, the tightness in his chest eased. A soft smile curved at Ilya’s mouth, his gaze sweeping over him in a way that set Shane’s blood on fire. His body instantly responded to that look as Ilya moved with the door so he could step inside. Shane let his shoulder brush his chest as he slipped by him, toeing off his shoes out of habit more than anything, before turning to look at the other man who’d somehow, he realized with trepidation had started to feel like home to him.
The soft “hey” that slipped from his lips with a long, slow exhale was immediately cut off when the door clicked shut behind him. And, then, Ilya’s hand was in his hair, tugging him forward. His mouth crashed against Shane’s in a desperate kiss, tongue wasting no time slipping into his mouth and pulling a soft moan from Shane’s throat.
Shane felt his body collapse against Ilya. His hands grabbed onto him, reaching for his skin as they slid up his torso. His fingertips dipped along the defined ridges and scraped over his nipples, earning him a harsh inhale from Ilya, before finally coming to rest on his shoulders.
The tiny gasp allowed Shane to take more control, his fingers tangling into the curls at the nape of Ilya’s neck and pull, angling his head so he could nip at Ilya’s bottom lip.
Shane felt the smile against his mouth, pressing another kiss to his top lip as Ilya’s hands snaked under his jacket, sliding it from his shoulders. As one hand landed low on his back, Ilya’s other reached out to grab the jacket before it hit the ground.
A soft groan fell from Shane’s lips before he could stop himself when Ilya’s mouth latched onto the hinge of his jaw, teeth glancing over the joint and then trailing down to his throat.
“Bedroom,” he murmured against his skin and Shane nodded, eyes opening to smile softly as Ilya stepped back from him and held out his hand.
Tangling his fingers with Ilya’s, he let himself be led through the sprawling house to his bedroom. His heart ached with affection as he watched Ilya gently set his jacket down on the back of the sofa as they passed by.
“Is ok there?” Ilya asked, a teasing glint in his blue eyes when he caught Shane watching him.
Shane could only shake his head and murmur a soft “asshole” before he pulled him towards the bedroom and then there was no talking at all.
****
Just for an hour quickly turned into two by the time they were lying sweaty and sated in Ilya’s bed.
The pleasant hum of his body lulled him into a soft, gentle space in his head and he didn’t want to leave.
Shane knew he should get out of bed and clean up since they had a game in a few hours. While the team could walk to the arena from their hotel, he still had a pre-game routine that he usually started an hour before leaving the hotel.
But he couldn’t make himself leave. His heart ached a little less when he was with Ilya, especially being back here, in his bed. Echoes of the last time he was there whispered in his head and he wanted to make up for that day that he’d abandoned Ilya on his own couch after one of the best afternoons he’d ever had with someone. Finally saying each other’s names that day had broken something open inside of him; torn a hole in the carefully constructed facade of what he and Ilya pretended to be to each other and Shane didn’t know how to process it. The weight of what they’d become and what he wanted was too much.
He’d realized in that moment that no one made him feel like Ilya did. No one ever had ever even come close, and he was terrified that no one ever would. And if that was the case, then he was fucked. Because Ilya liked women. Ilya could find and fall in love with a woman and not deal with the baggage and burden of Shane. Being with a woman would be easier for his career, for his life, and that would leave Shane alone. Without him. Without anyone. Because Shane knew, deep down to his bones, that it never had and never would be the same for him with women. He hadn’t admitted it to himself yet, but he knew and that terrified him.
Losing Ilya terrified him.
So he ran. He ran as fast and as far as he could to prove to himself that what his head and heart were trying to tell him wasn’t true. He found Rose who was nice and sweet and who he genuinely liked as a person. But it wasn’t enough. And it wasn’t fair to her or himself.
He was gay. And he had fallen for this man that was languidly stretched out next to him. Fallen so long ago he couldn’t even pinpoint the moment or time, except that to imagine his life without Ilya in it caused his chest to constrict so tight that he couldn’t breath. If he had to do that, he knew he wouldn’t be fully living at all.
And that was what was terrifying now. To know this, to understand it and accept it, but not know if Ilya felt even a little bit of the same.
If he couldn’t breathe at the thought of losing him forever. If his heart fell a little more with every moment they spent together.
Ilya had let his walls down a bit in Tampa; let Shane hold him as he’d opened up about his father, his family, and his fears of returning to Russia. It helped Shane to understand the reasons Ilya had tried to keep him at arms length.
"We get together. We fuck. Is simple."
Simple was never a word to describe what they were, and they both knew it.
While they hadn’t defined anything concretely, they’d finally let themselves admit to feelings - to wanting something more despite how impossible it might be.
Laying next to him now, his skin still warm from his touch and the headiness of afterglow surging through his system, Shane had to fight the urge to turn into him. To wrap his arm around his waist and press his face into the crook of his neck where it fit so perfectly, and whisper words that were on the tip of his tongue. Words that would certainly ruin everything. Words that he’d almost let fall as Ilya had moved over him this afternoon, hitting those spots inside him that made his body sing and his heart overflow.
The fact that he could reach out and touch him right now; that Ilya would let him was a heady feeling. His mind wandered back to the moments on that hotel bed in Tampa that had shifted things for them, firmed their foundations and caused him to know that walking away from this man would be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to.
They’d talked more that night than they had in the past nine years they’d known each other.
Nine years. It still amazed Shane when he sat with those thoughts on nights when sleep didn’t come easy. After the last time he’d been in Ilya’s house. After Rose. After their break-up. He realized that for most of his adult life, Ilya had been one of the constants. Despite the frustrating months without contact, and the rushed moments they’d actually found to be together, they had always revolved around each other, coming back together in a dance with steps only they knew.
A soft buzzing filled the air, pulling him from his thoughts. The bed shifted next to him as Ilya reached for his phone on the nightstand. Shane couldn’t help but peek at the screen as Ilya pulled it up to silence it. It was the briefest of glances, but he saw the name.
Alexi.
Shane caught the immediate tension that filled Ilya’s shoulders, and heard the long breath he let out as he silenced it and returned it to the nightstand.
There was a moment where Shane was sure Ilya would shut down and pull away despite the shared moments of honesty in Tampa. Ilya was a master at deflection when he didn’t want to talk about something, and Shane knew that it was more self-preservation on his part than not wanting to let him in.
He felt himself brace for it, told himself it wasn’t because of anything he had done, getting ahead of the doubts already beginning to swim in his head.
Shane watched his face, and noticed the split-second glance Ilya sent his way as he made a decision.
“My brother,” he finally muttered roughly.
Shane felt his pulse spike at the admission, warmth surging through him as he realized Ilya was continuing to let him in as hard as it might be for him.
“You can take it if you want,” Shane replied, without hesitation, needing Ilya to know he didn’t need to hide that part of his life from him.
“Ugh, no,” Ilya said firmly, “I don’t want to.”
When Ilya didn’t say anything more, Shane decided to press for more since Ilya had opened the door. It wasn’t often that they were given these moments of quiet conversation.
Something whispered in the back of Shane’s head that this could be what had been bothering Ilya. Why he’d changed their normal routine for a before game meeting. While their hookups had always been filled with passion and intensity, Shade had felt the shift in urgency, the need humming beneath Ilya’s skin this afternoon as if he was desperate to feel something. Shane knew that feeling well - the way being with Ilya could shut off the loud thoughts in his head and allow him to simply be. And he had willingly and eagerly fallen into Ilya’s body, allowing them to get lost in each other.
But now…now that the urgency had been worked out of their systems, Shane could sense the tension still lingering around Ilya’s shoulders, the way his body still seemed restless despite everything they’d just done.
While their time together had always been fleeting, the years had given Shane enough time to know some of Ilya Rozanov’s mannerisms, especially when something was bothering him.
The phone call just added to Shane’s suspicions about how much Ilya truly carried in silence with regards to his family.
“Is everything ok at home?”
Shane let the question fall softly in the space between them, hoping that Ilya would understand that he wasn’t trying to pry, but trying to help, wanting to help.
When Ilya didn’t answer right away, he added a quiet, “Your father?”
Shane saw the moment Ilya’s wall came back up, and he prepared himself for the deflection that usually came next.
Except instead of pulling away, Ilya put his hand on Shane’s knee and let out a sigh so soft yet so weary that Shane’s heart ached with it.
“Enough. You have too many questions…” His voice was tired, and Shane had to swallow to keep the emotions at bay as Ilya’s eyes met his.
“I’m sorry,’ he murmured, giving him a small smile in understanding.
“Is ok,” Ilya squeezed his knee in silent thanks, causing Shane to shift his body towards him, letting his foot brush against his leg under the sheets.
Shane was about to open his mouth to change the subject and try to alleviate some of the tension that still lingered in the air, but Ilya’s phone buzzed again from the bedside table.
“Blyat,” Ilya swore, reaching for the phone and silencing with barely a glance.
Shane watched silently as Ilya took a deep breath, settling back into the bed and sniffing as he brushed his forefinger over his nose. Another tell that Shane clocked quickly. He was more anxious and bothered than he was letting on.
The quiet of the early afternoon surrounded them as Shane shifted his shoulders so he was pressed up against Ilya, one of his hands reaching over to cover the one Ilya still had resting against his knee. Another moment passed as Shane let his fingers shift over Ilya’s knuckles, and watched as the other man stilled and then released another long breath. He turned his head, his eyes slowly finding Shane’s and smiling softly in appreciation.
He waited a moment before deciding to try and get Ilya out of his head, his voice seemed loud in the quiet of the bedroom.
“In case I wasn’t clear, I’m sorry in advance for tonight’s game. We’re going to destroy you guys.”
A teasing smile tugged at his lips as he met Ilya’s gaze. Ilya just stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly in surprise as he caught up to Shane’s words.
And then his eyebrows rose, and he grinned playfully, eyes twinkling with mirth, “Oh, so you are the asshole.”
Shane laughed, shaking his head, “No, it’s still you.”
Ilya’s hand left his knee, pointing to his chest as if offended. “No, it’s not me. You are the asshole.”
Shane chuckled, more of the tension eased from the air, as Ilya sat up as if talking to a group of people, “Everyone must know this.”
Cupping his hands around his mouth, he pretended to yell into the room, “Everyone, Shane Hollander is an asshole.”
Turning, Shane pushed his hand down against Ilya’s chest, laughter tumbling from both of their lips. Ilya covered his hand and Shane rolled, lifting his leg to straddle him when buzzing filled the air once more.
Shane immediately froze as Ilya swore loudly, his body twisting quickly toward the noise.
He grabbed the phone and sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed as he swiped his thumb across the screen.
“Yebat'! Chto?” he bit out, his voice rough with anger. “Chego ty khochesh', Aleksi? YA bol'she ne prishlyu tebe deneg!”
Shane stilled on the bed behind him, folding his body up to get his legs beneath him, expecting Ilya to stand and leave the room as he had the last time he’d gotten a call from his family. He was surprised when he didn’t, and instead stayed perched on the edge of the bed, his one hand clutching the phone to his face, the other planted firmly on the bed beside him.
Swallowing, Shane let his fingers trace along the edge of the sheet, keeping them occupied instead reaching out to sooth the tension that filled Ilya’s shoulders as he hunched over, listening to the harsh voice through the phone.
While he didn’t understand what was being said, Shane noticed the immediate change in Ilya’s posture. His body stilled, back straightening as he listened to his brother.
It was small, but Shane saw it. The quick stutter of his breath, the way his shoulders hitched up and then sunk as if the air had been stolen from his lungs.
“Kogda?” One word, tight and controlled, but filled with an edge of sadness.
A moment later, another word. This one Shane knew. “Da.” Yes.
He heard Alexi’s voice raise on the other end and saw the way Ilya immediately reacted, tension coiling in his shoulders once more. The hand braced on the edge of the bed tightened against the sheets bunched at his waist, knuckles turning white with the force.
“Da, Aleksey, ya priyedu, kak tol'ko smogu. Ya prishlyu den'gi. Prishli mne nomer.”
Before his brother could respond, Ilya ripped the phone away from his ear and swiped his thumb angrily across the screen, ending the call.
There was nothing but silence for a moment, and Shane watched as the phone slipped from Ilya’s grip and he heard it land with a thud on the floor. The only sound was Ilya’s deep heavy breaths as he tried to compose himself from the call. Inhale. Exhale. Then another.
Shane waited, wondering if Ilya had forgotten he was there - the desire to reach out to him and fix whatever was wrong was so strong he had to close his hand into a fist as he waited for Ilya to speak first. He knew simply staying in the room with Shane and letting him hear any of that was a big step for Ilya - not hiding his difficult relationship with his family and letting Shane see this part of his life was new for them.
Another breath. Inhale. Exhale. And then a pause where his breathing stuttered to a stop.
Shane waited until he saw the tremor that ran through Ilya’s shoulders, heard the soft hitch in throat as he tried to pull in air, before he moved. He immediately shifted forwards on his knees towards Ilya, suddenly needing to see his face, needing to touch him.
His hand met the warm skin of his back and the contact caused Ilya to tense as if he’d forgotten Shane was even there, his touch pulling him back to reality. The next second, he was slumping forward as Shane’s fingers trailed up his spine to his shoulder.
“Your dad…” Shane murmured, his mind knowing it had to be bad, but needing to know just how bad.
“Dead.”
Ilya’s voice was barely a whisper, his accent thick as he wrestled with his emotions. The word echoed in the space around him, and Shane felt his own breathing stutter to a stop momentarily.
Before Ilya could take another breath, Shane moved, bracketing both knees around Ilya’s hips, slotting himself against his broad back. He felt Ilya’s shoulders shake as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him back into his chest.
It was as if Shane’s touch broke something open inside Ilya. Shane felt his whole body tremble beneath him, his chest shuddering with his next inhale, almost as if he was at war with letting himself feel this much, or Shane guessed, show this much.
“Ilya..” Shane whispered against his temple, pressing his lips against his hair.
He felt the moment Ilya’s body let go as he sagged back against Shane, his hands snaking up and grabbing onto Shane’s arms as if he was his anchor, keeping him moored as he let grief sweep over him.
A single choked sob tore from his throat as his head landed on Shane’s shoulder, immediately turning and tucking his head against Shane’s throat.
Shane felt wetness on his collarbone and his heart lurched as he realized what it was. He knew how much it took for Ilya to show any emotion and, once again, he was trusting him with this piece of himself, the vulnerability of this moment overwhelming.
His body swayed them softly, knees bracketing Ilya’s hips, surrounding him as much as he could, holding him together as Ilya let a part of himself break.
Shane had never felt like he was good at offering comfort to others. He always felt his touches and words were awkward or landed wrong. Usually, he was the one who ended up on the receiving end of it, but holding Ilya was easy, natural. There was nothing else he’d rather be doing than making sure he was ok and safe and held.
After what could have been minutes or longer, he felt Ilya take one more deep breath and stiffen slightly in his arms. He sniffed loudly as he let his hands fall to his lap.
“I am sorry…I don’t know…” he began and stopped, as if trying to find the words to explain.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Shane responded immediately. “He was your father.”
Ilya’s body shook slightly, his head lifting from Shane’s shoulder to stare at the ground. “Yes, he was. But…He was not a kind man, Shane. Not to my mother, not to me…”
Shane felt more than heard him swallow, reminding himself to breathe as Ilya continued. “I was never good enough, neither was she…but we tried to be…I don’t know why I am so…”
His voice trailed off as if words failed him and he realized that right now, English words were failing him. So Shane just whispered, “It’s okay to feel however you feel right now”
A tear slipped from Shane’s eyes as he realized just how hard Ilya’s road here had been. His chest felt tight and his heart felt shattered from the pain in Ilya’s voice.
“He was still your father,” Shane finally murmured in reply, “You’re allowed to be sad even if he didn’t treat you the way you deserved to be treated.”
Shane felt the moment his words landed. The way Ilya tried to turn away from him, as if it was too much, but Shane refused to let him brush it off, refused to let him believe he didn’t deserve love.
“Hollander, you do not need to…”
“No,” Shane interrupted him, trying to ignore the sting of Ilya switching back to his last name as he tried to rebuild the wall around himself that he’d let fall in the past few minutes. He could feel the way it was too much for Ilya - too much emotion, left too much exposed. Shane could empathize with that feeling - when it felt as if people could see too much of the true you.
“No,” Shane repeated, his voice firm as he shifted his body, twisting around Ilya’s side until he could hook his left leg over Ilya’s thigh and straddled him.
Ilya was still shaking his head, refusing to meet his eyes.
Gently, Shane cupped his cheeks, tilting his head up so he could brush his lips over his nose, his eyes, his forehead, and finally the lightest brush against his lips.
He felt Ilya’s breath hitch against his mouth before it followed his, opening and letting Shane slip his tongue inside, his arms finally coming up to grasp Shane’s hips and hold on tight. His fingers pressed hard into his skin and Shane allowed the feeling ground them both.
Shane let their mouths brush together for a few moments before he leaned back, waiting for Ilya to finally open his eyes and look at him. When he finally did, Shane tilted his head, his throat tightening at the pain he found in them.
“Don’t push me away,” he said softly. “Two things can be true at the same time. You can mourn your father. You can also know that you deserved better. You deserved to know love from a father, and I’m sorry you didn’t.”
Ilya’s eyes slipped closed, his jaw tightening as he took a deep, halting breath and then let his head fall forward into Shane’s chest.
“Ya tebya ne zasluzhivayu.”
“What does that mean?” Shane couldn't help but ask because he needed to know that he wasn’t beating himself up. He needed to know that Ilya was hearing him. That he knew how much he was loved…even if he couldn’t say it out loud.
Ilya let out a long breath against his collarbone and Shane’s hand slid from his face, to his neck and up into his curls, sifting through them as he loved to do when Ilya was deep inside him.
“You are too good to me,” Ilya finally whispered, and Shane pressed another kiss to his hair.
He was about to respond, to tell him that he deserved so much more; to reassure him, when Ilya’s phone buzzed again from the ground. A low whimper tore from Ilya’s throat and Shane tightened his hold on the back of his neck.
When Ilya pulled his head from Shane’s chest, he took a deep, steadying breath. “It is text from my brother on where money needs to be sent for funeral arrangements.”
Shane let his hands fall to Ilya’s shoulders, his fingers digging gently into the tense muscles there. “What can I do to help?”
Ilya was already shaking his head, reaching for his phone as Shane slid off his lap so he could grab it.
“No, you have to get back. We still have game. You do not need to…”
Shane grabbed his wrist, stopping him as he stood, and made him turn to look at him, his face tired and eyes still red from his tears.
“Don’t do that. I know I don’t need to,” Shane told him, “I want to. I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
He wanted to add you to the end of that sentence but didn’t know if it would be too much with the emotional tightwire that Ilya was already walking right now.
“I don’t know what I need to do,” Ilya confessed a moment later, raising his hand with his phone. “I need to send money, call team to tell them I will be leaving after the game, find flight, pack…”
“Wait,” Shane tightened his fingers on his wrist. “You’re playing tonight?”
Ilya frowned at him in confusion. “Of course, I am.”
“Ilya,” Shane started, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t…”
“No,” Ilya interrupted, voice firm. “I play. My father would expect me to play. He would be embarrassed if I did not play when I said I would.”
Something in Shane’s heart lurched when he realized how serious Ilya was about how his father saw him and his worth. To Ilya’s father, his worth was tied to his hockey, his talent, his ability to be a good player, a star - not a son or a brother. Ilya had been raised to believe his worth wasn’t with who he actually was and what he could do and Shane’s heart broke once more at the realization.
Ilya swallowed, running a hand through his hair, and then shrugged. “Besides, I cannot give up a chance to play against the great Shane Hollander.”
“Ilya…”
Shane trailed off as he realized that there would be no talking him out of it as the stubborn glint took hold in his gaze. So, instead of fighting him, Shane turned to what he could actually do to help.
“Where is your suitcase?” Shane asked after a moment.
Ilya raised an eyebrow, “You are going to pack for me?”
Shane shrugged, letting go of his wrist, “I can fold clothes.”
A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Ilya’s lips and Shane watched as some of the sadness in his eyes took on a teasing glint.
“Oh, I know you can fold clothes. I watch you every time.”
Shane felt his face heat as he scoffed, realizing what Ilya was referring to. “Fuck off. It’s better than walking around in wrinkled clothes after…”
“It’s cute,” Ilya interrupted, raising a hand as if to brush Shane’s cheek.
Shane furrowed his brow, “Cute?”
“Yes, watching you fold clothes before fucking you is cute. I like it.”
“Asshole,” Shane muttered, but felt the pull of a smile on his lips. “Just tell me where your suitcase is and get the clothes you want packed.”
Shane’s heart skipped a beat as he watched Ilya’s face bloom into a full smile for the first time since he’d answered his brother’s phone call.
Reaching for his boxers, Ilya slipped them on, throwing him a knowing look. “I am lucky to get the Shane Hollander packing service.”
A moment later, he threw a pair of sweatpants at Shane which he easily caught as he shifted off the bed.
“Shut up.” Shane replied as Ilya turned for his closet before he could reach the pillow to throw at him. “Suitcase?”
“Hallway closet. I will use medium one.” Ilya replied as he returned from his ensuite closet with a full basket of laundry.
Shane smiled softly as he walked into the hallway and found the closet. Inside were three different sized suitcases of the same black color with gold trim. He quickly grabbed the medium one and returned to the bedroom.
Ilya was dumping the laundry basket full of clean clothes on the bed. “I don’t need much. A couple shirts, pants and boxers. I have some stuff still there.”
“Ok,” Shane replied, surveying the wrinkled laundry in front of him.
“I need to make call about money transfer and let the team know,” Ilya started, grabbing his phone and heading toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ve got this,” Shane replied, and he felt Ilya’s gaze lingering on him.
When he looked up, Ilya had already looked away, clearing his throat as he moved past him towards the door without another word.
Shane surveyed the wrinkled laundry in front of him and shook his head, immediately scooping it back into the basket at the end of the bed.
He found Ilya’s washer and dryer in the large closet and quickly moved the items from the basket back into the dryer. Setting it to un-wrinkle, he turned it on and wandered back into the bedroom.
While he waited, Shane grabbed his own phone from the pocket of his pants that had ended up on the floor, not folded this time. Opening an incognito window, he typed in “flights from Boston to Moscow leaving today.”
Flight information immediately populated on his phone screen and he quickly scanned the results. He opened two flights in different tabs that departed late enough tonight to give Ilya a chance to get showered, changed and to the airport without being rushed.
Shane found himself wishing he could drive him to the airport himself but knew that wouldn’t be wise. He still looked up the distance from the arena to the airport because he was curious. Montreal’s team flight out the next morning was late, and he could easily make the normal excuse to Hayden about seeing Lily…again.
The ding from the dryer pulled him from his thoughts and he shoved his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants as he headed for the closet.
He dumped the now wrinkle-free clothes back on the bed and began sorting through pants, shirts, socks and boxers-briefs. He quickly and easily had four pairs of each and began folding them before more wrinkles could set in.
Ilya’s voice drifted in from the other room. He was speaking in Russian again, however, there was a softer tone to his voice and he wondered who he was talking to now.
The fresh scent of Ilya’s laundry detergent filled his nose and inhaled, surprised at how much it soothed something deep inside him. He already knew the fact that his body responded to this smell - Ilya’s smell - as safe, was dangerous, but he couldn’t help it. Ilya had become a safe place for him, one where his walls were down and his head was quieter. He could just breathe here.
As he carefully packed, first, Ilya’s pants, then boxers and shirts, he spotted his own white t-shirt that he’d worn over to Ilya’s house lying near the end of the bed. Without overthinking it, he grabbed it off the end of the bed, quickly folding it in a neat square before tucking it under Ilya’s black and gray shirts.
He wasn’t sure why exactly he did it, except that it felt right. He wanted Ilya to have some part of him there with him in Russia so he wouldn’t feel so alone.
After packing the rest of the clothes, Shane left the suitcase lid open so Ilya could check it over and add anything that was missing. He noticed llya’s discarded black shirt on the edge of a chair in the corner and grabbed it, sliding it over his head as the familiar scent wrapped around him.
A moment later, Ilya re-entered the room, running a hand over his face. He paused just inside the doorway when he saw Shane as if suddenly remembering that he was still there. His lips twitched up in a small, tired smile as he shuffled to the bed and sat down heavily.
“What did the team say?” Shane asked, as he came to stand next to him and the still open suitcase.
Ilya sighed, “That they will keep reason for me being gone private until I want it released. I told them I would only be gone a week…they said I should take the time I need.”
“You should,” Shane replied softly, and Ilya huffed out a laugh.
“And let you get ahead in goals for season…no.”
Shane could only roll his eyes, knowing exactly what Ilya was trying to do and decided to let it go this time.
“Did you talk to your brother again?” He asked after a minute, looking down at the hand in his lap instead of at Ilya, not knowing if he’d tell him who he’d been talking to softly in Russian.
He wasn’t jealous, he told himself, or worried. He just wanted to know if he had someone in his corner in Russia during the hard week ahead.
Ilya’s brow furrowed as he looked up at him, and so Shane added, “I thought I heard you speaking Russian again, but you weren’t yelling…”
“Ah,” Ilya murmured smiling, and Shane was surprised when one of his hands came to rest over the one picking at nothing on his pants - an old habit he did whenever he was nervous or unsure about something.
“No, it was not my brother. It was Svetlana,” he said quietly, the rough pads of his fingers easing over the back of Shane’s hand and then slipping between them. “She is old family friend and will come with me back to Russia.”
Svetlana. Shane remembered that name. He felt his body tense as he remembered her as the woman Ilya had mentioned the last time he’d been here. The one he’d known since he was little. The one he slept with in what Shane could only assume from Ilya’s explanation was a friends with benefits arrangement.
Ignoring the tightness in his chest at the idea of her getting to be with Ilya during all this, he nodded, swallowing thickly before whispering. “Good, I’m glad you have someone…”
He felt the pressure at the back of his eyes and refused to let whatever messed up emotions were between them leak out. Right now, Ilya didn’t need him to be jealous or upset, he needed him to help and plan and make sure he would be ready to leave after the game.
He might not be able to be the person that Ilya could rely on the next few days while he buried his father half a world away, no matter how much something deep inside him ached to be able to do just that. But he could be the person that made sure he didn’t need to worry about anything before he got on that plane. He could be the person that helped him get there.
Clearing his throat, Shane stood again, pulling away from Ilya’s grip, the loss of that touch leaving him more bereft than he expected.
“Did you find a flight?” he asked, taking his phone out of his pocket as he waited for Ilya’s response.
“Hollander…”
And, for some reason, the continued use of his last name caused even more pressure to build in his eyes.
“Did you?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.
Ilya sighed, his words matching Shane’s tone. “No. I have not.”
Shane nodded, beginning to pace in front of him. “Okay, well, I found two flights that leave tonight that would give you enough time to get comfortably from the arena to the airport. I’m not sure if you’d want to drive there yourself or get a ride but either way, you should have enough time. Both have first class still available - although I was just looking for one ticket…you’ll need two? Right?”
A hand on his wrist stopped him mid-step, and his eyes slid from his phone to Ilya’s hand and then traveled up his arm to meet his gaze.
The expression on Ilya’s face chased the breath from his lungs. His blue eyes were staring at him with a mixture of awe and sadness, glinting in the shadowed sunlight that filtered into the room through the many windows.
“You looked up flights for me?”
It was a simple question, one he obviously knew the answer to based on what Shane had just told him, but something in his voice made Shane think he was confused as to why he would do that.
“Of course, you need a flight and I was waiting for…”
Ilya tugged at his hand, pulling him until he was standing in between Ilya’s legs where he remained seated on the side of the bed.
“Shane…”
His name spoken in the most achingly honest voice almost had him falling to his knees. For the briefest moment, Shane wondered if he had overstepped. If looking up flights had been a step too far for whatever they were - crossing some imaginary line of how much a someone you fucked a few times a year could do for someone else. They weren’t…anything really. And here he was trying to plan his fucking trip back to Russia. It sounded absurd in his own head. He was doing too much.
Things like this had happened before. Times when he thought he was being helpful but he was actually taking things too far or getting social cues mixed up. Things that he would deem as helpful weren't to others. He'd learned that quickly throughout school and in the locker rooms as he was growing up.
“I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have,” Shane started and then stopped, blowing out a breath. “I was just trying to help and sometimes I just try to do too much without -”
Ilya didn’t let him finish, pulling himself up from the bed and stepping into Shane’s space, cupping his face and as his eyes tracked all over his face.
“No,” his voice was sharp, but not because angry. “Is not too much. It is….I am not used to it.”
Shane frowned, some of the panic in his chest beginning to ease. “Not used to what?”
Ilya’s lips twitched in a small, soft smile. “To people helping me. To people wanting to help me.”
His confession landed hard in between the soft spaces of Shane’s ribs and expanded into an emotion so big that he couldn’t help but wrap his arms solidly around Ilya’s shoulders. He held him tight, hands pressed firmly against the hard planes of his back as he breathed him in.
Ilya let out a contented sigh and Shane trailed one hand up to his hair, slipping through his curls. He pressed his fingers into the muscles at the base of Ilya’s skull and he let Shane pull his head down to his shoulder. A soft sound escaped Ilya’s throat as he brought his arms up, gripping the back of Shane’s shirt tightly.
“I want to help,” Shane whispered into the crook of his neck after a moment. “Thank you for letting me.”
Ilya nodded into his shoulder before lifting his head and pressing a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. Shane hummed and turned his head to deepen the kiss, catching his Ilya’s mouth before he could pull away.
One of Ilya’s hands came up to cup his face, angling his head as he took control and Shane let him, wanting him to, loving the feeling of being completely devoured by the man in front of him.
There was a softness to this kiss, lips and tongue tangling together as they explored each other as if they had all the time in the world. Shane felt the way Ilya brought his other hand to the back of his neck, settling there as he deepened the kiss, pushing it as far as he could without losing themselves completely to it.
A moment later, Ilya pulled away, his hands sliding around cup his face again, one fingertips dipping to his chin to hold him there, before he kissed him softly once more. He let his forehead rest against Shane’s as they both pulled in ragged breaths. When Shane opened his eyes, he saw the same smile he felt on his own lips reflected back at him. His head was quiet, warmth spreading throughout him. He felt his muscles relax and his mind settle and he just breathed it all in.
“I could get used to that kind of thank you,” he murmured.
Ilya patted his cheek softly, “Mmm…now you are getting greedy, Hollander.”
Shane shook his head, but noticed that Ilya kept his hands in place on his face, keeping him in place until he brought his gaze back to him.
“Sveta is a good family friend. She would come regardless of what you and I are…”
Shane immediately felt his cheeks flush, “Of course. I wasn’t trying to sound…”
“Jealous?” Ilya smirked, and then let the teasing fall away.
“Tebe nechemu zavidovat'. Yest' tol'ko ty.”
The Russian landed softly against his cheek and his eyes fluttered closed before opening again in a slow blink.
“You know that’s not fair,” he said softly. “I have no idea what you are saying.”
Ilya simply smiled, letting his fingers slip from Shane’s cheeks, one hand trailing down his arm to reach behind him and grab the phone that Shane had tossed to the bed at some point.
“You like challenges,” Ilya replied with a shrug. “Now, what flights did you find?”
Shane could only huff with annoyance, but he tried to hold on to at least one word that Ilya had said to look up later.
“Do you have a to-go toiletry bag?” Shane asked as Ilya focused on Shane’s phone and the two open tabs with the flights he’d found.
“Yes, yes…in bathroom, under the sink.” he replied, waving his hand in the direction of the ensuite bathroom.
Shane turned, smiling proudly as he saw Ilya reach for his own phone and then beginning to type something out.
“I need to book these and send them to Sveta,” he called out a moment later as Shane was opening the cabinet, searching for his bag.
“Ok,” he replied, and he heard Ilya walk quietly out of the room.
He found the smaller brown leather bag immediately and quickly opened it to make sure it still had all the basic necessities. He quickly saw toothpaste, and a toothbrush - the same electric one as he had on the counter by his sink, Shane noted. He smiled because he did the same thing since they traveled so much. A razor and cord were in the bottom along with deodorant, after-shave, and a small bottle of cologne that Shane made a mental note to find to keep at his apartment.
He diligently ignored the small bottle of lube and package of condoms tucked into a corner, trying to stifle the tightening of his throat and the sharp spike of heat that flared inside of him at the thought of Ilya always having it with him.
They weren’t exclusive. They weren’t even…what even were they? Nothing. Not really.
Friends?
Shaking his head out of his spiraling thoughts, Shane pulled the zipper closed and walked back out to the bedroom, laying the toiletry bag on top of the suitcase so Ilya could pack it how he liked.
With nothing else to do in the bedroom, Shane grabbed his phone from the table where Ilya had set it and checked it, noting the time. He still had two hours before he had to be at the arena.
Normally, he would already be back at the hotel and going through his usual pre-game routine. A light snack, stretching followed by a short yoga routine. He’d check through his bag that he carried to the arena to make sure he had everything even though he would have checked it twice before they’d left Montreal.
Hayden never teased him about his routine, and Shane appreciated it. He knew that it helped to ground him and get him in the right mindset for the game, so he wasn’t surprised when he saw a text waiting from him.
Hayden: You good?
Shane: Yeah…just spending some extra time. I’ll be there before we have to leave.
Shane: Thanks for checking on me.
Hayden: Wow. Pulling you out of your routine. You’ve gotta tell me more about her one of these days. Enjoy, buddy!
Shane: It’s not…shut up.
Shoving his phone back into the pocket of his pants, he made his way out of the bedroom. While he hated lying to Hayden, he also didn’t know how to tell him about any of this. At least not until he could explain it more to himself. He knew Hayden wouldn’t care if he was gay. It was who he’d fallen for that would be the problem for his friend.
Swallowing, he padded through the hall and noticed Ilya sitting in the corner of the large sectional couch talking softly, his phone pressed to his ear. He felt the other man’s eyes on him as he turned to go to the kitchen, but didn’t look back.
Opening the fridge, he looked inside wondering if Ilya was hungry. He spotted a few ingredients that he could use to make a sandwich or quick snack if he was and then wondered if Ilya usually ate a lot before a game or not. Grabbing a Coke and Ginger Ale, he closed the door and wandered back towards the couch.
Ilya was silently typing out something on his phone as Shane approached. When he looked up, Shane held out the Coke and Ilya took it with a murmured thanks.
“Most of the food in your fridge should keep for a week, but I can throw some of it out if you want…”
“No,” Ilya shook his head, “You have already done enough. Sit.”
He patted the couch next him as he set his phone to the side.
Shane shrugged as he sat next to him, their knees brushing, “We’ve been over this. I don’t mind.”
“Stubborn,” Ilya replied, but his voice didn’t hold any bite.
Shane suddenly realized just how much this moment felt like that afternoon in November when he’d left Ilya sitting almost in the same position on this very couch because he’d gotten scared and overwhelmed and couldn’t face his own feelings.
He glanced over at Ilya who was holding his can of Coke in his hands, unopened, his fingers rubbing back and forth over the cool metal. In that moment, Shane realized that he wasn’t the only one thinking of that day and he wanted to fix what he’d broken, or at least try to make a better memory, for both of them.
He wanted to give Ilya something to remember - a good thing to hold on to before he left to face whatever the next week held for him.
Shane needed him to feel everything that he didn’t believe he was worthy of because he was. He was worth it all. To Shane, he was worth everything.
That realization had scared him in November. It had scared him when he sat at a table in front of Rose and finally admitted that it was better when he was with a guy. It had scared him when he walked into that hotel room in Tampa and finally confessed it to Ilya.
But he wasn’t scared now.
Now, it was a part of him. Even if Ilya never wanted more. Even it Ilya could never give him more, he wanted to give this to Ilya.
Shane wanted Ilya to know that someone wanted to make him feel good; that someone wanted to hold him and take care of him and be there for him simply because he wanted to. Because he cared. Because he was loved. And he knew he couldn’t say it with words, not yet, but he could show him.
Shane could take care of him the way he needed to be; the way he hadn’t been in so long. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
Without saying anything, Shane set his ginger ale on the coffee table in front of them, and then took Ilya’s can from his hands.
Ilya’s brow furrowed slightly as Shane stood, confusion filling his eyes as he opened his mouth to say something. Shane could see the questions forming on his lips. The worry…
Before he could speak to them, Shane turned, sinking to his knees in front of him on the floor. His hands landed on Ilya’s spread knees as he ran his fingertips from the tops of Ilya’s knees down to his ankles and then back up.
A soft noise caused Shane to finally look up at Ilya and what he saw took his breath away.
His eyes had darkened, blue sharpening into something molten and yet vulnerable.
“Shane…you don’t have to…” Ilya began, his voice cracking and then he stopped, swallowing as he let out a long, unsteady breath.
Instead of answering right away, Shane let his fingers press into the corded muscles of Ilya’s thighs, feeling them bunch and then release as he kept going.
“Shane…”
Bending forward, Shane let his head fall into Ilya’s lap, mouthing into his groin, feeling the way his cock twitched along with his quick inhale.
One of Ilya’s hands landed in his hair, fingers combing through it with restrained control.
He pressed a kiss to his now half-hard cock before lifting his head, just as Ilya let his other hand fall to the skin of his neck, sliding down the back of his shirt in an echo so familiar to the last time. His touch sent heat sparking though him and he groaned.
“I know I don’t have to,” Shane said softly, tightening his hands on Ilya’s thighs, letting them run under the edges of his underwear. “I want to, Ilya.”
He watched as Ilya’s eyelids dropped, his chest collapsing as he released a breath.
“Let me take care of you,” he added, keeping his eyes on Ilya’s as he placed an open mouth kiss against his thigh before lifting up, stretching as he brought his face to his.
“Please.”
Shane was pretty sure he was the one who said it, but the way Ilya’s eyes locked on to him, and the desire and emotion he found staring back at him, made him wonder if it hadn’t been both of them begging.
And then they were crashing together, lips taking as their mouths opened and tongues brushed against each other. Ilya’s kisses were desperate as if he was trying to pull Shane into his body, take his breath as if somehow that would make it easier for him to exist. Ilya’s hands slipped until Shane’s shirt and lifted. Shane pulled back enough to let Ilya rid him of his shirt and groaned when his hands found his chest, squeezing his pec before roaming back up to his shoulders.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Ilya’s and felt his soft, slow nod.
Shane pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting his fingers trail up to the top of his boxers and tug, easing them over his hips as Ilya lifted slightly to he could pull them all the way off. Ilya’s cock sprung free, bobbing against the sharp vee of his stomach, tip red and glistening. Shane licked his lips as he tossed the boxers somewhere behind him and he heart Ilya huff softly, his hands continuing to run down Shane’s chest and them up over his shoulders to his neck and hair,
Looking up, he locked eyes with Ilya as his hands returned to his thighs, squeezing softly, trying to ease the tension built into his strong frame. Anticipation hung thickly in the air around them as Shane slowly leaned down and ran his tongue lazily up the underside of his cock.
Ilya grunted softly, his head falling back. “Fuck…”
Before he could compose himself, Shane grinned and leaned forward, taking his entire cock into his mouth. He felt Ilya’s hands in his hair tighten their grip as he hollowed out his cheeks and relaxed his throat to swallow him all the way down.
“Fuck….Shane…”
Ilya bucked up at the sensation causing Shane to gag momentarily but he breathed deeply through his nose, refusing to let up an inch.
“Shane….”
Ilya’s voice was wrecked, strong fingers digging into his scalp as he lifted his head, redness spreading on his neck as he gazed down at Shane with a dazed expression.
“Y isportila menya dlya vsekh ostal'nykh, lyubov' moya.”
The Russian words slid over him, sinking into his skin in an invisible tattoo and he realized he would ink everyone of his whispered words into his skin if he could. Let Ilya mark him and make him his. They made him feel more powerful and wanted. The low groan of Ilya’s voice made him moan around his cock, his own begging for attention in his pants, achingly hard. He bucked up against Ilya’s leg, trying to ease some of the pressure, and he felt Ilya shift to help him find that friction he needed.
Shane blinked, swallowing once, causing Ilya to swear once more before releasing him.
He took a gasping breath before leaning down once again to take him back in, hollowing his cheeks and sucking as he began to bob up and down, slow at first and then faster. His hands slipped up and down Ilya’s quads teasing, switching from light touches to stronger ones.
Ilya groaned and Shane realized he’d closed his eyes, letting his mind start to drift. He loved this feeling, powerful yet free. Free of his own worries and stresses and instead wholly focused on bringing pleasure to Ilya. He could be good at this. He was good at this. There were no doubts floating around in his head when Ilya was looking at him like that - as if he would give up everything to keep Shane right there in his lap.
“Fuck, Shane….I won’t last…” Ilya rasped, his hand tightening in Shane’s hair, pulling a little too tight, but Shane just groaned, loving the feeling of being useful and good for Ilya.
Not wanting him to come just yet, Shane pulled off, a strand of spit linking his bottom lip to the top of Ilya’s glistening cock.
His head was blissfully blank and cottony as he gazed up at Ilya, and he let it rest against one of his strong thighs as he pulled in deep breaths.
“You are too good,” Ilya rasped, the fingers in his hair softening as they trailed over his head and down to cup his cheek. “Fuck, you will ruin me.”
The words swam warmly in Shane’s head and he smiled softly as he finally lifted his head. Sloppily, he slowly began to tug down his own pants, using Ilya’s legs to brace himself as he stood on wobbly legs. Strong hands held his hips as he stepped out of them and then he crawled into Ilya’s lap, straddling his hips as he had all those months ago.
This is how he wanted Ilya to finish. For them both to finish.
He wanted to make this a good memory. To rewrite this memory, to one where they both chose to stay.
He felt the breath leave Ilya’s lungs as he ran his hands up Shane’s flank, fingers lingering on the faint stretch marks on the side of his hips that Shane had learned to embrace thanks to Ilya, and then up to his chest.
His fingers were strong and warm as they gripped him, one entire palm enveloping his left pec. His other hand found the back of his neck, holding it tightly.
“Hollander…Shane…this…”
His voice was broken and Shane leaned forward, bringing his hand to his mouth and spitting before reaching down and taking both of their cocks together in his hand.
“It’s ok…I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving you this time.” He whispered hoarsely, his throat hoarse.
Ilya made a sound and let his head fall back against the couch, his eyes never leaving Shane. His chest heaved underneath Shane’s palm, as his other gripped them both in his hand.
He used the spit from his mouth to begin to work them together, his hand squeezing them together, and they both groaned at his first slide up and down their shafts.
Shane started slow and setting an even and agonizing pace, his lungs burning as he ground his hips against Ilya and up into his hand. Ilya’s hands didn’t stop moving, running from the back of his neck to the side of his face, up into his hair to tug and then down his chest grasping his pec as his thumb scraped across his nipple.
“Ilya…” his name fell from his lips on a groan and Shane let his head fall forward.
“Are you close?” Shane asked, feeling the familiar pull low in his stomach as he worked his hand up and down over them.
“Make me come,” Ilya grit out, words so close to those of that day that Shane redoubled his efforts but he knew they both needed just a bit more.
Shane bent his head and latched on to Ilya’s top lip, dragging it into his mouth and scraping his teeth along it. Ilya growled low in his throat and pushed back, and Shane stilled when he felt Ilya’s large hand envelope his own, helping him to work them up and down over their cocks. Their faces were pressed together, kisses traded back and forth until Shane wasn’t sure where he ended and Ilya began.
“Fuck,” Shane grunted, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt himself nearing the edge and refusing to come before Ilya.
Using his nose, he pushed back and pressed his lips back against Ilya’s with a force that had their teeth clanking together before he adjusted and nipped at Ilya’s lower lip.
Ilya quickened their pace, squeezing Shane’s hand tighter on the upstroke and Shane folded forward, his mouth moving over Ilya’s face with abandon.
“Come with me, Ilya, please, baby,” he breathed, barely able to get the words out as heat spiked through him.
A strangled sound left Ilya’s lips and he felt his cock stiffen against his and then he was coming and the sensation pulled Shane over the edge too.
His vision whited out as cotton filled his ears, the warmth spreading throughout him taking with him the rest of his strength and thoughts as he collapsed forward against Ilya.
All he could feel was Ilya beneath him, a hand trailing softly over his back and a low, steady voice in his ear.
Slowly, his surroundings came back to him. Ilya’s breath, warm and gentle against his cheek. The solidness of him beneath his body. His heartbeat slowing steadily in his chest.
He blinked his eyes open and found Ilya looking up at him, his gaze dazed and full of what he could only describe as adoration and awe.
“Malysh," he murmured softly.
He didn’t know exactly what it meant, but there was a fondness in his voice that made him not want to ask because he didn’t need to know. It was intimate, personal and just for him.
He smiled as he burrowed his face into the crook of Ilya’s neck, pressing a soft kiss into the sweat slick skin. He felt Ilya shiver beneath him, and huffed out a breath.
“You are still here.”
Ilya’s voice was rough and his accent thick.
Shane wanted to laugh and roll his eyes at the smart ass remark, but all he could manage was a soft swat of his hand to Ilya’s shoulder.
“Shut up.”
A moment passed and then Ilya turned his head into Shane’s neck, pressing a soft kiss against his neck.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
And Shane understood everything he didn’t add.
Thank you for staying. Thank you for being here. Thank you for caring.
Shane could only nod as his senses finally started coming back to him, the daze of afterglow still present but allowing more cognizant thoughts into his brain.
“You’re worth it.”
Shane murmured the words into his skin, feeling the way Ilya stiffened and then felt his arms come up and tighten around him.
He nosed at Shane’s face until he lifted his head and allowed Ilya to kiss him, his mouth covering his with an urgency that Shane felt to his core. He need to feel him beneath his lips, needed to soak up his words and heal the invisible wounds deep in his soul from years of being told he wasn’t enough.
Ilya’s tongue parted his lips and swept into his mouth, stealing the breath he had just regained from his orgasm, but Shane couldn’t find the will to care.
When he finally pulled back, Ilya buried his face against his neck and hugged him close until Shane began to feel the sticky mess between them when he shifted his hips. Thankfully, it was contained to their chests, but it was drying quickly as they resisted moving.
Chuckling softly, Ilya pulled back. “We need a shower.”
Shane barked out a laugh, and nodded before hearing a chime on his phone. He glanced at it and sighed when he noticed the numbers staring back at him.
“I don’t have time.”
Ilya glanced at his phone and winced. “You will make it on time?”
Shane nodded, navigating his phone to his rideshare app.
“Yeah, but I should go,” he regretted the words, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he worried that Ilya would think he was running again.
Ilya gave him a soft smile, “Breathe, Hollander, I know you have to leave for game.”
“I’m not running out on you,” Shane stated, because he need to say it, needing Ilya to hear it.
“I know, Shane,” he breathed, leaning up and kissing him softly.
Shane let himself melt into the kiss, and Ilya waited until Shane opened his eyes to add, “You are not having a panic attack. That is how I know.”
“Such an asshole,” Shane responded immediately as he shoved away from his chest playfully.
Ilya big hands grasped his quads to keep him on his lap, and Shane could feel the way he was struggling to let him leave. “I’m beginning to think “asshole” is a new term of…what is word?”
“Term of endearment” Shane supplied, rolling his eyes, playfully even though he knew the other man was right.
“Ah, yes, that’s it. It is term of endearment since you use it so often with me. Yes, that is it, and then look at me like that.”
Shane scoffed, his cheeks heating, suspecting what Ilya’s next words would be. “Like what?”
“Like you will sink to your knees and suck my cock again,” Ilya replied, with a quick shrug.
“Absolute asshole,” Shane repeated, without thinking and he saw the immediate satisfaction on Ilya’s face as if he’d just won something.
Slow, wide smiles spread across their faces, and then they were both doubling over, laughing against each other.
When they’d both quieted, Ilya reached up to trace a finger over Shane’s cheek. “I am sorry you will not have time to shower…”
Shane shrugged it off, “I’ll shower after the game.”
Ilya stilled, and then trailed his eyes over Shane’s still naked body.
His voice was tight and clipped when he spoke, “So you will be like this during all of game?”
Fingertips trailed down between them and over the smeared mess of both of their cum.
The pupils of his eyes were blown wide when he met Shane’s gaze again and heat rose to his cheeks as he realized what Ilya was asking.
His throat went dry and she cleared it, trying not to sound as affected as he was by the look in Ilya’s eyes.
“I’ll clean up with a wash cloth….” he muttered, swallowing thickly, his throat suddenly very dry.
Ilya pulled him back with a firm arm around his waist. “Or you could leave it.”
Shane felt his ears warm, his heart thudding loudly in his ears as he resolutely ignored the idea of playing a game with it still on his skin.
And then the uncomfortable, tacky feeling of it cooling against his chest, quickly reminded him that he definitely could not handle that. He wouldn’t be able to focus at all with the texture of it on his skin, not to mention any other reason.
“I’m not leaving it.”
Ilya smiled knowingly, as if he could read his thoughts, his fingers soothing up his sides.
He simply shrugged before adding, “But I will be thinking of you looking like this all game and knowing some of it remains on your skin.”
Ilya punctuated his last words by pressing his kiss to Shane’s collarbone, and running his tongue up the side of his neck.
Shane’s mouth fell open and he felt the blood rush right back to his dick. “Fuck, Ilya.”
Pulling in a slow, steadying breath, he waited until he’d gathered the thread of his quickly unraveling control back to himself before opening his eyes.
“I’ll shower when I get to the arena.”
Ilya laughed, and then he surprised Shane by standing, lifting Shane with him. His arms immediately wound around his neck as Ilya walked them both back to his bedroom. “No, you won’t. It’s too much out of your routine.”
Shane sighed, knowing he was right as Ilya placed him gently on the bed, and then started for his bathroom.
When he returned, he brought with him a warm cloth that he first used to clean off Shane’s chest and then his own before tossing in the dirty clothes hamper.
Shane grabbed his wrist before he could walk away, knowing they both had to get dressed and ready to leave, but needing to check on Ilya.
“You’ll be ok?” he asked softly.
Ilya’s eyes softened when he looked at Shane. He nodded, “Yes.”
“And you’ll text me when you land?” he added, to which Ilya smirked.
“Now who’s the bossy one?”
Shane didn’t take the bait, and instead just held his wrist tighter until Ilya sighed and nodded, sliding his hand down until his fingers tangled with Shane’s.
“I will text.”
Shane released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and nodded, “Thank you.”
They held on for another minute before Shane’s phone pinged again, and then they both started to move, quickly getting dressed to face the real world once again.
Ilya didn’t say a word when Shane grabbed another pair of Ilya’s sweatpants and shirt back on, over his boxer briefs which he thankfully found on the floor near the bed. Shane caught him staring from the mirror in front of him, Ilya’s gaze soft and small upturn to lips making his heart unreasonably happy.
Shane took a deep breath, clearing his throat as he turned around. Ilya continued his silence, but came over to him, his gaze raking over him before he pressed a soft kiss to the side of his mouth and grabbed his hand.
The house was quiet as Ilya walked them to the door, leaning up against the wall while Shane slipped his shoes back on, tying them quickly.
When he stood, Ilya handed him his jacket and Shane slid it on, trying to swallow against the rising dread in his stomach that always appeared whenever his time with Ilya was over. He never knew when he would see him again. There was a time where he didn’t know if he’d ever see him again.
Now, instead of fear that this would be the last time, it was the thought of Ilya having to go back to Russia and dealing with his father’s death by himself that caused the tightness in his throat.
“You are worrying again,” Ilya murmured, stepping into his space.
Shane didn’t back up, letting his calming scent wrap around him as breathed deeply.
“About you,” Shane admitted, opening his eyes when he heard Ilya inhale sharply.
One of Ilya’s hands came up to cup his face, thumb running gently over his cheek while his other hand fisted in the front of his jacket.
His eyes roamed over Shane’s face as if he was trying to commit it to memory, and Shane let him. He would let him take whatever he needed as long as it would mean that he would be okay.
The warmth of Ilya’s palm seeped into his skin and he couldn’t resist leaning his head into his touch, letting his eyes slip shut, exhaling softly.
His body moved as if pulled by invisible threads that always seemed to pull him towards the man standing in front of him. He let his instincts take over; let himself give into what he wanted.
Turning his face into Ilya’s palm, he pressed a gentle kiss to the center of his hand, nuzzling in, before facing Ilya once more.
When Shane opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t Ilya shaking his head in disbelief as he stared at him, as if he couldn’t trust that Shane was real.
Shane watched his swallow thickly, opening but nothing came out. Instead, his chin wobbled before snapping shut.
And then Ilya moved, one hand coming up to grasp his chin, the other still on caressing his cheek as his body pushed them both back until Shane hit the wall behind him.
His mouth crushed against Shane’s a split-second later, kissing him as if he was afraid Shane would disappear. Shane gasped, the ferocity of the kiss surprising him and Ilya took advantage, his tongue snaking into his mouth and he could only hold on as a moan slipped from deep in his throat.
Shane’s hands found Ilya’s hair and he wound his fingers through the soft curls, pulling him even closer. He felt Ilya trying to tell him the words that he couldn’t speak moments ago in this kiss. His hands trailed from his hair to his cheeks and back again, his tongue tangling with Shane’s as if he was trying to breathe him in. Ilya’s teeth nipped at his upper lip and then his bottom, sweeping his tongue over them after to sooth the sting.
When Shane tugged at Ilya’s hair trying to pull him even closer, Ilya groaned low in his throat, his mouth moving from Shane’s lips to his jaw and then down the column of his throat.
“Ilya,” Shane whimpered as he felt him pressed one more kiss to where his pulse fluttered in his neck, and then finally pulled back.
His pupils were blown wide, as he watched Shane carefully.
With his fingers, he wiped at the edge of Shane’s mouth, pressing one more kiss there before shifting them both back from the wall.
“Thank you,” Ilya breathed against his lips before completely untangling himself from Shane, the fingers on his face the last to slip away.
Shane heard him swallow as he let out a long breath, pulling himself back together as his phone buzzed in his pocket, letting him know that his ride was there.
“For the record, I will score more goals that you tonight,” Ilya finally said, his voice thick but the teasing lilt bringing them back to their familiar banter.
Shane blew out a breath, his head still foggy from the kiss.
“Asshole.”
“No, that is you, remember?” Ilya responded, softly as Shane reached for the door handle.
“See you on the ice,” Shane replied, after a moment where he turned and looked at Ilya once more.
“Yes, see you there,” Ilya murmured and then Shane took one more deep breath as he turned and walked out into the cold Boston air and his waiting ride.
When his car was pulling down the driveway, he finally glanced back out the window, and he saw Ilya still standing in the doorway, staring at him with that soft, unguarded look.
Shane held on to that image all the way back to the hotel.
***
He made it back with just enough time to change into his suit and grab his bag that Hayden held out to him with a smirk.
“Have a good time?” his friend asked, tilting his head to the side, eyebrows raised.
“It’s not…”
“Please, you have been gone most of the day…on a game day and missed most of your pre-game routines. Don’t start with the ‘it’s not what you think’ bull shit, Shane,” Hayden sighed. “Listen, I’m happy you have someone….”
Knowing there was no reason or way to argue with him, Shane simply dropped his head and sighed. “Ok, thank you. Let’s go.”
Two hours later, they were on the ice, the familiar smell and feel of it beneath his feet grounding in a way he desperately needed.
When Boston took the ice, he immediately spotted Ilya. He let his gaze trail over him, taking him in, wanting to make sure he still looked ok.
To most people, nothing would seem out of the ordinary, but Shane could see the rigid way he held his body and the extra tension that lined his face. When he met his gaze across the ice, Shane noted the turmoil behind those usually playful but sharp blue eyes.
Throughout the game, Ilya was off. Not by much, but his temper was shorter and his skating stilted. He still played better than most, but the differences were noticeable to Shane.
Boston won, by one goal, a lucky shot at the end of regulation when Ilya wasn’t even on the ice. Shane out-scored Ilya 2 to 1, and Ilya had more than one altercation with Hayden. He’d been ready to drop gloves at one point, Ilya spitting something in Russian to Shane’s teammate after a hard check into the boards.
Shane had quickly skated towards them quickly, knowing Ilya’s anger wasn’t directed at the other players, but everything else going on in his life. He managed to skate to a halt, ice spraying in front of Ilya just as he’d dropped his stick.
“Rozanov,” Shane had hissed, trying to get his attention. Just then Marleau had reached them, hooking an arm around Ilya and pulled him away.
“Dry spell, Rozanov?” Hayden continued to chirp, oblivious to his captain and friends glare, “You seem extra tense tonight. No one wants to sleep with your sarcastic ass?”
“Hayden, shut up,” Shane shouted as his teammate as he rounded on him.
Hayden just shrugged him off, “He can handle it. He does enough chirping most nights.”
Ilya only leveled him with a hard glare before skating away from them and back to his bench.
When the final buzzer sounded and they lined up to shake hands, Shane made sure he was near the end. When he came to Ilya, he held on a second longer than usual, but Ilya didn’t even look at him.
His night was made longer when they pulled him for press duty, but when he’d finally made it back to the locker room and showered, most of the team had already started heading back to the hotel or the nearest bar.
Shane let himself take longer, checking his phone more than once as he wondered if Ilya had already left for the airport. Remembering the flight he’d booked, Shane knew he still had time before needing to head to the airport.
As he left the visitor’s locker room, Shane took a detour towards the side door that poined towards the side lot where most of the Boston team parked.
He hitched his bag higher on his shoulder as his eyes glanced over the cars still in the lot. It took him less than a minute to spot the ridiculously bright-colored sports car that sat outside of Ilya’s house earlier.
Not letting himself overthink it, he walked a few feet away from the door and the bright light, letting the shadows help him blend into the building. Shane took a deep breath, setting his bag down on the cold concrete and waited.
In the ten minutes it took for Ilya to appear, Shane had convinced himself to leave five different times. He knew he was being reckless - that he could be spotted, or worse, if Ilya showed up, that they could be spotted together. He knew that his was so far out of their normal routines that it might be the absolute wrong thing to do.
And yet, something inside him made him stay. The fact that his eyes had been distant and dull for most of the game, and they way he’d refused to look at him at the end of the game had left a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He needed to see him, without the lights and noise of the arena.
It was that desire to check in on him one more time before he left to face whatever waited for him in Russia that made him braver than normal.
His love for Ilya was reckless. And maybe it made him act reckless, but it was the truest and strongest thing he’d felt in his entire life so he would be brave right now. For Ilya.
A few other players and employees straggled out into the frigid night as he waited. None of them even bothered to look around enough to notice Shane Hollander leaning against the wall, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat, the collar of his coat pulled up to cover most of his face.
The parking lot was practically empty when Shane finally heard the door open once more, and slinking closed with a soft snick. He held his breath and then released it as Ilya’s familiar form appeared a few seconds later, his bag slung heavily over his shoulder.
Shane was surprised when he paused and turned towards where he was waiting in the shadows, wondering if Ilya had somehow known he was there.
But then he saw his hands move to his pockets and a flicker of light appeared as he lit a cigarette, he’d pulled from his other pocket.
As much as Shane hated that he was still smoking, the memory of their first meeting all those years ago flashed in his mind and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Ilya Rozanov?”
“I’m Shane Hollander.”
Ilya took another step towards him as he dropped his bag to the ground and took a deep inhale, the smoke curling around him as his shoulders dropped and he let his head fall against the rough brick.
Shane took a small step forward, trying not to startle him.
“Ilya?” His voice was quiet, but he watched him jump, his hand coming up to his chest.
“Fuck, Hollander?” He turned fully towards him, his eyes squinting into the dark.
Shane took another step forward and lifted his hand in a silly wave. Realizing that Ilya might not be able to see him before saying finally using his voice. “Yeah…it’s me.”
Ilya opened and closed his mouth, and Shane could only assume he was processing it all. Then, he took two large steps into Shane, his arms coming up, caging him in against the cold stone building. Shane could see the soft glow of his still lit cigarette out of the corner of his eye.
“What are you doing here?” Ilya hissed, but his mouth was centimeters away from his and he realized that Ilya was trying to hide him, shield him from any prying eyes.
Shane couldn’t help but lean forward, letting his forehead brush his, the smell of smoke and Ilya’s bodywash surrounding him.
He heard Ilya inhale sharply, and then he felt his lips against his forehead. Shane let his head come to rest in the crook of his neck, pressing his lips on the soft, warm skin he could reach not covered by his coat.
“Hollander…” Ilya whispered, his voice strained in warning or a plea, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. “Shane, what are you doing?”
“I just wanted to see you before you left,” Shane mumbled. “I wanted to make sure you were ok…or as ok as you can be.”
The breath tumbled out of Ilya, his body pitching forward as he let his weight sink against Shane as if his words had plucked away the last string holding him upright.
Ilya let the cigarette he’d been holding drop to the ground, and Shane quickly stubbed it out with his the toe of his shoe.
“Blyat, ya prosto ne mogu ne vlyubit'sya v tebya.”
Shane didn’t understand the words, but he did understand the way his voice broke slightly over the last few words. It made him grasp at Ilya’s coat and pull him closer as his head fell to the crook of Shane’s shoulder.
He waited quietly as Ilya pulled in two more breaths and then he spoke again, this time in English. “I am better now.”
Warmth spread through Shane at his words and he sighed, turning his head and burying his nose against Ilya’s hair that was still damp from his post-game shower.
“Is Svetlana meeting you at the airport?’ Shane asked after a moment, pushing away the lump in his throat, needing to know that Ilya would have someone with him and wouldn’t be alone.
Ilya nodded into his shoulder.
“Good,” Shane muttered softly, “And you’ll still text when you land?”
Ilya lifted his head from his shoulder and Shane was glad to see that the sadness in his eyes had lessened. He watched as Ilya pulled in a deep breath, working to compose himself once more, pulling the pieces of his normal mask back together.
“You are being very demanding for someone who just lost,” he muttered, blue eyes glinting in the darkness, holding his gaze for a second and then dropping to his mouth.
“Fuck off, I still scored more goals than you,” Shane huffed, falling into the normal banter easily, realizing just how much Ilya needed this right now.
The playfulness in Ilya’s eyes didn’t distract Shane from the fierce grip Ilya still had on Shane’s jacket as if he was afraid he would disappear.
Ilya huffed out a breath, rolling his eyes, “Details. I will make it up when I get back. At least three goals every game. Don’t worry.”
Shane chuckled, shaking his head, “Of course you will.”
Silence settled between them, a sharp blast of wind, causing Shane to take a step closer to Ilya before adding, “But I will worry about you.”
Ilya shook his head, quick to deflect, “You do not need to worry about me, Hollander. I am not worth…”
Shane shook his head forcefully because that was something he wasn’t willing to hear so he pushed forward, brushing his lips against Ilya’s, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence.
It was a soft kiss, a shared breath and the press of lips, once, twice, before Shane pulled away.
“You are worth it, so text me when you land and whenever you need it.”
Shane tried to keep his voice steady, but he heard the emotion beginning to bleed through and took a breath. “I want to help if I can.”
Ilya stared at him for a long moment, his face blank except for his eyes roaming over his face. It was an expression Shane knew well now that Ilya had when he was processing what had been said and trying to find the words in English to reply. Wherever something caught him off guard, he schooled his features in a blank slate until he could organize his thoughts and words.
So Shane waited, letting his gaze move to the curl sticking out of his hat, until he felt Ilya’s hand move from his jacket up to cup the back of his neck, tilting his head up so that he could look him in the eye His face no longer blank, but full of more emotion than Shane was prepared for.
His eyes were glassy, his features almost pained, “You have already helped, Shane. So much more than you know.”
Ilya pressed him back into the wall, his mouth slanting across his in a familiar but insistent way that took Shane’s breath away. Ilya wasted no time slipping his tongue along the seam of his lips and Shane opened willingly, breath quickly stolen as everything around them seemed to disappear. Shane snaked his hands beneath Ilya’s coat and felt the soft shirt beneath, the heat from his body seeping into him as he fisted the material in his fingers, wishing he could feel his skin beneath his palms instead.
Ilya’s teeth scraped over his bottom lip as he pulled back before licking his tongue over it to sooth away the sting. Then, he brushed his mouth over his cheek, and his chin before he pulled away, leaving them both gasping for breath.
Slowly, the sounds of the city around them floated back into Shane’s ears as he opened his eyes and found Ilya staring back at him.
“I have to go,” Ilya said, his voice rough, scraping against something deep inside of Shane. “I will text you. I will be safe. You need to go get sleep.”
Shane nodded and leaned forward to brush one more kiss to the corner of Ilya’s mouth. He knew that if he didn’t leave now, he would do something even more dangerous, like offer to drive him to the airport.
Meeting him out here in the shadows of the area was reckless enough. “Bye, Ilya.”
“Goodbye, Shane. Don’t score any goals until I’m back.”
Shane smirked back at him, ignoring the pressure at the back of his eyes, “Not promising that.”
Quickly, Shane picked up his back and slung it over his shoulder. He heard Ilya do the same before he started off out into the parking lot, not letting himself look back.
****
Shane didn't sleep well that night, and woke earlier than normal, the sun not yet peaking out from the horizon. He sat up slowly and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, knowing he wouldn’t be falling back asleep. He did his yoga in the hotel room and then headed to the hotel gym before breakfast, Hayden still fast asleep.
It wasn’t until they were about to board their plane back to Montreal that he got the text.
Lily: We landed.
Shane let out a soft breath, something in his chest easing.
Jane: Good. I’m glad.
Jane: We’re about to board our plane.
He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, wondering if he should add anything else. The gate agent announced their boarding, but before he slipped his phone back into his pocket, he opened their message thread back up and typed one more thing.
Jane: Call me later?
He quickly exited out of the app, hoping it wasn’t too much. Trying not to second guess himself, he stood and gathered his bag, focused on boarding the plane with his teammates.
His phone vibrated just as he had clicked his seatbelt into place, and he quickly swiped open to his message, staring down at the reply.
Lily: I’d like that.
With a smile, Shane put his phone in airplane mode and settled back into his seat.
****
Shane didn’t hear from Ilya again for the rest of the day. He had just crawled into bed, and was about to slip on his glasses on to read the book from his bedside table when his phone buzzed.
The message he found when he opened their thread was not what he expected.
Lily: I think you packed wrong shirt by mistake.
<Picture>
The photo was Ilya’s hands holding Shane’s white t-shirt. He stared at the picture as heat rose to his cheeks, biting his lower lip as he tried to figure out what he should respond. Before he could start typing another message appeared.
Lily: This one is too small for me.
Shane scowled, his embarrassment quickly turning to annoyance.
Jane: It is not. We are the same size.
Lily: Uh, no. We are not. I am bigger than you.
Jane: Asshole. You are not.
Lily: You have seen me without shirt. Do not pretend.
Shane realized he was grinning at his phone despite Ilya being absolutely wrong. Okay, maybe not completely wrong.
While they could totally wear each other’s shirts, Shane could admit that Ilya had a wider chest than him. It was actually one of the things he loved - knowing that he could feel small and held and safe in his arms. He’d only recently admitted it to himself, but he knew after Rose - after he was finally honest with himself about being gay and who and what he liked - that one of those things was being physically held in Ilya’s arms. He could be completely wrapped up and safe. The weight of having to hold himself and his team together, as well as everything else everyone expected him to be, was often too much. But everything was quieter and safer in his arms.
He wished he could tell Ilya that. He should tell him. Except they still hadn’t even defined what they were, and he was worried that it would once again be too much. That he would be too much.
When his phone buzzed again, he realized he hadn’t replied.
Lily: Did thinking about me leave you without speech?
Shane huffed, rolling his eyes as he quickly typed out a reply.
Jane: Shut up.
And then, he decided to be brave and send one more text.
Jane: I thought maybe it would help you know you aren’t alone.
He pressed send before he could second guess himself, watching as he saw the message be delivered and then read. He felt his heartbeat in his throat, tried to take a deep breath as he watched the dots appear, disappear and then appear again.
The longer it took for Ilya to reply, the worse Shane felt. It was too much. He should have stuck to the playful banter. Ilya had Svetlana there. He wasn’t alone. It was so stupid of him to do and say.
Too much…
Too much…
Too much…
The words just kept echoing in his head and he squeezed his eyes shut trying to block them out and started his calm breathing. This was not the time for a panic attack.
He almost dropped his phone when it began buzzing repeatedly in his hand.
Shane’s eyes flew open and he stared at the screen as Lily’s name appeared in a FaceTime request.
He briefly thought about not answering, but then realized it might be easier to play it off if he could see Ilya’s face so he accepted it with a swipe, settling back into the pillows behind him.
“Hey,” he breathed, his voice strained to his own ears as Ilya’s face popped up on the screen.
What he wasn’t expecting was Ilya to be staring at him with red-rimmed eyes, his lips pressed together firmly as if he was trying to hold himself together.
“Ilya…” Shane sat up straighter, lifting his hand as if he could reach through the screen and touch him.
“You packed me your shirt,” Ilya said after a moment, his voice hoarse and thick with his accent as if he hadn’t used English in a while.
Shane swallowed and took a deep breath before shrugging, “Yeah, I just…I wasn’t trying to overstep. I just thought maybe it would help. It was probably a stupid idea…”
“Breathe, Hollander,” Ilya interrupted him with a soft smile. “You are having another panic attack.”
Shane stopped and then took a deep breath, Ilya’s voice and direction helping to calm his heartrate and allowing him to do as Ilya said…breathe.
“It is not stupid. Thank you,” Ilya said after Shane opened his eyes again. “It is nice. It…helps.”
He felt the wetness in his eyes, before he could stop it, clinging to his eyelashes as he blinked. Shane swallowed quickly to keep the tears from falling, shifting in the bed.
“Good,” he replied softly, “I’m glad.”
There was another beat of silence and then he watched as Ilya’s eyes roamed his face taking him in.
Shane took a breath and asked, “So how are you?”
Ilya blew out a long breath as he sank down into a chair. Behind him, Shane could make out large windows with heavy curtains, the light filtering through them letting him know it was daytime there.
“Fine…” Then after a moment, “Not good,” he admitted looking away.
He watched as Ilya took a breath, composing himself before returning his gaze to Shane and he let the corner of his mouth curve up. “Better now, though.”
A familiar warmth rose in Shane’s chest, only this time it was not embarrassment but satisfaction knowing that Ilya was happy to see his face, that he was helping.
“Good,” Shane murmured, and sat to shove more pillows behind him, settling in to talk to Ilya as long as he needed. “When is the funeral?”
Shane watched through the tiny screen as Ilya rubbed his eyes. He could see the dark circles beginning to form underneath them and knew he wasn’t sleeping well. For the first time, he wondered if he ever slept well when he was there. He knew so little about his family and his life in Russia. He knew it’s because Ilya wanted it that way or thought it was easier or better that way, but he also wanted him to be able to talk to him about it. So he made a mental note to ask another time, when they weren’t separated by thousands of miles and talking through a screen.
“In two days,” Ilya answered quickly, “Tomorrow is more paperwork and meetings.”
He lifted his hand, twirling it absentmindedly, and Shane understood what he meant without saying it. Dealing with the estate, money, and plans. He remembered it for his own grandparents and he couldn’t imagine having to do it with his own parents.
Shane paused before asking softly, “How else can I help?”
Ilya’s eyes sharpened, his pupils widening until the blue almost disappeared. “Let me see you…”
“What?” Shane blinked, and then laughed. “Really, that’s what you want right now?”
Ilya shrugged, but the softness that filled his gaze had Shane moving, propping his phone on some pillows as he reached for the edge of his t-shirt.
“You asked how you could help? This is helpful.”
Shane was about to ask if Ilya would do the same but when he settled back in the bed, his shirt folded at the end of it, he saw that Ilya had already removed his, leaving only tanned skin and the gold chain filling the bottom of his screen.
“I’ve never…” he began, realizing what Ilya probably wanted from this call. What he wanted too.
Ilya hushed him gently, “I know, malysh. Is ok. We take it slow. Together.”
Shane let out a breath and nodded, pushing the worry aside and letting the tension go as he listened to the soothing tone of Ilya’s voice.
****
Shane didn’t hear from Ilya again until after their game with Buffalo the next day. It was a late game, and they’d just returned to the locker room after a decisive win. His shoulder ached after a couple of hard hits, but he’d still scored two goals and had an assist.
He immediately reached for his phone, digging it out from underneath his shirt. Unlocking it, he let out a deep breath when he saw a text from Lily.
The funeral was today, and Shane was going to send him a message if he didn’t hear from him anyway.
He glanced around, noting that most of the players were still filing into the room as he swiped into their message thread.
The first message was just a picture. Shane almost dropped his phone when he saw it, but tightened his grip instead, his heart squeezing tightly in his chest.
The picture was of a familiar torso, a crisp white button-up dress taking up most of the screen. The top two buttons were undone. At the neck was a familiar gold chain that Shane’s eyes followed down where a white t-shirt peaked out from beneath the dress shirt collar.
Underneath the picture was a message.
Lily: Thank you. I do not feel so alone today.
Shane closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the top of his stall. A smile tugged at his lips as he swallowed down the emotions threatening to crawl up his throat. He blinked away the pressure burning brightly behind his eyes. He pulled a ragged breath in through his nose and let it out, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay in the middle of Montreal’s locker room.
He’d worn the shirt. He wasn’t alone. He was ok.
That’s all that mattered.
He quickly reacted to the picture with a heart, as the rest of the team filtered into the coach locker room with loud whoops and celebrations. Shane slid his phone back under his t-shirt at the top of his stall, turning as his coach called for their attention.
Hayden caught his gaze, his eyebrows raised in question. He looked at where Shane’s phone was and then back to his face. Shane knew he was trying to figure out what was going on, but the glint in his friend's eyes told him he'd suspected a safe enough conclusion - that it was Lily. Smiling, he bumped playfully into his Hayden’s shoulder as they both turned their attention towards the rest of the room.
It wasn’t until he stepped out into the crisp night air, that Shane realized he was still smiling.
As he drove home that night, he made a promise to himself that he would continue to be brave when it came to Ilya. The way his heart sped up at the thought of seeing him again had him reaching for his phone.
It was a crazy idea, one that he wasn’t sure he should even entertain, but he had long passed trying to convince himself Ilya wasn’t important to him. Shane knew that there was very little he wouldn’t do for him, if anything.
The idea of not having him in his life anymore wasn’t an option. So he would keep reaching out, as scary and terrified as the idea of being wrong about all of it made him feel, he knew he had to try.
And after this week, he had come to the realization that Ilya wasn’t used to people doing things for him without expecting something in return. He wanted to show Ilya what it meant to be cared for and loved, unconditionally.
Because he did love him. There was no denying that. And he refused to lie to himself anymore.
So he sent the text and waited for a reply, hope unfurling in his chest.
Jane: When are you coming back?