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“Okay,” Shane started, standing awkwardly in the sitting area of Ilya’s hotel room. “I’m gonna head out now.” He shifted back and forth, waiting for something. Don’t ask him what—or who— he was waiting for, but he felt uneasy, shaky almost, at the thought of leaving.
Ilya must have lit another cigarette. He could smell the sharp warm scent drifting from the bedroom. If he looked hard enough, he thought maybe he could almost see the smoke making its way into the living room. Does that mean that Ilya is getting up? Maybe it means that he can see Ilya just one more time. That would be enough, he thought.
Shane could feel his heart pounding and his breath catching in his chest. God, what was happening to him? Why was the thought of walking out the door sending him into a spiraling panic? How long had he been standing here? It couldn't have been for over a few seconds, right? No, no, Ilya was going to walk in here, kiss away his unease and he would be on his way. He would leave the same way he always left and everything would be back to normal.
But Shane knew that whatever had just happened inside this Vegas hotel bedroom was not normal.
It started off as it always does, Ilya being a pompous asshole and Shane pretending like it didn’t make his dick hard; but sometime between Ilya ordering (because it was an order) him to spread his legs and touch himself, crawling to him, and Ilya coming inside him, something changed. Shifted between them.
As Ilya was fucking him into the mattress, pining his body down and taking what he wanted, Shane started to feel himself drift away. He had felt like he was drowning in the abyss that was Ilya Rozanov, and he loved every moment of it. For once in his life he wasn’t Shane Hollander, a generational hockey player and Montreal Metro star center. In that moment, he was just Shane, and everything he was began and ended within the hard ridges of Ilya’s body.
Ilya pounded into him, groaning out a soft fuck yes, and you’re taking me so well, Hollander, as he did. Shane moaned in turn when he heard the words. He wanted to be good for Ilya and the confirmation that he was, fucking did something to his mind.
There was a single second of clarity. A moment when Shane thought that maybe this was going too far, that no sex should feel this good. But then Ilya’s dick hit his prostate directly, grinding into it, sending sparks all across his body and he knew that it was no use. He was forever ruined by Ilya Rozanov.
It was a constant state of pleasure and when he finally came on Ilya’s cock, whatever lifeline was tying his mind to his body just snapped, and Shane was completely gone.
That is, he was completely gone, until Ilya pulled out of him. Not roughly, never roughly, just quickly, and Shane felt like he was being shoved under freezing water. Ilya got up, leaving Shane half conscious and shaking on the bed.
His whole body felt like lead and his mind was distant. Ilya, Ilya, Ilya, was just playing on a loop in his brain. He needed to snap out of whatever chokehold he was in right now, he knew that. But he couldn’t, he didn't even know how to start. Embarrassingly, he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and his throat was closing up.
Ilya had left. Shane hadn’t done a good enough job to make him what to stay. No. No, Ilya had complimented him, Ilya had said he was good. He’s being stupid, everything is fine. But then, where is he?
He struggled to even open his eyes, head spinning as he heard the bathroom door click. Oh. Ilya was just going to the bathroom. He’s just washing up, he told himself. All he knew to do was just wait for his lifeline to come back. To wait for Ilya to bring him back to shore.
After what felt like centuries of drifting. Ilya stepped out holding a damp wash cloth and Shane felt his heart jump.
Ilya would help him. Ilya would reel him back in and then everything would be okay. He would be okay. But then Ilya tossed him the wash cloth. The wet fabric landing on his thigh. It felt like a punch to the face. He would have perfered Ilya punch him, because at least he would be looking at him. Not avoiding eye contact and searching for his clothes.
Ilya picked up his boxers from wherever on the floor they were tossed earlier that night and slid them on. “Sorry. Early flight tomorrow. Need sleep tonight,” he said, his accent sounding stronger in Shane’s foggy mind as Ilya made his way to the bedside table and picked up his glass of vodka. Finishing it in one fluid movement.
Shane’s stomach lurched and for one terrifying moment, he thought that he might vomit all over Ilya’s sheets. Instead, he forced himself into a sitting position, staying upright even though his head spun and vision swam.
This is normal. It is okay. You are okay. Just clean yourself up and get the fuck out.
Where was the washcloth? He was just thinking about it, where had it gone? What is he doing—
The washcloth was still on his thigh, in the same spot Ilya had thrown it originally and Shane tried to breathe out an even breath. It was shaky, but normal enough. He’s fine. Everything is fine.
Quickly, Shane took the washcloth and cleaned himself. Or at least he attempted too, but his hands were shaking and the soft material felt rough and hard on his skin. He gave up after a couple of strokes and just folded the washcloth and set it back on the bed, feeling completely in the way and awkward still naked in Ilya’s bed. Again, he felt like he was about to start crying. His brain screaming at him to lay down, to get Ilya to hold him and tell him that he did a good job.
But he knew that he needed to get up. He knew that he needed to leave. So, instead of curling into a ball and begging for Ilya to fucking love him, he stood up and began collecting his clothes from the floor, fumbling with his dress shirt buttons.
Eventually, he worked up the courage to glance back at Ilya, hoping that maybe he would be looking at him too. Hoping that he would be waiting for him to come back to bed. But instead, he found Ilya back in bed, smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall.
Ilya wouldn’t let him leave like this right? Ilya would help with whatever the fuck was happening to him. But when Shane finished his final button and Ilya had yet to look at him. Had yet to even acknowledge that he was still in the room. Shane felt himself being plunged deeper underwater. The mantra of you did something wrong, something is wrong, you are wrong, was a constant hum in his mind.
He needed to leave.
He needed Ilya.
Shane walked towards the sitting room, making his way to where his shoes were positioned by the door, lined up perfectly to the wall, opposed to how Ilya’s were thrown in the doorway. Ilya will stop him. Ilya will help him. Ilya will make him better. He made it to his shoes and slipped them on, still waiting, still hoping that this would be some kind of fluke accident and he would snap out of it.
Without even realizing it, he leaned down and lined up Ilya’s shoes as well. He looked up after, as though he was expecting Ilya to be there. Expecting him to make a comment like, ‘Hollander, you are so boring.’
But he wasn’t. Shane knew that he wouldn’t be.
“Okay,” Shane said, using all of his power just to form a single word. He wanted to fall to the ground and sob. He wanted to run back into the bedroom and force Ilya to look at him. He wanted to peel off his skin and dig out whatever wrongness Ilya had planted inside of him.
No. No. None of this was Ilya’s fault. Ilya was perfect. He must have done something to upset him. He must have not pleased him in some way. Was he too loud? Was he too quiet? Was he not attractive to Ilya anymore? Is Ilya now disgusted by him? Was that picture of Ilya smoking in bed the last time he would ever see him intimately? Had he somehow managed to fuck up the one thing in his life that was strictly his?
He wanted to drop to the ground and scream. But he couldn't do that. This is what they did. They fucked and then one of them left. They didn’t fucking cuddle and coddle each other after. He would walk out the door and see Ilya in a few months if they were lucky and he would just have to pretend like he didn’t feel like a part of himself was dying.
He opened his mouth and sent out one final plea,“I’m gonna head out now.”
“Goodbye, Hollander.”
And Shane felt his heart shatter.
Shane isn’t sure how he makes it to the elevator, only registering that he left Ilya’s room when he sees the double doors sliding closed. The second they close completely, he drops to his knees, heaving sobs ripping out of his body.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He can’t breathe. He’s gasping for air but coming back empty. They didn’t even kiss. Ilya found him so revolting he couldn’t even bring himself to kiss him. The thought makes Shane dry heave onto the elevator floor but nothing comes up. He’s empty, so completely empty. A gap has been left inside him that only Ilya can fill.
He pulls himself together longer enough to realize that he didn’t even push his floor number and as he looks at the buttons on the wall, he realizes that he cannot remember his floor. Why can’t I remember? Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?
He’s spiraling. He’s aware of that fact but he can’t stop it. He doesn’t know how. All he knows is that Ilya hates him and will likely never want anything to do with him again. It’s done. It’s over. Shane will have to make do with memories of everything they have shared together and try to pretend like it doesn't rip him apart.
His mind is so loud that he almost doesn’t register the elevator pinging open. The doors sliding to reveal someone standing at the entrance.
“Hollander?”
Shane flinches at the name. It reminds him of Ilya. Shane curls in on himself further, wishing he could just disappear into the beige paint of the wall.
“Hollander? Are you okay? What is going on?” The figure rushes towards him, crouching down to his level. “Please, you need to breathe.”
Shane hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until he opened his mouth, gasping for air.
Someone is here. Someone is going to find out. Ilya is going to be so mad at me.
“Shane,” the man said, this time pleading. “You need to calm down. Tell me what is going on—Shane!” At the order in his voice and a grounding hand on the back Shane’s neck and it was just enough for Shane to take a real breath, but he still could not begin to understand the situation.
Scott fucking Hunter was crouching down next to him. At the sight of him, Shane’s eyes widened and his breathing sped up rapidly once again. No. No, Scott could not see him like this. He would know. He would know how much of a broken mess he was. How much he needed Ilya like he needed to be able to breathe.
“S-Sorr—,” he tried to speak, but he couldn’t figure out how to get his voice to work. He felt like he was having an out of body experience. He felt like he was dying.
Scott kept his hand on Shane’s neck and squeezed, allowing Shane to take another deep breath.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. What do you need?” He knew that Hunter was just trying to help but the question instilled even more fear into his bones. He couldn’t know. No one could. And Shane hated himself for the way he wanted to scream out that he just needs Ilya. “Here,” Scott started attempting to help Shane up. “I can help you to your room. What is your floor number?”
I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m a failure.
“I–I don’t know. I don’t remember,” he sounded like a fucking idiot. He doesn’t even know Hunter and now he has a front row seat to how much of a screw up Shane is. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I’m bad. I’m so—” Shane formed a fist brought one of his hands up to his head and down on himself. He was wrong. He was so, so wrong.
“Hey! Hey, okay, stop.” Scott quickly grabbed Shane’s hand and held it. Stopping him from bringing it down on himself again. He gathered both his wrists in a tight hold and forced Shane to look at him. “Shane.”
Shane could recognize the moment it clicked for Scott. When he registered Shane’s hooded and foggy tear filled eyes. The way his breathing had slowed the moment he held him tightly and spoke forcefully.
“Shane, you are not bad. I know that you do not feel good right now. I’m very sorry that you are feeling this, but I need you to tell me who you were just with—hey!”
At Scott’s last words, Shane tried to rip out of his grasp. He couldn’t find out, he couldn’t know. This was all Shane’s fault. Ilya is going to hate him forever and it was all Shane’s fault.
“No,” Shane sobbed out. “No. No, I’m okay. I just— I just, I need—”
“You need to tell me where you just came from. I promise it will be okay, but you need to be honest. Please, Shane.” And then Scott tightened his grip on Shane’s wrists. Any other day it would have been painful, but at that moment, Shane stopped fighting, having to stop himself before he toppled into Hunter.
“Good,” Scott said softly. “Good job. Just relax for me.” His mind was still racing and his chest was still tight but the words eased something in him. It wasn’t enough, Shane didn’t think that anything, but Ilya would be enough, but it was helping.
And Scott noticed. He let out a quiet, “fuck,” and Shane flinched away.
“Hey, no. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at whoever left you like this.” Shane whined at the thought of Ilya. He wants to defend him. He wants to say that it’s not his fault. But he’s still not able to form complete sentences so he just lets Scott hold him. “Do you know what is going on Shane?”
Shane nods. Yes, yes he understands what is going on. He was bad and Ilya left him.
“You do? Tell me.”
Shane’s cheeks flame. Is this some sort of punishment? He doesn’t want to be bad anymore, he wants to be good. “I— I am bad. I was not good.” He gets out between sobs, “My fault.”
Hunter hushes him, the grip on his wrists the only thing keeping him tethered. “No. No Shane. You are dropping. Do you know what that is?”
Dropping? Dropping like falling? Because he did feel like he was falling. He felt like he was falling to pieces. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s okay. It will be okay. Shane, please tell me what room you just came from. Do you remember? It was on this floor right?”
Shane wars with himself. He wants so badly to be good but he’s not sure how much he is allowed to say. How much Ilya would want him to admit.
Failure. Failure. Failure.
“Your brain is hurting you right now, isn’t it?” And Shane just nods in response. “Okay. It will be okay I promise. I know that you don’t feel good right now, and I can help you. But you have to be honest, you can do that for me, can’t you?”
Shane can be good. Maybe if he is good to Scott, Scott will tell Ilya. Ilya will want him again.
“Yeah,” Shane says in a quiet voice. “I can—I can show you.” His words come out hoarse and scratchy.
“Okay, okay, good. You’re doing such a good job.”
Yes! Yes! He is good, he can be good.
He’s still shaking as he leads Scott out of the elevator. Legs wobbling like he’s taking his first steps, but Scott holds some of his weight, allowing Shane to lead him to Ilya’s door.
He hesitates for a moment. This is a bad idea. He’s fine. He’s totally fine. The sex just shook him up a bit but he’s fine now. He’s about to turn to Scott. Tell him that he changed his mind and that he might be able to remember his room number now when Scott lifts his hand, pounding on the door in front of him.
It takes a moment for Ilya to come to the door and Shane registers Scott’s hand coming up again, getting ready to bang on the door until someone opens it.
But then— “It’s the middle of night—” Ilya stops himself the moment that he registers Shane leaning on Scott. Tear streaked face, and cloudy eyes. Shane’s heart beats to life again when he sees him.
Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.
Shane wants to fall to the ground in front of him. He wants to tell him that he will do better next time. He wants to beg to be held.
But instead Ilya opens his mouth and just says a sharp, “What the fuck?” And Shane looks away at the words, the fog seeping back into his mind. Of course, Ilya would not be happy to see him. Why would he think that? Why was he always so dumb?
“Hollander—” Ilya starts, but Scott cuts him off.
“Rozanov.” Venom leaking into his voice. If he was shocked at seeing Ilya open the door he didn’t show it. “I need to speak with you privately."
“No! What the fuck? Is he okay?” Ilya reaches out to him but Scott blocks his path, putting his body in between the two of them. “Hunter, I swear to god—”
“Ilya. Not right now. You want to hear what I have to say.”
Shane found himself being ushered into Ilya’s room, directed to wait in the bedroom with promises of just one second and we will be right outside. He dropped himself onto Ilya’s bed, wrapping himself in the hotel blankets to try to cut the cold from his bones. Was he in trouble? They had to be talking about him. Ilya was probably so mad.
He isn't sure how long he laid there, wrapped up and wishing that the sheets smelled more like Ilya.
After what could have been hours, he hears quiet footsteps enter the room, and the bed dips next to him. Shane lifts his head and opens his eyes, finding Ilya perched next to him. His eyes are red, hair tousled as if he had been pulling at it.
“Ilya,” Shane whispers and Ilya’s eyes widen. The first time Shane has said his first name. For a moment, Shane hunches in on himself. He just ruined whatever was about to happen. Ilya would make him leave again.
But then Ilya was flinging himself at Shane. Clawing at the sheets to get as close to him as possible.
“Shane,” Ilya said like a prayer. “Shane, I’m sorry. I did not know. I’m sorry.”
Shane didn’t understand what he was apologizing for. Hadn’t Shane been the one in the wrong? Hadn’t he done something wrong? “No—” Shane tried to explain, but Ilya just cut him off, kissing him deeply.
Suddenly, it felt like Shane was whole again, like he could finally breathe. He was tentative at first, worried to scare Ilya away. Scared that this wasn’t allowed. But then he was kissing Ilya back and tangling his hands in the blonde's hair.
“I don’t— I do not understand.” Shane was floating in a space between peace and suffering. “I’m wrong? I was bad, right? It’s not your fault.”
Ilya looked like he was in pain when he responded. “No. No, Shane. You are not wrong. You are good. So, so, good. Always so good for me, yes?” The words started to break through Shane’s frantic mind. “Such a good boy for me.”
The string in his mind snapped, and for the first time since Ilya pulled out, he felt peace. He felt warmth.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Ilya was chanting in between kisses. “Will never happen again. Promise. Never again. Did not know.” Shane was just so confused, but he didn’t let himself care. He just let himself be pulled back to shore by Ilya.
Softly Ilya pulls him out of the bed and to his feet. He leads the two of them into the bathroom and starts the shower. The whole time never taking his hands off Shane, never allowing Shane’s mind to drift back into darkness.
This time, when Ilya was washing his hair under the warm water, he was floating on clouds. Leaning his weight against Ilya’s wet body, he could finally breathe.
“What do you need?” Ilya asks after they made their way back into bed. Ilya had just fed him the expensive chocolate the hotel sets out, and held Shane’s head as he took small slips of water. No part of them wasn’t touching, it would be impossible to tell where one started and the other began.
Shane felt more in his body than he had at any other point that night. He was stable. He was safe. So he was confident in his answer when he just stated back, “you. All I need is you.” Ilya leaned in and kissed him once again.
“We need to talk. About all this, yes?”
“Yes,” Shane replied. “Yes, but let's talk in the morning okay?” Shane mentally prepared himself to be asked to leave. To be drowned in cold once again.
“Okay,” Ilya agreed, and he pulled Shane in even closer.
“Ilya..?”
“Stay. Please. Need you right now.”
Shane’s poor heart. It is never going to stop feeling like it is going to pound out of his chest. And Shane needed Ilya too. He was starting to realize that.
“Okay,” he agreed.
So he stayed.