Ilya was very rudely awakened by rays of sunshine streaming in through his windows. Did he forget to close the curtains last night?
Oh. No.
Well, actually, yes.
He did forget to close the curtains. Because he was drunk. He'd downed nearly half a bottle of his good vodka yesterday. Things were grim.
But Shane put him to bed.
Fucking sweet and caring Shane Hollander brought him food and took care of him — a drunken rambling mess. Add it to the list of reasons he didn't deserve Shane.
Ilya grumbled and got out of bed, popped two advil and stuck his head under the faucet for some water, then dragged his feet to the kitchen to make coffee. He needed so much coffee. Once it was brewing, Ilya yawned and looked down at the kitchen island. There was a piece of paper from his notepad there with something scribbled on it.
You fell asleep. Text me when you're human again. – Shane :)
Ilya's heart clenched. It was all too much. He slowly bent down and pressed his forehead to the cold marble of the countertop, overwhelmed. The hangover was making his head throb and the devastation of losing the game was still weighing him down, but this note from Shane was a balm to his injured spirit. He didn't deserve it.
Getting all the way to game 7 just to lose in overtime to fucking Montreal was a gut punch, and he had felt he deserved a day of wallowing. Especially when things were so confusing with Shane right now.
It had been so blissfully good. Fucking and cuddling and sleeping and winning hockey games together. Until Svetlana had to show up and poke the bear. Ilya had asked her to wait outside, afraid of his old life and his new life colliding. Afraid of the exact questions Shane started asking. He loved Svetlana, he missed her. But if she and Shane met, Ilya wouldn't be able to keep the wall between his life in Canada and his life in Russia from crumbling.
Ilya didn't want to hurt Shane, he really didn't. That was the last thing he ever wanted to do. But he couldn't understand why Shane was so intent on learning about Ilya's stupid horrible childhood and his life in Russia. Since he was 12, he'd been working to get into the NHL, get out of Russia, and get a fresh start. So why did he need to rehash all the bad shit for Shane? It made no sense, and Ilya was frustrated that Shane kept pressing.
But there was a part of him, a part he tried to ignore, that longed to open up. To rip open the roughly healed wounds on his heart and let Shane see his bruises and scars. He imagined Shane's beautiful lips pressing kisses to all the wounds that he never wanted to think about, and his stomach twisted. He could never allow Shane to see those parts of him. He'd be disgusted.
Losing Shane wasn't an option, though. And if that meant only keeping Shane as a friend and teammate — well, Ilya would rather that than nothing. So if Shane really wanted to end it, Ilya would accept that if it meant they could still be friends. Shane was the best, most important friend he'd ever had, above all else.
After coffee and a shower, Ilya did feel a bit more like a human and less like a garbage heap, so he picked up his phone to text Shane. But waiting on his screen was a text from someone else.
Delzy: Hey Roz, how are you coping?
He had probably texted the same thing to the whole team today. Delzy was a good captain. But Ilya didn't really need checking up on.
Ilya: fine. thank you. you good?
Delzy: I'll be fine. Glad you're good. You up for a visit today? I was thinking about stopping by.
Ilya: why?
Delzy: Something I need to talk to you about. In person.
What the fuck was this? Was Ilya going to get traded or something? No, that wouldn't come from the captain.
Ilya frowned down at his phone in confusion, and then it clicked. This wasn't about the team. This was about Shane. He sighed. Ilya appreciated that Shane and Delzy had this mentor/older brother friendship situation going on, and he didn't have anything against Delzy. But he really didn't need his captain's input on his… whatever the fuck this was. Not relationship. Sort of relationship?
But he couldn't tell his captain to fuck off, not if he wanted to maintain his good graces. So…
Ilya: fine. am home. you need address?
Delzy: Nope. Be there in 10.
As expected, Ilya got a buzz up to his apartment about 10 minutes later. He unlocked the door and opened it so he was there waiting for Delzy when he walked up the hall.
"Nice place, Roz," Delzy said, looking around as he walked into Ilya's arguably very boring apartment that he hadn't put a lot of effort into making his own.
"Want something to drink?"
"Sure, got any coffee?"
Ilya started brewing a new pot, and Delzy sidled into one of the stools at Ilya's kitchen island.
"How are you feeling after the game?" Delzy asked, with his most captainly facial expression — serious but sincere.
"Is not about the game, why you are here. What is this, Delzy?" Ilya asked, slightly annoyed that the guy wasn't just getting to the point.
Delzy chuckled and looked down at his hands for a moment. "All right, you can see right through me. Fine, let's get right to it I guess."
Ilya waited, arms crossed over his chest.
"It's about Hollander," Delzy started, giving Ilya a knowing look.
"What about him?" Ilya asked with a skeptical look that he hoped made it clear he didn't care what Delzy had to say on the matter.
"He's fucked up about the loss," Delzy sighed, and Ilya's resolve melted a little. He hated that he'd been such a mess when Shane probably needed him yesterday.
"But he's also fucked up about you," Delzy continued.
Ilya rolled his eyes. "Is your business now?"
"It is when he's clearly letting it affect his game."
"Ah," Ilya nodded bitterly. "So. Is about hockey, not Hollander."
"No, that's not what I mean, come on, man," Delzy pushed back. "You know that he's crazy about you, right?"
Ilya couldn't help it, his lips tipped up into the slightest smile. He did know, but it sent a spark of excitement through him to hear someone else say it.
Delzy kept talking, "So if you're not serious about whatever it is you two are doing, you should let him down easy now, give him the summer to recover. He doesn't need his heart broken, but the least you could do is break it when he has time to heal."
Frustration flared in Ilya's chest.
"You know nothing," Ilya said flatly, breathing heavily to hold in his anger.
"I know what Hollander told me, I know that he's spiraling about it. Again."
"What did Shane say to you?"
"I'm not going to tell you everything he said, that's not fair to him. But he feels really strongly about you, Roz," Delzy replied. "Really really strongly. And he doesn't think you feel the same. So if you don't, you'd be doing him a favor to let him down easy."
"This is bullshit," Ilya left the kitchen, fury roiling inside of him. He stormed over to the front door, ready to open it and usher Delzy out. "You are bullshit."
He was annoyed at Shane for bringing Delzy into this, and at Delzy for interfering, but mostly at himself for getting himself into this situation in the first place. He knew he was fucked from the beginning, but he couldn't resist, and now he had to deal with this shit. He was over it, and he needed Delzy to leave.
"It's not bullshit, get your head out of your ass. You're everything to him," Delzy insisted, standing but not leaving the kitchen.
Of course Ilya knew this, it was painted all over Shane's face whenever they were alone together. The shy, needy, desperately adoring look in Shane's eyes when it was just him and Ilya tangled together in bed — it would stay in his heart forever. And Ilya just couldn't be open to Shane in the same way, there was too much ugliness inside him.
"I know this!" Ilya yelled, the dam holding back his emotions finally breaking. "You think I am stupid?"
"You're acting pretty fucking stupid," Delzy shot back. "Not just stupid — mean. You're stringing this kid along, for what? For a regular fuck on the road?"
"Fuck you, I love him!" Ilya spat in a choked rage.
The words were out of his mouth before he could pull them back, and Delzy's face went slack with shock.
Ilya's chest was heaving with the intensity of his fury and emotion, and his mind was spinning. Did he just say that out loud? To fucking Delzy of all people? God damn it.
"Will you leave?" Ilya asked impatiently.
"You love him?" Delzy almost whispered.
"None of your business," Ilya knew he couldn't reel those words back in, but he didn't have to say them out loud again. He didn't have to confirm the admission he'd just made.
"Roz," Delzy walked towards him, pity and confusion in his eyes. It made Ilya infinitely more annoyed. "If you love him, why don't you just tell him?"
"You understand nothing," Ilya rolled his eyes.
"Well, fucking explain then," Delzy retorted.
"No," Ilya crossed his arms again. "I said, none of your business. Between me and Shane."
Delzy sighed and shoved his hands into his long messy hair, looking like he was ready to pull it out.
"I don't know why I'm even here," Delzy turned his back on Ilya, walking towards the kitchen, head still in his hands. "Absolute morons, both of you."
Ilya scoffed and Delzy whipped back around to face him.
"You don't know how fucking good you have it," Delzy said emphatically, pointing at Ilya. "You think it's easy to be gay in the NHL? You think you'll ever have anything like this again in this league? You're both idiots. You have everything I ever wanted right in front of you, and you're being so fucking stupid!"
Ilya opened and closed his mouth a few times without saying anything, unsure how to respond. He didn't know what Delzy was talking about, but it was clear that this was about a lot more than him and Shane. It hung in the air, this almost-confession, the awkwardness of it lingering between them.
"Uh. Coffee is ready," was the reply Ilya landed on.
Delzy let out a sarcastic laugh. "Great."
"Sit," Ilya offered, waving a hand towards the stool Delzy sat in earlier and walking back into the kitchen.
He went through the motions of pouring them both cups of coffee, and handed one to Delzy, who took it without speaking. They stayed like that, sipping in silence, for a few minutes. Ilya didn't know what to say.
Even without the hangover, this would be far too much raw emotional honesty for Ilya. He wanted Delzy to leave so he could stew in this misery alone, or be weak and text Shane, but Ilya felt kind of bad for his captain now.
Finally, Delzy set down his mug and sighed, then spoke, "Sorry about that."
Ilya shrugged one shoulder. He still wasn't thrilled about this visit, so he wasn't feeling quick to forgive. But he waited for Delzy to continue.
"Did Hollander tell you that I had a thing with a teammate in my rookie year?"
"No." If Delzy hadn't just thrown a bomb onto his quiet morning, Ilya would be a lot more curious about this development. But as it stood, he was finding it hard to care.
"Well, I won't go into the gory details, but it didn't end well."
"Oh. Sorry."
Ilya was being more of a dick than he needed to be, but he was still hungover and annoyed.
"You okay now?" Ilya asked, attempting to be more sympathetic.
"Well, I thought so, it was over a decade ago. But seems like it's still bothering me."
"Oh."
What the fuck was Ilya supposed to say to him? This guy was in his 30s. He should have a better handle on his shit than a 20-year-old.
"My point is that you and Hollander might actually be the lucky ones, if you can figure your shit out."
"Is not that simple," Ilya replied, frustration rushing back.
"Isn't it?" Delzy asked. "You love him?"
Ilya looked down at his coffee. Of course he loved Shane. He loved every stupid thing about him, from his freckles to his slap shot to his steely determination and the way it melted into giggles when Ilya teased him. The way Ilya felt about Shane scared the shit out of him. That had to be love.
"Yes," Ilya allowed himself to admit again.
"Then don't be a fucking idiot. It might not be that simple, but it sure as fuck can't be that complicated. I'm not telling you to come out — I'd never do that. The NHL is run by homophobic assholes. The players, the fans, they're all awful. And Russia probably wouldn't be thrilled to welcome you home either. But if you guys can manage to have whatever it is you've had these last few months, don't fuck that up by getting in your own way."
Ilya let the words sink in. Delzy didn't understand what Shane had asked of Ilya and why it was so painful. But he wasn't wrong. If he loved Shane, which he did, he needed to not fuck it up any more than he already did.
"Okay," Ilya said, not looking up from his coffee cup. What else could he say?
After Delzy left, Ilya crawled back into bed. He wanted to disappear into the jumble of blankets and never come back. But he also really wanted Shane.
Tomorrow, they'd have their first of several post-playoffs debriefs as a team. It would be painful, but they'd get through it. Then they'd have to go back to the arena and clear out their stalls. After that, Ilya wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself or where he would go. He wasn't ready to go back to Russia, but he needed to get away from Ottawa.
Until then, though, he had a few more days he could spend with Shane. It wouldn't solve any problems, it wouldn't make their situation any easier, but if he could have Shane here with him for a little bit longer, he would take it. He grabbed his phone.
Ilya: am human again :)
Shane: i can be over in 20 minAfter the initial pain of his fight with Ilya, Shane felt less raw — the fresh pain of getting knocked out of the playoffs was much more sharp, and he needed the comfort of Ilya's presence and would settle for that.
He was beating himself up pretty hard following the team's post-mortem of the season. For all intents and purposes, Shane had played very well in the playoffs. And yes, he and Ilya both set new team records for most goals by a rookie in their first season — with Ilya setting the new record. And sure, they also both ranked in the top five of most goals scored by a rookie in the entire NHL ever. Shane still felt he could have played better in those final few games.
Shane followed Ilya home after their final debrief meeting, and Ilya allowed him 20 minutes of self-analysis and listing out everything he needed to improve for next season before cutting him off and dragging him to bed. They'd found a balance, even if it was unsteady. They were pointedly not mentioning Svetlana or their fight, nor did they bring up their summer plans at all in the days after that devastating game seven.
After their locker cleanout day, Hayden and Jackie would be spending one final night together before Hayden headed back to Toronto to be with his family for the start of the summer, so Shane would be vacating their apartment to give them one more night alone. Hayden was acting like being separated from his girlfriend was the greatest human suffering anyone could endure, and Shane heard Jackie comforting him, saying "we'll talk every day, I promise, and I'm taking your hoodie to sleep in every night."
It was all very dramatic and emotional if you asked Shane. They'd see each other in less than a month when Jackie's semester ended, and Toronto wasn't that far from Ottawa. It was a lot closer than Moscow.
Shane desperately wanted to know what Ilya planned to do between now and the NHL awards in June, which they'd both be attending as contenders for the rookie of the year award. And then, Shane assumed, Ilya would return to Russia until training camp started in September.
It felt like a game of chicken — both of them knowing that they'd soon be going their separate ways, neither of them acknowledging it. In fact, they spent very little time talking, Ilya always pulling Shane on top of him or under him, keeping their mouths occupied and Shane distracted.
The thought of being separated for nearly three months after spending almost every day together since October was more painful than Shane had expected. He was itching to invite Ilya to come visit him this summer at his parents' cottage, where he'd be for all of August. It was in a beautifully remote location on a lake about two hours outside of Ottawa, and his small family had gone there every summer since Shane was a kid.
It was his favorite place in the world, the only place he felt he could truly relax after the last few years of media frenzy in Ottawa that had forced Shane into the public eye. They had a few neighbors who Shane had known almost his entire life, and the employees at the local grocery stores and cafes knew the Hollanders well and treated Shane like a normal teenager. This summer his parents would drive up in the middle of July, and Shane would join them a week later for the remaining two weeks of their vacation.
After his parents left he'd have two or three weeks to himself on the lake, for the first time ever, and he was so looking forward to the peace and quiet. The only thing that would make it even better was having Ilya there with him in this haven far from any prying eyes, where they could swim and canoe and hike — and yes, where they could fuck and sleep together for days in a row with no obligations or interruptions. It was something Shane had been fantasizing about for a while now, especially on nights after losses on the road when Ilya held him close, and the comfort of his arms reminded Shane of how safe he felt at the cottage.
But the fear of rejection kept stopping Shane. He didn't think Ilya would be interested in his boring parents' boring cottage in the middle of nowhere, not when he would be back in the big, vibrant city that was his home. Probably reconnecting with old friends, able to communicate freely in his native language. Ilya would have no need for Shane then. And Shane could only hope that when Ilya returned to Canada, he wasn't in love with Svetlana or some other beautiful Russian model who could be the perfect hockey wife.
The day Hayden left, Shane invited Ilya over to his apartment for a change. They were lounging on Shane's couch, one of Shane's legs draped between Ilya's, having just interrupted a game of NHL on Shane's Playstation to make out and then, inevitably, blow each other.
"You always want to make out right when I'm starting to beat you, you realize that right?" Shane asked in a joking accusation.
"What? No. Would never do that," Ilya replied in mock offense. "How could you accuse me like this?"
"I finally scored a goal and you started kissing my neck!"
"Is a coincidence. Your neck looked very good that moment," Ilya leaned over and started kissing Shane's neck again, making Shane squeal in mock protest.
They settled back into a comfortable silence, Ilya absently stroking Shane's thigh, Shane's fingers curling around a strand of Ilya's hair. The thought of the cottage popped into Shane's mind again, and he needed to finally pluck up the courage to ask Ilya this thing he'd been avoiding for days.
"So, about this summer…" Shane started.
Ilya's hand stopped its lazy movements and his muscles tensed immediately, almost imperceptibly, but Shane felt it.
"I know you're probably going back to Russia after the awards in June. But I was wondering… would you want to maybe come back to Canada a little early? I'm going to be at my parents' cottage in August. It's on this lake out in the middle of nowhere. It's really beautiful, it's probably my favorite place in the world, and we have canoes and a hot tub, and um, my parents are letting me stay there alone for a while, so I was thinking… uh, I was thinking it might be fun to spend some time there. Together."
Shane followed his rambling question with a long exhale, relieved at having finally asked and anxiously waiting for a reply. Ilya's hand started its soothing rhythm on Shane's leg again, and Shane nuzzled into Ilya's side, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
"Maybe."
It was a one word answer, but at least it wasn't no.
"Okay." Shane didn't know what else to say to an answer that revealed nothing about what Ilya was actually thinking. They stayed like that for another few minutes before Ilya said more.
"I… might have family obligations," Ilya supplied.
"Oh, sure, that's important. But if you can get away… I'll be there. And I'll be here in Ottawa the rest of the summer, so. Yeah."
It was a not-so-subtle invitation for Ilya to share what he would be doing until June, which he did, with a not-so-subtle sigh.
"In two days, I will go to Boston to train with Sergei Vetrov and coach at his hockey school," Ilya said in such an offhand tone that Shane didn't properly register his words for a minute.
When they finally sunk in, Shane sat up and pulled his legs off Ilya's lap. His heart fell into his stomach.
"What do you mean? You're not staying in Ottawa until the awards? I thought…" Shane was going to say "I thought we had more time" but it sounded pathetic, even in his head.
"Sergei invited me yesterday. Is an honor to be invited by him, you know? I have to go," Ilya shrugged.
"How long will you be gone for?" Shane asked, trying to be relaxed and failing miserably.
"Until the awards. I will fly to Vegas from Boston, easier that way."
Ilya was pointedly avoiding Shane's gaze, and the hurt was spreading from Shane's heart into his veins.
"Right, yeah, that makes sense," Shane nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat.
Shane looked at Ilya, and Ilya looked down at his hands, both of them stifled under the weight of Ilya's unspoken words. Ilya finally turned his head to Shane, and his eyes were distant and maybe a little sad.
"Is… probably good to be apart for a while."
"Yep," Shane nodded, tears welling in his eyes. "Good idea…"
Well, this was it. Ilya was done with Shane. Shane knew it was coming, but he thought he'd have him here until June at least. And then they'd part ways, and return for their second season as nothing but teammates and friends. But it ended today.
Shane tried to smile, but the tears were starting to fall, and he was sure he looked like a complete mess. But he couldn't really control it. Ilya wasn't crying, but he looked at Shane with such sorrow, he might as well be. He turned and leaned towards Shane, gently kissing one of Shane's tear-damp cheeks, then the other. He moved to Shane's slightly parted lips, softly kissing and Shane had to have more.
With a soft whimper, Shane opened his mouth and Ilya's tongue met his in a deep, all-encompassing kiss that said everything neither of them were willing to say.
I'm sorry. I'm going to miss you. I love you.
Ilya pulled away slowly, and a string of saliva trailed from Shane's lips to his, like a last point of connection desperately trying to keep them together. It broke, and Ilya stood. Shane scrambled up to follow him to the door, not sure what to say, but wishing there were something that would keep Ilya here. How could Shane make this final moment of this brief, beautiful thing last forever?
When Ilya got to the door, he turned back to Shane, hand on the knob.
"See you in Las Vegas, Hollander," he sighed.
Don't go. Stay here tonight. I love you.
That's what Shane wanted to say. Instead he simply replied with, "Yeah. See you there."
And Ilya was gone. This version of Ilya, who kissed and touched and teased and fucked Shane like he was something special, something precious, was gone forever.
***
A week later, Shane was at the dining room table at his parents' house, quietly eating as they chatted about their day and the neighbors and how they needed to clean off the deck now that the weather was getting a little warmer. Shane had hardly spoken the whole evening, beyond greetings and short answers to questions. He knew he was wallowing a little too hard, but he didn't have it in him to fake cheerfulness, not here at home — the one place he felt he could really be himself.
He'd spent most of the week alone, working out for long hours to the point of exhaustion and rewatching all the Centaurs playoff games to scrutinize his every move on the ice. The one thing Shane could rely on was hockey. He could always turn to perfecting his body and his game. Hockey had always been there for him, and it had never let him down. And, to be fair to them, the same was true of his parents, and Shane loved them for that.
"Shane," his mom interrupted his train of thought, and he looked up to see both of his parents looking at him with concerned expressions.
"Huh? What was that? Sorry," he forced a pleasant smile onto his face.
"Is there something wrong, honey? Are you still feeling down about the playoffs? Because, you played so well, and —"
Shane cut her off, "No, it's not that, Mom. I'm fine, really."
"All right. Well, you know you can talk to us, right? Is there something else going on?"
His dad nodded in agreement.
"Um… no, not really? I don't know. I don't want to talk about it, I guess."
"Okay, then. We won't bother you about it."
They all went back to eating, the silence in the room more awkward than it had been earlier, his parents' concern still lingering in the air.
Now that his fling with Ilya was really and truly over, Shane had been wondering about his life and what it would look like as a gay NHL player. Because if they couldn't be together, Shane didn't know if he'd be able to be with anyone.
He'd been thinking a lot about Delzy, who was back home in Vancouver for the summer, and what he might be doing. Who he might be seeing back home. Had Delzy ever had a serious relationship? Shane didn't think so. And that was pretty fucking depressing — for Delzy but also for Shane. He didn't want to go his whole career being alone and only hooking up with random guys while the rest of his teammates fell in love and got married and started families.
Shane hated the idea of keeping this part of himself secret for the next — he hoped — twenty or more years of his life as an NHL star. And maybe he would never be able to fully come out. He might not ever want to come out publicly. But that didn't mean he had to keep this secret from everyone. So, maybe right now was as good a time as any.
"Actually, there is something I want to talk about," Shane said into the quiet room.
Both of his parents put down their utensils and looked at him.
"What is it, son?" His dad prompted.
Oh fuck.
Was Shane really going to do this?
His parents weren't bigots, they had gay friends, Shane was pretty sure. They were definitely friendly with the lesbian couple who lived a few doors down and walked their dogs past the house every day. He could do this. It would be fine.
"Well, you know how I broke up with Jenna last year?"
Why the fuck was he starting with talking about his high school girlfriend?
"Sure. She was such a nice girl, too, what's she up to?" His mom asked, a hint of hopefulness in her voice.
Not helpful, mom.
"Uh, I don't know… we didn't really keep in touch. That's not really the point."
They waited for him to continue.
"Okay, so yeah, Jenna was great. But I never really… she wasn't really my type."
Another silence.
"And I haven't really met another girl who is my type."
Shane was hoping that they might figure it out, put him out of his misery by saying it for him, but they patiently sat there with encouraging faces.
"Because my type is actually… Well, it's actually men."
He breathed out a long breath, and looked down at his plate, not sure if he was ready to see their faces yet.
"I'm gay."
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor met Shane's ears and he looked up to see his mom rushing over to his side. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around him and Shane stood to meet her in a hug. His dad stood too, and wrapped his arms around them both.
"Oh Shane," his mom said as they separated. She held his arms and looked up at him. "We love you so much. Thank you for trusting us enough to tell us this. This must have been so hard for you to carry all alone."
His dad clapped a strong hand on his shoulder and added, "We're here for you, Shane. We love you no matter what."
Shane was overwhelmed. He hadn't really planned on coming out today, and the shock of what he'd just done hit him like a rogue wave, making him fall back into his chair, looking up at his mom and dad. At that moment, he was transported back to being a kid, telling them that he was going to play in the NHL one day. They had the same pride and love on their faces now as they did then, and Shane felt so relieved and so much lighter that he burst into unexpected laughter.
"What's so funny?" His mom asked, looking indignant. "We do love you!"
"I know," Shane breathed as his laughter subsided. "I love you guys too. It's just such a relief to tell you. I knew you would be cool about it, I just… I didn't plan on telling you this tonight."
"We're glad you did," his dad smiled.
They all went back to their chairs and started eating again, but Shane could tell by the look on his mom's face that she was dying to say something.
"What is it, mom? Go ahead and say whatever it is you're thinking," he muttered with a rueful smile.
"If you don't mind… I do have some questions." Yuna Hollander would always need more information so she could figure out how she alone could solve Shane's problems, and Shane was used to that by now, however lovingly misguided it was.
"So, how long have you known? Have you told anyone else? Is there anyone you're… seeing? Is there a boy we should know about?"
Oof. That last question stung. And Shane wondered if she already had Ilya in mind when she asked the question.
"I haven't known long, um, and you're not the only ones who know. Delzy, uh Conrad DelZotto, you know my captain, he knows too. And he's been great, totally accepting and whatever. But, no one else knows. And I'm not going to tell the rest of the team. I can't… I can't really tell anyone else."
And maybe he told a tiny lie, but he really did not want to talk about Ilya right now.
"I knew DelZotto was a good captain," Shane's mom nodded approvingly. "You haven't even told Hayden? Or Ilya?"
God, could she stop bringing him up?
"Nope, no," Shane shook his head.
"It's understandable, Yuna," his dad chimed in. "They're good kids, but you never really know. I know how locker rooms can be."
"I suppose you're right. But Shane, are you going to keep this a secret forever? That seems awfully lonely."
Shane sighed. This was getting to be too much.
"I don't really know yet, mom. It's all pretty new. So, I think just us for now, if that's okay."
"Of course it is, sweetie. But we're here for you if you ever want to… well, it'll be tough. But if you did want to tell more people, we'd be behind you 100 percent."
"Thank you. Thank you both," he looked at them with such gratitude, he didn't think he could properly express it. "I don't really know what this will mean for me, but I'm really grateful I have you."
At that, his mom started crying and hugging Shane again, kissing the top of his head just like she did when he was little and he fell on the ice — before she told him to get back out there.
***
Hayden returned to Ottawa a few weeks later and sat Shane down to ask him if he would be offended if Hayden asked Jackie to move into their apartment — and asked Shane to move out. Shane was relieved; it saved him the trouble of having to tell Hayden he wanted to get his own place. A month ago, Shane had been thinking about Ilya's suggestion that Shane move into his building. That seemed like a terrible idea now, so Shane wasn't really sure what he was going to do. He had about a month to decide.
In the meantime, he just had to attend his first NHL awards, see Ilya for the first time since he left Shane crying on his couch, and either win or lose an award to his best friend who broke his heart. No big deal.
His mom and dad flew out to Las Vegas with him, then went off on their own while Shane had to do media engagements and generally freak out alone in his hotel room. He hadn't seen Ilya yet, but knew he must be here, the awards were the next night. Shane wondered if Ilya would text him. He wanted to text Ilya so badly, but he resisted the urge. He didn't want to seem pathetic or desperate, even though he felt very much like he was both.
They hadn't really communicated at all in the time that Ilya was in Boston, besides a couple of pictures here and there. Ilya sent Shane a picture of Boston Common, which made Shane's heart clench and break a little more, remembering that first road trip when they became real friends. Shane sent Ilya a picture of the old Centaurs poster in his childhood bedroom, featuring Delzy, that Ilya had found so funny when he was there for Christmas. But they hadn't actually said anything.
The morning of the awards, Shane had breakfast with his parents at one of the hotel restaurants then retreated back to his room to get ready for the ceremony that afternoon. He'd heard from Delzy, who wasn't going to make it this year, but who wished him good luck. Shane wondered if he wished Ilya good luck too. It was rare for two players on the same team to be up for the same award, especially rookie of the year, but there wasn't much about Shane and Ilya that didn't break the mold when it came to hockey.
About an hour before Shane had to be in the theater, he was ready to go in his suit. He didn't know what to do with himself, so he simply sat on the edge of his bed staring blankly at the TV while a sitcom rerun went to commercial.
All he could think about was seeing Ilya in less than 60 minutes. What would he do? How would he hold back everything he was feeling when he saw those sparkling hazel eyes and his ridiculous crooked smile? Shane couldn't take it anymore.
Shane: hey
Shane: are u in vegas?
Ilya: hi. yes. in hotel. you?
Shane: same. my parents are here too. they want to say hi tonight
Ilya: will be nice to see them
A moment passed and Shane assumed that was it. End of conversation, and they'd see each other soon.
Ilya: will be nice to see you too
Oh.
Shane: yeah. you too.
Shane: what room are you in?
Ilya: 1401
It was an impulse, not a well thought out plan. Ilya always seemed to do that to him. Made him act instead of think. So Shane was in an elevator going down 3 floors.
He knocked on the door of 1401 and waited, holding his breath. Ilya opened the door wide, and Shane simply stared, overwhelmed by the sight of him.
Ilya was in his suit pants and button down, but hadn't put on his tie or jacket yet. His gold chain glinted around his neck, drawing Shane's eye. He raked his gaze up from Ilya's neck to his clean-shaven jaw, and perfectly styled curls that made Ilya look so effortlessly handsome it almost took Shane's breath away.
"Hi," Ilya said.
"Hi," Shane replied.
They just stood there, staring at each other.
"Um, can I come in?" Shane finally asked.
Ilya stepped back and let Shane pass, the door closing behind him. Shane really wanted to kiss him. It took every bit of restraint he had not to. He noticed Ilya clenching his fist at his side and wondered if he was having the same struggle.
"So, uh, how was Boston?" Shane offered, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.
"Good." Ilya replied, sort of monotone. "Great. Vetrov, he is great. Good to train with him, being able to talk in Russian, you know."
"Right, yeah," Shane nodded. "That sounds great."
"How was Ottawa?" Ilya asked, still standing right inside the door, facing Shane.
"Oh, you know, the same," Shane shrugged. "Worked out a lot. Spent time with my parents. It's been nice."
I have hated this last month. Ottawa felt empty without you. I missed you every day.
"Good."
They had never been so awkward around each other, not even when they met that first time in Saskatchewan and Ilya was so rude to Shane before he destroyed his team in the World Juniors final. Even then, the tension wasn't so palpable and heavy. Something had to give.
"Ilya," Shane started, a note of desperation in his voice.
And it was like something snapped. Ilya moved fast, taking three long strides to Shane and wrapping an arm around him, hauling their bodies together, and crashing his mouth down onto Shane's. Shane let out a muffled yelp of surprise that morphed into a moan and Ilya pressed his tongue past Shane's lips into his eager mouth. They kissed deep and slow for a few long minutes, holding each other tightly, like they were afraid of letting go.
When Ilya finally pulled back, Shane leaned forward, chasing the kiss for a second before stepping back, dazed.
"Whoa." Shane whispered, bringing a hand to his still wet lips. He felt momentarily dizzy.
Looking at Ilya, he seemed as dazed as Shane felt, like he couldn't believe he'd just done that. Shane needed more.
"Ilya," Shane reached a hand up to cradle Ilya's face. "I missed you so fucking much."
Ilya dropped his head to rest against Shane's forehead. "When I left... I should not have left like I did."
Shane wanted to be angry, wanted to yell and push Ilya off of him and demand that he apologize, but he just couldn't. Not when Ilya was so close and smelled like that minty shampoo Shane associated with all good feelings.
"It's okay. It's okay, really," Shane eased, stroking a hand down Ilya's arm. "I mean, it's not, it was really shitty, but it's just so good to see you I don't care right now."
They both laughed lightly and Ilya nipped at Shane's lips again in a few small, sweet kisses. Shane finally pulled back and looked back to the clock on the night stand.
"Oh shit, we need to be downstairs in like 20 minutes."
"Fuck. Already forgot about that," Ilya sighed.
"You forgot that we're both up for rookie of the year?" Shane asked, disbelieving.
"For one second, yes," Ilya shrugged.
"You should finish getting dressed," Shane gestured at Ilya in his half-ready state.
"You should fix your hair," Ilya chuckled.
"Oh fuck you, did you mess up my hair?" Shane complained as he turned to the mirror and harumphed at the sight of himself.
Ilya started tying his tie while Shane straightened himself out, and then looked back at Ilya.
"I need to go meet my mom and dad," Shane sighed.
"Right," Ilya nodded. "I um… I brought Svetlana. She is in another room. But, you know, my family…"
He trailed off, and Shane didn't know what to say. When he met Svetlana before, he completely freaked out and ran away. And the jealousy he felt then was creeping back up, but Shane tried to shut it down. She was his friend. He should have a friend here with him, especially if he couldn't have his family.
"That's great," Shane said, maybe too enthusiastically. "I'm glad you have someone here supporting you," he continued, more evenly.
"Yes, is good to have her," Ilya replied, with a relieved half-smile.
"So um… will you guys be hanging out all night? Or could we meet back here after the ceremony?"
"No," Ilya said, "Yes. Yes, we can meet back here. Will have to go to afterparty first, with Svetlana. She wants to meet Scott fucking Hunter."
Ilya rolled his eyes and Shane chuckled.
"I hate afterparties."
"I know," Ilya smiled fondly and grabbed his suit jacket.
"Think you're going to win?" Shane asked, reluctant to leave.
"Do you?" Ilya asked in response.
"No, I think you're going to win," Shane replied. And he found that he wasn't even disappointed when he thought about it.
"No. You will win."
"You think?" Shane asked, blushing.
"Of course."
They held each others' gaze for another second before Shane walked toward the door.
"See you down there?" he asked, looking back from the door frame.
"Yes," Ilya nodded.
"Cool."
***
"Hello Las Vegas!" Called one of the presenters, an actor named Kenny Lopez.
"Wow, what an amazing crowd, it's so great to be here with you all tonight!" Roman Hart, the other presenter, followed.
The pair were known for their buddy cop movies that Shane was sure he'd seen, but didn't actually remember.
"We're honored to be here to present the Calder Memorial Trophy for Rookie of the Year."
"And as two guys who are known for their friendship on and off screen, it's only appropriate that we're the ones announcing these two nominees."
"That's right, Kenny! It's rare for the players up for this award to be on the same team, but it's a surprise to no one that the Ottawa Centaurs' rookie centers are our two nominees. Both have broken records and made big impressions on all of us this year."
"And, like us, they're also best friends! So let's hear a bit more about our nominees."
Shane held his breath. Ilya was across the aisle and one row ahead, Svetlana's long blonde hair shining next to him, and Shane saw her put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. They had greeted each other briefly before taking their seats, and Shane's mom and dad had greeted Ilya warmly, with a tight hug from his mom and a handshake from his dad. Since then, Shane had mostly been staring at the back of Ilya's head all night, which he found much more interesting than the country music stars and important hockey people moving across the stage.
But he dragged his eyes to the screen behind the stage to watch the short videos that would announce him and Ilya as nominees. He wanted to sink into the floor. Shane loved hockey and he loved being great at hockey. But he hated this part of it. He wanted the award, of course he did. But why did it have to be this whole production?
The video started. Ilya's was first, and Shane's heart swelled with pride. They pulled together clips of some of Ilya's best goals of the year, including one off an assist from Shane that he vividly remembered. He could almost feel Ilya's arms around him, reminiscing about the way they had embraced after that goal, and how they'd celebrated back in their hotel room.
But to Shane's horror, the next clip wasn't of Ilya at all — it was Shane. At a press conference months ago, one Shane had almost forgotten, where he'd ranted about the media pitting them against each other.
"And I'll finish by saying that Ilya absolutely deserves the Calder, and I'll be shocked if he doesn't get it. He's an incredible player and it's an honor to be in the running with him."
The Shane on the screen looked determined and like he was restraining a lot of frustration. Shane remembered the moment, and he had been genuinely furious. He couldn't believe they had pulled that clip. He caught Ilya glancing back at him with a small smile on his face, and Shane hoped the cameras weren't on him right then, because he was sure he was bright red.
Ilya turned back to the screen as it flashed to clips of Shane now, some of his best goals, also including one off an Ilya assist. His mom elbowed him a couple of times, and he looked over to her absolutely beaming with pride, and his heart clenched. This moment was probably worth it for that alone. He didn't love all this fanfare, but his parents sure did.
Shane turned his eyes back to the screen and froze when the video cut to a clip of Ilya. But not from that same press conference. No, it was something Shane had never seen before — from the All-Stars fan vote campaign. Short clips of Ilya talking to someone off-screen, sitting in front of some Centaurs-themed backdrop.
"When I came from Russia to Canada, first person from the team to greet me was Shane Hollander… He learned how to say hello to me in Russian for first day at training camp. Hollander is nicest Canadian boy… Our friendship, it is very important to me… Nobody as serious about hockey as Hollander, he will practice practice practice later than everyone else, even though he is already better than everyone…"
The screen faded to photos of both of them as the audience clapped politely. Shane was floored. He knew that Ilya had made that video, but he did not know what Ilya had said in it — he told the whole fucking world that Shane's friendship was important to him, and Shane was learning about it now. In a room full of every important person in the NHL. And broadcast on live television.
He was staring, dumbfounded, at the back of Ilya's head, his perfectly coiffed hair and broad shoulders. Svetlana turned to look back at Shane. She had a knowing smile on her face, and Shane was definitely blushing furiously and the cameras were definitely on him as the guys on stage started speaking again.
"Well, boys, we hope this doesn't ruin your friendship," Kenny said.
"You still have to play together next season!" Roman added, and everyone in the room chuckled except Shane.
"And the Calder Trophy for Rookie of the Year goes to…" he ripped the envelope, "Ilya Rozanov!"
The audience burst into applause, and Shane felt a momentary pang of envy or disappointment or something, but quickly started clapping with the rest.
Any resentment faded as he saw Ilya stand with a shocked look on his face and hugged Svetlana and she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. Ilya turned back to look at Shane, who found himself standing, without even thinking about it as Ilya approached and they met in the aisle between them. Shane desperately wanted to grab him by his lapels and kiss him, but instead he reached out a hand to grasp Ilya's. Ilya pulled him into a manly bro-hug, patting his back a couple of times, and Shane almost laughed at the absurdity of the gesture. Ilya leaned down into the hug, and Shane whispered in his ear, "told you you'd win."
Ilya pulled back and made his way up to the stage, where the actors handed Ilya the trophy and he stood a little awkwardly in front of the mic.
"Ah, wow, okay. This is… thank you. My English is not the best, but I guess my hockey is," Ilya winked, and Shane rolled his eyes as the audience all laughed. Shane heard his mom huff, like she wanted to argue with that statement, and he loved her for it. "Thank you to the Centaurs — team and coaches and everyone. And Hollander. Thank you for being second best rookie, but first best teammate."
Shane's heart exploded and melted and did a somersault in his chest all at once. Hearing that from Ilya, in front of this whole room — really, the whole world — felt like a far better award than any trophy. Shane was so stupidly in love, he thought he might combust.
Ilya was escorted off the stage as the host took over. There were still 5 awards to sit through, and all Shane wanted to do was drag Ilya up to his room and drop to his knees to show Ilya exactly how touched he was by his comments. But he had to sit here next to his parents and pretend he wasn't getting a semi just thinking about Ilya.
He was snapped out of that train of thought by his mom's hand on his shoulder. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You should have won that one. Even Ilya said you're the best."
"It's okay mom, really. I'm happy for him — he deserved it just as much as I did."
The look on her face told Shane she didn't feel the same, but she conceded a bit, "Well, if it wasn't you, I'm glad it was my second favorite player."
Shane's dad snorted and someone in the row in front of them turned to glare at them for interrupting the song that some terrible singer was performing.
At some point, Ilya had made his way back to his seat, and Shane happily gazed at him while all the bad jokes were made and awards were given out. Shane intended to beeline to Ilya as soon as it was over, but apparently a lot of people had that same intention. Ilya was immediately swarmed by other players offering their congratulations and fans who wanted to take pictures with him.
Shane and his parents got swept up in the crowd making their way to the after party in a ballroom in the hotel/casino, and he lost sight of Ilya for a while. He wished that Delzy or Hayden were there so he'd have someone else to talk to, because he felt pretty awkward.
The same could not be said of his mom — she was having an animated conversation with Shane's coach, who nodded along politely as she gave him play-making advice. Shane's dad was at the bar getting drinks, leaving Shane to scan the crowd for the golden brown curls he was desperate to sink his fingers into.
After about an hour of making polite conversation and accepting condolences for his loss from various players across the league, Shane had to get out of there. He told his parents, who were deep in conversation at a table of what looked like other players' parents, that he was going to get some air.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he texted Ilya that he was going back to his room and to let him know when he was leaving the party. Shane lay flat on his back on the mattress in his hotel room, starting at the ceiling, waiting. A year ago, right before he was drafted, he would never have imagined being okay losing the Calder to Ilya Rozanov. He never would have imagined a lot of the things that happened with Ilya this season. But he couldn't seem to muster up any regrets.
An hour passed and he still didn't get a reply from Ilya. Shane wondered if Ilya had changed his mind and didn't want to see him again tonight after all. He'd probably be heading to Moscow soon, so maybe he needed a clean break. Shane didn't blame him, but it didn't hurt any less. His hotel room was becoming stifling, his anxious thoughts polluting the air. Leaving his jacket and tie behind, Shane took the elevator up to the roof to get some air.
When he reached the top floor, he walked in the opposite direction of the music and rabble of the rooftop bar, heading instead towards a railing where there was an incredible view of the Vegas strip. There was a figure silhouetted against the sparkling skyline, a figure Shane would recognize anywhere, leaning against the railing with a cigarette between two fingers.
"You know, smoking is really unhealthy," Shane said as he approached and leaned his side against the railing.
"Really? Thought it was good for me," Ilya smiled at Shane as he replied, both of them taken back to that night in Boston at the start of the season. That moment they became friends.
"I texted you," Shane said tentatively.
"I know..." Ilya said, exhaling smoke away from Shane. "Sorry. Was a lot down there. Needed air."
"Yeah, me too," Shane sighed.
He turned from facing Ilya to look out over the skyline and simply breathe together. Ilya stubbed out his cigarette against the wall of the railing and put the butt in his pocket, and Shane was surprised when Ilya was the one to break the silence.
"Sorry I beat you. Again."
Shane wasn't looking at him, but he could feel the smirk in Ilya's voice.
"No you're not. You love it."
"Yes, I do."
"You know, I'd never seen that All-Stars promo video before. It was really… I was really touched. Thank you. I can't believe you said all that and I never knew it," Shane turned his head and saw Ilya duck his own head with a little laugh.
"They left out very important part," Ilya replied.
"Really? What?"
"I said you are already better than everyone, except me. They left that part out."
"What?! You said that in my All-Star promo video? That you're better than me?!" Shane felt so affronted and yet so enamored by Ilya's easy confidence and complete lack of humility.
"Guess they could not make me look bad before they give me the award," Ilya said through his chuckles.
"Yeah, well. I know the truth about you," Shane huffed and turned around to lean back against the railing, facing away from the skyline.
Ilya glanced at Shane with a twisted smile, "Da. Yes, you do."
Shane blushed and bit his lip to stop his own smile from stretching too wide.
"Is Svetlana having a good time?" Shane asked, redirecting them.
"Oh yes," Ilya rolled his eyes. "I am sure she will be in someone's room, if she is not already. She doesn't date hockey players, she says, but she fucks them."
Shane laughed lightly, "Probably wise of her."
Ilya nodded and they faded back into silence. Shane was about to muster the courage to ask Ilya about going down to his room, but Ilya spoke again.
"I will return to Russia tomorrow. Stop in New York, then Moscow."
Shane nodded. He wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed. He was dying to ask why Ilya was going back when he disliked his family so much. He wanted to know so much about Ilya that he still refused to share. And he wished Ilya would just stay in Ottawa for the summer. But more importantly…
"Do you… have you thought about my offer? To come to my family's cottage in August?"
Ilya sighed this time, "I don't think I can, probably no. You know with my family, my father."
"Of course," Shane said, still not quite understanding what about his family would keep him there, but knowing better than to ask. "Well, it's an open invitation, okay? If you are able to come. And it doesn't have to mean anything between us, it can be just, you know, as friends."
It pained Shane to say that, but if that's what Ilya wanted and he'd still come visit…
Ilya looked at Shane with a kind of sad smile and said, "Thank you."
Shane turned toward Ilya too, offering him a hopeful half-smile that he hoped said so many of the words Shane wasn't brave enough to utter.
Please come to the cottage. You don't have to be with your horrible family, you can be with me. Don't you want to be together, just the two of us, for a whole week? Or longer? Maybe forever? I love you.
Instead of saying any of that, Shane inched closer and held Ilya's gaze, which shifted from melancholy to heated. In an instant, Shane lost all restraint and grabbed Ilya by the back of the neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Ilya responded immediately and enthusiastically, hauling Shane to him and pushing Shane backward until he hit the wall next to the stairwell with an oomph.
The impact did nothing to interrupt them. Shane slid his tongue into Ilya's welcoming mouth and heard a low groan from Ilya's throat that only urged Shane on more, before he pulled back for a breath.
"We shouldn't be doing this here," Shane breathed.
"No," Ilya agreed, before descending on Shane's mouth again. "My room?"
"Yes, now please," Shane sighed.
"So eager, Hollander," Ilya grinned at him as he turned to walk toward the elevator bank.
"Shut up, you are," Shane grumbled.
"I am," Ilya said with a wink and Shane had to stop himself from tackling him to the ground right there. It had been over a month since he'd had his hands on Ilya, and the ride down to his floor felt like pure torture.
As soon as they were through the door, Ilya was pulling Shane's shirt out from the waistband of his pants, and Shane was trying to shove off Ilya's suit jacket. They fumbled in the dark room, tripping over each other until they made it to the bed. Shane was desperately impatient in his need to feel Ilya's skin on his, to have Ilya inside him.
Since that first time Ilya fucked Shane, he'd been hungry for it, aching for the feeling of being filled and fully consumed with Ilya in him, on him, everywhere. They reached the bed and Shane pushed Ilya back, insatiable now and unable to hold back from taking what he needed. Ilya let out a little grunt as he hit the mattress and then chuckled warmly.
"I am the eager one?" He teased.
"Oh my god, shut up and get your clothes off," Shane said as he pulled his shirt over his head.
"Hollander, I have never seen you like this," Ilya mused, lying on the bed with his clothes still on.
"It's been over a month since you went to Boston," Shane grumbled, now toeing off his shoes and following that with his pants.
Ilya sat up and stilled Shane with a hand on his hip.
"Have you not…?" Ilya asked, his tone soft and searching.
"No," Shane whispered.
"Not even by yourself?" Ilya pressed.
Shane closed his eyes with a sigh of embarrassment and answered.
"No."
The truth was that he hadn't jerked off since Ilya left, because every time, all he could think about was Ilya. Ilya's hands on him, the taste of Ilya's dick, the feeling of Ilya shuddering his release while buried inside of him. And it made him too sad, knowing that it might never happen again. So sad that he stopped even trying. He had been so pathetically heartbroken that even getting a boner made him miserable.
"Fuck, Shane," Ilya surged up and practically threw Shane onto the bed, looming over him as he ripped his own clothes off. "Take these off. Want to see all of you."
Shane obeyed, lifting his hips and sliding off his briefs, eyes never leaving Ilya as he stripped down to nothing. His cock was hard and thick, curved slightly up toward his stomach and Shane licked his lips, hungry to feel it in his mouth.
"What do you want, Shane? How do you want me?" Ilya breathed as he stroked a large hand down his length a few times.
"I don't know," Shane said, overcome with need. "Everywhere, all of it, I don't know."
A smirk snaked its way across Ilya's face, at once wicked and affectionate.
"Sit back," Ilya instructed, and Shane did as he was told. Instead of joining Shane on the bed, Ilya went to his bag and fished out a small bottle of lube and a condom, the sight of which alone made Shane shudder with anticipation.
Ilya climbed onto the bed and loomed over Shane before pressing his warm, solid body down onto Shane's and kissing him slow and deep. The weight of Ilya on him combined with the tender, sensual kiss calmed Shane's heartbeat, which had been racing and frantic moments before. They stayed that way for a while, tongues sliding together and breathing each other in before Ilya sat back on his calves and gazed down at Shane.
"Spread your legs," Ilya said, voice gruff and throaty, as he squeezed some lube into his hand. Shane bent his knees and planted his feet wide, putting himself on display, silently begging Ilya to touch him — touch his dick, his balls, his hole, Shane didn't care — he needed Ilya's hands back on him.
"I missed you," Ilya breathed. "So much, Shane."
Shane felt himself flush, sure his whole body was turning pink. It had hurt that Ilya didn't reciprocate when Shane told Ilya how much he missed him earlier. To hear it now, in this context, made Shane delirious with need.
"Touch me," Shane practically begged. "Please. I miss you so much, I need you."
Sliding closer to Shane on his knees, Ilya propped Shane's thighs over his, spreading Shane even more. With one hand, he took Shane's rigid cock lightly and began stroking. With his other hand, he used two lubed fingers to rub just under Shane's balls, with intention but not too much pressure, and lube dripped down towards his hole. Shane let out a long breath, simultaneously soothed and set on fire by the feeling of Ilya's powerful hand touching him so gently.
"Oh fuck, yes, oh my god," Shane squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his head back into the pillows, trying not to come immediately. Ilya was pulling the most pathetic whines and moans out of Shane from the slightest touch. But he wasn't capable of holding back, not when he felt this good.
When Shane composed himself enough to open his eyes, his breath hitched at the sight of Ilya over him. His arms flexed as he worked Shane with both hands. Shane's eyes traveled down Ilya's body to his thick length between them, only inches away from Shane's and getting nudged by Ilya's forearms as they moved.
"Ilya, please, stop, hold on," Shane panted, "it's too much. I don't want—"
Shane trailed off, embarrassed that he was so close already. Ilya pulled his hand off Shane's dick and moved it to his own, and Shane got impossibly harder at the sight, the way Ilya's eyes fluttered closed at his own touch.
"Will you… ah… fuck me?"
Ilya nodded, "Yes. Need to feel you."
Ilya had gradually been increasing the pressure on Shane's perineum, and now he slid those fingers farther down to start circling Shane's hole and Shane gasped. Even when he'd tried jerking off in the last month, he had never attempted to touch himself there again. He knew he was going to be tight, but Ilya had been relaxing Shane with his massage, and he easily slid one lubed finger inside.
"Mmmm, yeah," Shane exhaled in pleasure. Even this slight penetration was so perfect and exactly what Shane needed.
"So tight, Shane," Ilya breathed as he slowly pushed in a second finger. "Going to make me come so fast."
"Fuck, please, Ilya."
Ilya worked him open gently, taking his time and avoiding brushing his prostate, making Shane pant with impatience. Shane watched as Ilya's fingers moved and stretched him, while his other hand lazily stroked his own cock. Shane was hypnotized by the simultaneous motions of Ilya's beautiful hands.
He was ready to start begging when Ilya finally removed his fingers and grabbed the condom, and Shane whined at the loss. But Ilya's solid thighs beneath his own kept Shane grounded, and he watched with hooded eyes as Ilya slid the condom onto his thick cock.
"Ready?" Ilya asked, always so cautious with Shane.
"Yes. Now. I need you," Shane breathed.
"So eager," Ilya huffed a laugh.
"I hate you," Shane gritted his teeth with the intensity of his need.
"No you don't," Ilya smiled and then his features scrunched as he pushed the head of his cock into Shane's desperate hole.
"Ahhhh, fuck, no, I don't," Shane laughed and moaned at the same time.
Ilya rocked slowly into him, lifting off his calves with each slight motion. When he bottomed out, fully inside Shane, he stopped to let Shane adjust.
"Missed this so much," Shane whimpered, because he couldn't stop himself. The words started pouring out of him as Ilya began rocking in and out of him again. "I didn't want you to go. I… fuck… I don't want you to go, Ilya."
Shane was embarrassing himself, but something about the way Ilya was so tenderly fucking him was drawing the truth from his lips.
"I know," Ilya panted, already starting to lose his breath. "I know."
Ilya was pressing Shane's knees up to his chest now as he began thrusting harder, letting out little grunts of effort and pleasure with every movement of his hips. He hooked his arms under Shane's knees, making Shane gasp, and pushed Shane's legs back as he leaned forward over him. Shane was practically bent in half, with his knees up near his shoulders, and the angle felt so overwhelmingly good, Shane thought he might come just like this, cock untouched.
"So good for me," Ilya whispered against Shane's lips. "Too good, Shane."
He started speaking in Russian, and Shane savored the foreign yet beautiful sound of Ilya's voice in his native tongue. And then Ilya kissed him, sloppy and wet and deep, and it was far too much sensation all at once. Shane's orgasm erupted over him unexpectedly, jolting through him so intensely that he would have been yelling if Ilya's mouth wasn't covering his. He whimpered and moaned into Ilya's mouth as Ilya pounded into him hard now, feeling his release splatter over his own chest, and riding the aftershocks with each thrust of Ilya's throbbing cock into him. A minute later, Ilya stuttered and stilled, mouth hovering millimeters above Shane's, his full wet lips shuddering with his sighs of pleasure as he spilled into Shane.
They stayed there, frozen in place, looking into each other's eyes. Ilya's hazel eyes bore into Shane, shifting from pleasure to fear, and Shane felt it. This was a goodbye fuck. Ilya would go to Moscow tomorrow. And when he came back, it would be like this had never happened.