Chapter Text
Fall 2013
Summer ends too quickly. If anything, the past year has been a complete blur. A collection of snapshots that make up the time. Most of those snapshots are made up of hockey and Shane Hollander. Since that summer, it feels like he and Shane have settled into something unspoken. Well, outside of it being ‘always this.’ Which maybe was something more than words could accurately capture. Despite the rush of time, Ilya feels on top of things. He’s been named Captain of the Boston Raiders. And they are about to play a game against the Montreal Metros.
Which means that tonight he gets to do his two favorite things, outscore Hollander and then pull Shane apart little by little until he's begging.
Ilya: Coming to my hotel?
Jane: Actually there's somewhere else we can go.
Ilya: Mount Royal?
Jane: Jesus, no fuck off. I'll text you the address after I kick your ass out there.
Ilya smirks at Shane’s confidence that he’s going to win. It’s hot, though Ilya very much doubts that is the predetermined outcome.
Ilya: How many times do you think you can cum in 1 hour?
Shane’s response is slow. He can imagine how flustered the other man must be. But finally he gets an answer, that only makes Ilya smile more.
Jane: I don’t know. Maybe twice?
Ilya: You suck at sexting.
Jane: Who taught you that word?
Ilya: Is Boston, the Americans have ruined good Canadian boy.
Jane: You're Canadian, but you are not a good boy.
Ilya sends back a crying emoji. But he doesn’t think that he can help the smile that is on his face.
“Wow, this Montreal girl really works you up, brother,” Marleau comments, breaking Ilya’s concentration from his conversation with Shane.
“Shut your idiot face up, Marley,” Ilya rolls his eyes and tucks his cellphone into his stall.
“You're blushing,” Marleau insists.
“I do not fucking blush; Russians do not do this.”
“Ah but you are Canadian Rozy,” Marly says with a bump of his shoulders, “and they definitely blush.”
Ilya does not retort back because he cannot argue. It is the one time his insistence on his Canadian identity has backfired.
“Whoever they are, seems maybe like a keeper,” Marleau grins.
“Shut up,” he says again but less harsh, “can we go kick Montreal ass now? Defend your honor as better Frenchman yes?”
“Aye, aye Captain,” Marleau winks. The game starts and of course, it’s him and Shane as the first face off. The NHL really wants to push this rivals narrative. Ilya thinks it is stupid, but will play along because it lets him get away with interacting more with Shane.
He winks at him and it isn't enough to throw Shane completely off but it does give him the extra part of a second to win the face off. He doesn't win the game but it is close enough and early enough in the season that he isn't even very angry about it. As he dresses he finds that Shane has sent him an address that he has never seen before.
He frowns, but he figures that he trusts Shane. That feeling does dull a little when his driver drops him off at what seems like a non-descript building. This place, to Ilya, looks a little bit like something out of a horror movie. He has to keep himself from flinching when a door opens in the alley to reveal Shane, waiting.
“You are going to kill me,” Ilya half-jokes, half-accuses.
“I might,” Shane retorts, and Ilya can see he’s still a little miffed.
“I will be on Dateline. Lovely and beautiful boy killed by lover.”
Shane blinks at him like he's been stunned out of his annoyance but then it is back on his face.
“Get in.” He steps in and looks about what looks like a commercial building, “What is this place?”
“It’s a building I bought a while ago. As an investment, I’m thinking of renovating it and turning it into condos. And the main floor is a commercial space. I thought it would be a good place to meet. For privacy,” Shane rambles.
Ilya looks at him and raises a brow.
“Did you buy us a building, Hollander?”
“It's an investment,” he says again, opening the door to a fully furnished apartment, “but I thought it would be better for us to see each other in this part of town where no one expects either of us to be.”
Ilya lets out a whistle, because it is a nice place. “Is this your attempt to impress me, Holzy? All Mr. Businessman?” He teases.
“Do I need to impress you,” Shane mutters as he loops his arms around Ilya's shoulders, “are you looking for a wealthy man?”
“I am a wealthy man,” Ilya murmurs back before pushing Shane up against the nearest wall and kissing him.
There is a little more bite to Shane’s kiss tonight than usual. Maybe still coming down from the game. Or maybe he’s annoyed that Ilya attempted to sext with him before the game. Shane breaks away for a moment.
“Come on,” he says. He leads Ilya over to a fully furnished bedroom, just as nice as the rest of the apartment.
“Who put all those pillows on the bed,” Ilya frowns.
“A designer that I paid,” Shane says, kissing along Ilya's shoulders, “do you care that much?”
“Just wanted to make sure this had not been done by your mother,” he mutters. Shane groans in annoyance, “Can you not when I'm trying to get you naked?”
“I am sorry, but I could not get naked if I thought your mother set up room,” Ilya retorts.
“If I’m awful at sexting, you’re awful at setting a mood,” Shane kisses his neck, and bites it lightly.
“And here we are wanting each other anyway,” Ilya says, pushing Shane back towards the best, “and now I know they are stranger pillows I can put them to good use.”
“Says the man who blew me in my childhood bedroom,” Shane chirps back.
“Times are different now,” Ilya dismisses and climbs on top of Shane.
“Now,” Ilya continues, “this is a stupid amount of pillows, we must use imagination. Lift your hips.” Shane grins and does as he's told, watches as Ilya pulls off his sweatpants and props a pillow under his hips.
Ilya presses kisses to the exposed skin, decides he is going to relish in having Shane in front of him for the first time in months.
“Ilya please,” Shane whispers, “don't be an asshole.”
Ilya snickers and presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh, “No, of course not.”
“Shut up and do something,” Shane urges.
“I am doing something,” Ilya retorts. “It's not fun to always jump straight to sex.”
Shane makes an irritated sound.
“Is called foreplay. We have done this before,” Ilya says, pressing a kiss on Shane's other thigh.
“You know that Dateline thing might become more true with every passing second,” Shane says.
“Mmm, impatient lover murders lovely beautiful boy,” he teases. Shane makes a little noise and he cannot tell if it is pleased or displeased.
“What, you do not like this?”
“Lover? Sounds...”
“What?”
“Gross? Scandalous?”
“You forget media likes making things scandalous?” Ilya asks. “Media just today attempt to get you to trash talk me.” Ilya had watched the clip on the way over to the apartment.
“I mean...you're not wrong. But like...I don't know. It doesn't feel like it fits us,” Shane says.
“Okay,” he says softly, kissing the jut of Shane's hip, “I will not say it.”
He occupies his mouth otherwise and takes Shane deep and without much more warning. Shane dissolves into half choked cries and whimpers, digging his fingers into Ilya's hair.
It does not take Shane long to hit his climax and Ilya swallows it all down.
“That is one,” Ilya grins, as he pulls off Shane and presses a kiss to his stomach. “How shall we achieve second?”
“Fuck me please,” Shane begs without hesitation. Ilya hums, “Mmm I can use my fingers.”
“No, I need...,” Shane pants out, “I have... a thing. In the drawer.”
Ilya arches a brow, remembering the last time Shane had referred to having a 'thing'. He opens the drawer by the bedside table. Inside he indeed finds a dildo. Pulling it out, along with some lube, he examines it for a moment. It's a standard dildo, nothing compared to the ones that Ilya has used on him. But it will certainly do the job.
“So prepared, Hollander,” he teases as he starts actually prepping him with his hand.
“Shutup,” Shane bites back with no bite at all. He does actually succeed in making Shane come a second time within the hour, but he has to admit he had not thought he would absolutely wear the man out with that. He laughs quietly at Shane's weak attempts to reciprocate.
“Go to sleep,” he says as he kisses the side of Shane's head, “I will get mine after.”
Shane mutters something, and moves closer to Ilya as he lies down.
“What was that?” Ilya asks, amused.
“Good. Don' disappear on me,” Shane says a little louder.
He turns Shane's face toward him and presses a kiss to his lips, “I won't.”
Shane's smile stays on his face until he falls completely asleep.
Ilya watches him for a long moment. Cataloguing his face for what feels like the millionth time. Even at this point it surprises him that he gets to do this. He ends up falling asleep while counting Shane's freckles.
They wake at some point in the middle of the night, when everything is so dark that he can feel the dawn threatening to begin. Shane kisses licks down his body in a slowly still sleepy way, he's in no hurry and neither is Ilya. His own orgasms are slow like rolling waves, all three of them. They shower in the absurd rainfall shower that Shane had built into this place, touching each other without seeking anything more than closeness.
Ilya reluctantly gets dressed after the shower. He does have a flight out this morning, but he just wants to stay here with Shane. Especially since it will likely be some time before they see each other again. At least two months, especially since Hollander is going to the Olympics this year to play for the Men's Canadian Team.
He kisses Shane's neck, loves the taste and smell of him just there and wants to take it with him when he goes.
“I cannot call you Капитан anymore,” he hums, “I am one too.”
“I haven't been your captain in years,” Shane sighs with a little smile, “I should be, I should be this year.”
Ilya closes his eyes and holds Shane's hips, “Next time. But you are Olympian now. Very Greek and powerful. Little godling.”
Shane rolls his eyes and flushes rather beautifully. “You don't have to charm me. I'm already here.”
“What? Just because we are...involved means I cannot still give you praise and flattery?” Ilya kisses his neck again.
“You don't need to convince me,” Shane insists.
“I never had to convince you, Holzy,” he whispers, “you have wanted me since the moment we met.”
“And you?”
“Mmm?”
“Since when?”
“So you do not deny it,” Ilya grins.
“And you?” He spins Shane by the hips and pulls him into a deep biting kiss.
“You're avoiding my question,” Shane accuses against his lips.
“What question?”
Irritatingly, Shane pulls away just enough for Ilya to look at him. “When did you start wanting me?”
Ilya runs his thumb over Shane's cheek, he looks so irritated and determined at the same time. He's so beautiful and he always has been.
“Since I saw your fucking freckles when you bothered me about smoking, I think about them every day since then, all these years. I think when I die they will be the last thing I see,” he tells him.
Shane searches his face for a long moment. His eyes give away surprise, before it softens into something Ilya is a little too afraid to identify. And then Shane is pushing him against the wall again, kissing him.
Eventually, Shane pulls away, holding Ilya's face just where it is.
“I'm going to win gold for you,” he promises, “this time, I will, for you. Next time, we'll do it together.”
Ilya does not know what to do with this promise, what to make of it. It sounds…well, romantic. Which he doesn’t want to trust because it will hurt when Shane decides Ilya isn’t worth it.
But instead of this, he nods and echoes, “Next time.”
It feels impossible to climb into the cab to take him back to the hotel and when he gets to his room where his bag was never quite unpacked, Marly looks at him with a tilted head and squeezes his shoulder.
“Hey, planes and trains, you know? You'll see her again soon,” he promises.
Ilya sighs and doesn’t even bother to deflect or pretend. It’s likely already written on his face if Marleau can tell. “I know,” he answers.
Marleau gives his shoulder one more squeeze and Ilya grabs his things, heading down to the car that will take him away from Shane for months.
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February 2014 - Sochi Olympics
Shane has to admit that Ilya was a little accurate in predicting Sochi would be a shitshow. He’s already heard rumors of some of the accommodations and even some of the events not being completed. Still, he cannot help the thrill of being here at the Olympics. Of winning the gold for Canada and for Ilya. He’s waiting with the other Canadian athletes for the opening ceremonies. There is thankfully a screen in the waiting area that will let them see the other parts of the ceremony.
It's really beautiful, he always likes the opening ceremonies even though sometimes things are too abstract for him to really appreciate them. But the displays of lights and musicians are easy enough to appreciate. Then it's time for them to march down with the rest of the delegation and he is so glad that he is nowhere near the flagbearer and that probably no one can see him. He still waves just in case, if his parents do see him ... if Ilya is watching, he wants them to see.
They are escorted out and the ceremony continues. The next part reflects on the past Winter Olympics. It continues as a celebration. Then, there is a slight shift. And they are asked for silence as they honor some of the Olympians that have passed.
There have been thousands of Olympians and of course a fair number of them have died of old age or something else in all this time, so Shane isn't sure how exactly they chose who to honor. They aren't all Russian though a good amount of them are. Shane recognizes some of the more famous and more recent ones. Many he doesn't recognize at all, but the song is mournful and it makes him so sad that he has to blink at the screen and try to focus on reading the names. That is why, despite the fact that the clip is brief - an impressive jump and landing - Shane still catches the name across the bottom of the screen.
Liliya Grigoryevna Rozanova
Лилия Григорьевна Розанова
2006 Bronze Medalist, Figure Skating - Women's Singles
Бронзовый призер 2006 года по фигурному катанию в женском одиночном разряде
(1991 - 2006)
The person on the screen is fifteen year old Ilya Rozanov, pre-transition. Dressed in a dark royal blue figure skating outfit and gliding gracefully across the ice. One of the first things that comes to Shane's mind is: He was so young. And the second is, despite the tone of this clip, is a swell of pride, because that was his Ilya.
The names and faces continue as the song comes to a close and Shane is still thinking of Ilya being in some way, in a terrible way, honored by the place he can never come home to. Never because they think that he's dead. Never because if they found out he wasn't, if they realized who he was now, they would do things to him that Ilya has never wanted to get into.
He takes a deep steadying breath. Promises himself to check in with Ilya when he can. Ilya, who is safe back in Ottawa, is likely watching the Olympics with Shane's mom and dad.
And while he's thinking about that, as the show continues and moves on from the solemn moment, he feels this need to know if Ilya is okay after seeing that probably while sitting at home with his parents. Unlike a lot of the more social media minded athletes, Shane didn't bring his phone out and he's going to have to wait another 3 or 4 hours to get back to the Village.
Eventually, the opening ceremony moves to the Russian national anthem. Then finally, the lighting of the Olympic torch. And it is this that brings some tears to Shane's eyes, that has nothing to do with exhaustion. A few hours later, he is released to return to his accommodations. Entering his room, he grabs his cellphone. There is a text earlier from Ilya, that compliments the team outfits and teases him for how adorable he was on television.
There was nothing after the parade of nations and Shane is worried that seeing that memorial clip might have gone... badly. He tries to call since it is only the afternoon back home. The call is swiftly rejected.
Lily: Don't call.
Shane: Are you okay?
Lily: I am fine, do not call. Walls are made of paper - did you not get stuck in bathroom?
Shane: Thankfully no. And thankfully my bathroom has all of the necessary walls.
Shane: Also, my parents walls are pretty thick
Lily: I am not talking about those walls, Shane
Lily: I do not want you to be the next one in next Human Rights Watch video
Shane swallows and nods to himself, he does feel a little scared - not much - he wants to think he's safe here where all the athletes are with their delegations and also no one knows. More prominently, he feels a warmth at Ilya's protectiveness.
Shane: I'll only really be at the Village or at Canada House.
Lily: They are everywhere, Shane. Very good at always fucking watching not very good at plumbing apparently.
He is concerned about Ilya's level of paranoia about this. But...Ilya is the one who grew up in Russia, so he would probably know better than Shane. Still, not being able to talk to Ilya--to hear his voice--for two weeks is not a pleasant idea. Especially when he's fairly sure that Ilya is likely going to have a lot of emotions these next two weeks.
Shane: I wanted to talk to you about the ceremony.
Lily: You will find a way to get me fluffy jacket, yes?
Shane: I don't mean the uniforms.
Lily: Yes. I know.
Shane: How are you doing with it?
Lily: I am being honored by country who would hate me. I miss a home that would hate me.
Lily: But excellent lesson on Cyrillic alphabet
Shane sits with that for a moment. He has known this whole time that Ilya feels complicated about Russia - but he doesn't think he has ever told Shane that he misses any part of it. Ilya mostly pretends that Russia was this thing far in his past, that he's Canadian now and that's all that matters. He thinks back to the conversation his mom told him about, the one she had with her auntie. Sometimes, someone who cannot come home will push it to the back of their mind, but it's like a wound that never fully heals.
He thinks that is what it must be like for Ilya. Though right now, the wound has been reopened with a blatant reminder of his home country and who he used to be. Another text comes through his phone, which startles him out of his thoughts.
Lily: They did show my best jump, which I appreciate
Shane: You are so fucking impressive, you're at the top of your hockey career and it's your second pro-sport.
Lily: I'm also on top of the second best hockey player, so you know.
Shane rolls his eyes and bites his lip.
Shane: Let me call. Just for a minute.
Lily: No. Shane it is serious, okay? And do not talk about me. Not to teammates, no one. If someone mentions me you shrug, yes?
Shane: Like if they're wondering where you are?
Lily: Yes. If they ask where I am, shrug.
Shane bites his lip. He thinks this is going a little overboard, but it's something he can easily do. Especially if it makes Ilya feel more relaxed about Shane being here.
Shane: Okay, I can do that
After a few minutes of silence another message comes through.
Lily: I want to talk also, but it is only two weeks. And you have things to focus on.
Shane: It's actually a WHOLE two weeks but - yeah I understand. I mean I don't but I trust you. Are you still at my parents?
Lily: No but I will go back tomorrow. You mamma wants to watch the skating.
Shane: Is that okay?
Lily: Will be fine. Go to bed, Hollander. You have gold to win yes?
Shane smiles at the comment.
Shane: Yeah, I promised you I would
Lily: Then get rest. And kick Russia's ass
They finish up their conversation and Shane, feeling a little better having talked to Ilya, finally gets to bed.
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February 2014, Ottawa
He arrives in time for lunch with a bottle of wine under his arm which probably will not pair with whatever David is making but it does not matter. He cannot come empty-handed and sit on the Hollander's couch trying not to cry. So, he brings wine. Yuna greets him with the usual smile and a hug, it has never faltered, not even when he came to this door last summer expecting her to slam it in his face. She had hugged him, tighter than now, and told him that he was always, always welcome in her home.
“Wine!” she smiles, “We won't tell Shane.”
“No, please, he will start describing the horrors of red wine again,” he pleads as he steps inside.
“Did you get a chance to speak to him last night?”
He clears his throat, “We chat a bit, he needs his rest.”
“How is he liking Sochi?” Yuna asks. “He did not say much about it outside of that his accommodations are not as bad,” Ilya says. Which is one of his concerns about Shane being at the Olympics, but not the biggest concern.
“And how are you feeling? I know yesterday was... big, for you. You want to be there, don't you?”
Ilya sniffs and shrugs once, “No use wanting.”
She pulls him into another side hug, and ruffles his curls just a little.
“It is okay to miss it, Ilya. And it is okay to want to be there, as long as you don't dwell on it.”
“If you were not momager, Yuna Hollander, you could be good therapist,” Ilya jokes.
Partially to deflect from this whole conversation. Does Ilya want to be there? Yes, but that is mostly because he could more easily protect Shane. And to play hockey with him again, this time on Olympic ice. Maybe to have a second Olympic medal would be nice. And does he miss it? Parts of it. He misses the parts that remind him of his childhood. Curling up in his big bed back in Moscow, a proper princess bed with the gauzy curtains, excited for his mamma to read him one of the fairytales the little girl in the Opening Ceremony would dream of. That is the home that he misses.
But it isn't there any more. There isn't anything about Moscow that holds his mother's smile or the way she held him at night. They erased her career and her life and even her death. There is nothing for him there, but he still aches so badly to walk down the streets he grew up in, to show Shane the parts of him that are stored in corner shops and parks and skating rinks.
However, for their safety, he cannot. He and Shane could never share a moment like that. Not unless they wanted to end up like that man in the video. The night Ilya had seen that video, he had a nightmare about Shane being attacked, while at the Olympics. Thousands of miles away, while Ilya sat here in Ottawa. He, of course, had not shared this particular dream with Shane. Ilya didn’t think it would have been particularly helpful. And what was he supposed to do? Ask Shane not to go to the Olympics? Impossible.
And he cannot tell Yuna Hollander that he is afraid something will happen to Shane because she also cannot go for more boring practical reasons like visas, and that means that there would just be three of them sitting here being afraid that someone will overhear Shane saying something that gives him away and getting hurt. It is, objectively, a ridiculous concern. Shane is so careful about the way he behaves in public. He still keeps Ilya's number saved as Lily. He doesn't even stand too close when they are out in public even though everyone knows they are friends. But Russia is a different beast, one that knows well how to work in shadows and if anyone made the connection - he just needs these two weeks to be over. He needs to hold Shane and feel his heartbeat and know he is safe.
They get settled in for the afternoon to watch the pair skating. Ilya is particularly excited to watch it. He highly respects the discipline, especially with how risky it can be. It also hits home a little. His mother, before she retired and married his dad, had been a pair skater. She had also performed individually, but she had always spoken of how much she had enjoyed pair skating. Being on ice with a partner, trusting them implicitly, while creating a story.
David's commentary is mostly sounds of disbelief and soft wows that are genuine and adorable.
Yuna, on the other hand, is trying to become an expert in the scoring system from one pair to the next.
“So there's a base score,” she frowns lightly, “but then they go over that —”
“Based on how well the move was executed, or how poorly,” he explains.
“What if they fall? I mean I hope they don't fall...”
“Some will,” he says, “that is a full point deduction. After three, two points.”
“That's brutal,” David comments from the loveseat he's stretched out on.
Yuna turns her eyes to him, “You know the sport well?”
Ilya watches a middling execution of a death spiral and bites his lip before he nods.
Then he says, “My mother. She was skater.”
“Oh,” Yuna says softly, “I don't think I knew that.”
He shakes his head, eyes still on the low ranking couple, “No. I do not talk about... I have not said before.”
From his periphery, he sees the two Hollanders look at each other. He can sense the sympathy that comes from them. The soft concern for him that somehow extends past the fact that he is involved with their son.
“Was she good?” Yuna asks, her voice soft.
“To me, she was best,” Ilya gives a small smile. “But…she and her partner would usually get silver or bronze in competition. And she only got bronze in her competitions.” It’s a fact that he had tried to use to comfort himself when he had gotten bronze. Telling himself that he was like her in that way, that she had been happy with her medals, and she would have been happy with his.
“I think we are very dismissive of bronze medalists when there are dozens who don't become decorated at all. And hundreds who don't even reach championships. Your mother was one of the best,” she says with soft conviction.
“This is ah...very Canadian thought,” he says quietly, “in Russia there is gold or there is shame. Her family did not think their efforts paid off. She was married to my father when she was 19.”
He sees Yuna blink at this piece of information. It makes him smile for a moment because he can now see where Shane gets the reaction from. It certainly reinforces to Ilya that Shane got his good looks from his mother.
“That’s….quite young,” she comments. “It was Soviet times. Did not matter,” Ilya shrugs. Tries not to think how that, even with the USSR gone, that could still have been his fate.
He pulls his knees up, “Skating is expensive. Almost as bad as hockey. Mamma did not bring the results they wanted, the fame and the recognition and the better housing and money that come with bringing glory to the motherland. So,” he watches the Latvian skaters nail a side-by-side lutz, “They had to get their investment back somehow. My father was well connected, police.”
The thing he appreciates about the Hollanders is that they attentively listen. They both take the time to digest the information provided and don’t throw out hasty judgment.
“I imagine she’s why you’re a graceful skater out on the ice then,” David comments, kindly.
Ilya nods and looks over at him. He doesn't look at Ilya with pity, he looks at him...softly. The way he looks at Shane when he has made a tangle of his nerves.
“Yes, she taught me,” he says.
David simply nods, taking this information in as well. He smiles that same soft smile. Then he says, “So I suppose you must also have some high standards on some of these skaters.” Ilya laughs and nods, thankful for the out for this conversation.
“Yes. While I do respect anyone who does this discipline…I do think some of these pairs could have benefited from more practice.”
“I have mentioned this in the past but if the Olympic committee was as selective as it should be the games would be shorter,” Yuna says, “and they don't want that. Still I think it's a good bar for comparison. And there's always the underdog.”
Ilya tilts his head, “I do not know this.”
“Oh! Hmm it's someone that no one expects has a chance at winning but surprises everyone.”
Ilya makes a mental note of this phrase, repeating it in his head a few times. Just as he does with anything new he learns. “And…this underdog thing. It is common?”
“Very much so,” Yuna says. “In fact, they’re usually the type of person we tend to support the most.”
“I am not this,” he grins, “but I like it. Is very...hopeful.”
“No I wouldn't call you an underdog either,” she smiles, “you burst in like a shooting star.”
“Mm, though I think I would last longer than shooting star,” Ilya half-jokes. Which earns him a laugh from Yuna, which feels like a win.
“I’m certain you will,” she agrees.
The pairs progressively become better because of how the games line up based on qualifications. Soon the programs become mesmerizing and he is 5 again, watching on the television sitting curled up with his mamma. She always looked like she was looking at something beautiful and sad. But now Ilya knows that while the skating had been beautiful, it was mamma who was sad.
He feels some of that sadness now. It is bittersweet. A perfect example of what he has learned is nostalgia. That must have been how his mother felt, watching people out on the ice, doing the thing she used to do. He lets out a low whistle at one of the pairs, who has a practically flawless skate. Unsurprisingly, they immediately take over first.
There is a break and he lets himself have one as well. He walks calmly to the half bath by the living room and splashes water on his face. He reminds himself that he hasn't lost this. He may never compete again, but he can hone his skills, master jumps he could never do before, he could skate for himself.
Allison had followed through. In the previous year, she had introduced Ilya to a coach who works out of Boston. Rory was a rather skilled coach and came to Ilya’s house once a week to run him through drills and build up his abilities.
Rory of course was very discrete but he still privately complained that Ilya would be ready to compete in mere months and yet they could not show anyone their work. Ilya knows that a coach who cannot point to a promising student is losing on other opportunities so he pays him more and consoles him by reminding him how lucky he is to watch Ilya skate. That at least makes him laugh.
And it feels good to skate again. Especially under a coach who really gets it. Who knows the kind of changes Ilya has endured and how it affected his skating.
He gets back to the couch and they watch the remaining short programs. The Russian pairs do well, and he's not exactly annoyed by it. It seems his resentment is concentrated on their hockey team which by all accounts is a mess.
Granted, that is what happens when you throw a bunch of players together onto one team. What really draws Ilya’s ire is that the team plays dirty. It is an affront to the sport and, while Ilya is not as invested in his home country, makes other Russian players look bad,
“You know you can stay in Shane's room instead of coming and going every day,” Yuna tells him as he settles back into the couch beside her.
“Is not necessary,” he says, which is mostly a joke at this point because he knows that and they know that. She rolls her eyes and shoves at his shoulder.
“I'm serious, the snow could get bad this week,” she says.
Ilya smiles. It’s nice to have an older adult who wants to look after him. Even if she isn’t his parent.
“I will be fine,” he assures her.
“And you wouldn’t have to waste money on a hotel. Can get up and just come to the living room. Besides you’re basically family,” she continues.
He feels how wide his eyes are and Yuna's go all soft and kind like they do. She pulls him close to her side, “Oh Ilya, seriously? You don't know that after all this time?”
Ilya gives a shrug. It’s odd how small he feels at this moment. Especially when he usually dwarfs Yuna Hollander. However, he’s brought back to that first New Years and being hugged as he cried over the thoughtfulness.
“I just thought I was just…the best friend,” Ilya says lamely.
“Well, you are so much more than that,” Yuna says. And he doesn’t think she’s just referring to the fact that she knows Ilya and Shane have sex.
Which is still admittedly a strange thing for them both to know about. David comes around and hands him and Yuna mugs of hot chocolate.
“I'll take you to pick up your things after we're done watching today,” David says, “sound good?”
“Okay,” he agrees. Because how is he supposed to argue with them now? Ilya is many things, but he is not ungrateful.
He sends Shane a quick text Your parents kidnap me, I am to stay in your room and watch Olympics and get hot chocolate and eat good food.
Shane’s response is not sympathetic. In fact, it reads: Tragic. Guess that’s your life now.
Ilya thinks he would be the happiest person in the world if this was his life now. If he could somehow have this forever. Still he asks: It is okay with you that I sleep in your bed?
Shane’s response takes a while. Again, Ilya imagines him typing and retyping. Trying to come up with the ‘proper’ response. Then, finally one comes through that makes Ilya choke.
Jane: Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for the past 4 years?
Ilya: Not without you.
Jane: It's still your house?
Ilya blinks down at the text. Shane is not a ... joker. He very rarely says things jokingly or says things he doesn't mean. So, he stares down at the text in disbelief until the commercial break ends.
Deciding to process this later, he sets the phone aside and refocuses on the pairs skating. It’s the finals, meaning medals. He finds himself falling back into the technical judging of it, as well as considering the creative factors. It’s a good distraction.
Eventually Yuna says she'll put together dinner while David and Ilya go to check him out of the hotel. He had hardly unpacked, so it's a quick chore and by the time they return Yuna is just taking the pasta bake out of the oven.
It smells delicious and Ilya deeply enjoys it. Carbs are probably his favorite thing to have back. And of course, with the new skate training, he is trying to be healthy about his choices. But that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a home cooked meal. After dinner, they end up back on the couch to watch whatever they are highlighting now. Ilya takes a picture of the mugs on the table and the television, and makes a small Instagram post.
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Shane is smiling down at Ilya's texts from that day when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He instantly puts his phone down and looks up to see Scott Hunter and Carter Vaughn. “Hey,” he grins up.
“How are you liking it here, Holzy?”
He shrugs and picks at his snack, “I haven't been out much. Just my room and Canada House.”
“Seriously? Can you stand to stay in your room with that smell?”
“Okay, I thought we were the only ones who had it,” Shane breathes.
“Yeah, no, almost everyone is complaining about it, dude,” Vaughn says.
“JJ thinks it might be black mold. Do you think that's what it is?” Scott tilts his head.
“He's probably right. Good news is that we're not gonna be here long enough to be affected.”
Shane nods, which he thinks is a fair point. He hasn't told Ilya about the smell or the potential black mold. Though, it's likely, with how online Ilya is, he probably already knows. But, Shane doesn't want to cause him more stress.
“Hey, you watching anything today?” Scott asks.
“Yeah, I um, I was going to go see the men's figure skating,” he mentions. His friend from middle school skate coaching is competing and he wants to show up for him. He also wants to learn more about skating for Ilya but he isn't going to say that. “My buddy Joe is competing.”
“Oh, that's really cool,” Scott nods.
“I'd really like to show up for him. Would you guys like to join?”
“Hell yeah. Show up for any dude who's that brave,” Vaughn says.
Shane's brain kind of buzzes as Vaughn just assumes that Joe is gay. Shane doesn't even know if he is, it isn't like they've seen each other much. They just text sometimes, more now that they're both here at the games. He reacts as much as he can, but the thought continues to press on him.
As things usually do, his thoughts immediately go back to Ilya. What it must have been like growing up for him here. His deep concern for Shane. But, it also brings back his own hang ups about stereotypes and the assumptions that are made. It reinforces for him why he's not out while he plays hockey. Because as much as Carter Vaughn seems supportive, there's the obvious bias there.
People like Carter think that Joe is probably gay because he skates and that Shane is not because he plays hockey. Shane takes advantage of that assumption to some extent, and he doesn't even know if he's supposed to feel guilty about it.
All of this stays on his mind as he, Hunter and Vaughn take a seat in the bleachers to watch the event. However, he manages to snap himself out of it when it officially starts. And...well, it's beautiful. He doesn't exactly know what's going on, not really. But it's amazing to watch.
A text pops in That was a fucking good 3A. He blinks and answers I don't know what that means but it's beautiful
Will have to educate you when you get home, Hollander he gets back. Scott sitting next to him, gives him a half smile and then looks back at the incoming skater. Shane clears his throat and puts his phone away.
He pays attention to the next few skaters. Then it is finally Joe's turn and he cheers loudly for the man. Texting Ilya, he informs the other man that this particular skater is his friend.
He glances down as Joe warms up, Who is his coach?
What is it with Ilya and coaches, I don't know???
Ugh, Hollander, I will find out. Just as the music begins he reads, James Park, not bad, not sure if good enough. Your mother is very excited. We will cheer.
Shane pockets his phone once again and focuses on watching Joe. It is an amazing program. His movements seem smooth and the skating is emotional. Surprisingly, he does find some tears coming to his eyes. He wonders if this is the appeal skating has for Ilya.
He claps and shouts and waits for Joe's score which looks pretty excellent and puts him at the current lead. His phone buzzes again. That was excellent, solid chance at bronze. Ilya says, which Shane guesses is a professional evaluation.
As Ilya predicts, Joe is knocked down into third place. However, he has to admit that the other skaters are phenomenal. Ilya particularly has positive things to say about Yuzuru Hanyu's skate. Particularly that it was “very hot and alluring.” Shane sends him back a frowning emoji, trying to shake off the jealousy. After all, Ilya is with his parents right now, preparing to watch him on Olympic ice. Speaking of, Shane bids a goodbye to the USA players, thanking them for joining him. Then he makes his way back to his room to prepare for the game tonight.
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Ilya knows that generally, hockey players do not feel any kind of particular pressure about the Olympics, nowhere near what it feels like going to playoffs. But Shane seemed a new kind of determined as he headed off, like he did have something in particular to prove.
“They're so ... muted,” Yuna mutters as she takes a seat between David and himself.
“They are probably there to kill time before curling,” Ilya laughs. David chuckles on Yuna's other side.
Ilya's eyes scan over the Russian players. Some of them, now that he thinks about it, he recognizes from junior hockey. One in particular who Ilya threw down gloves over. He feels his lip curl when he thinks that asshole is out there on Olympic ice, ready to say whatever vile things come to his mind toward Shane.
They start playing dirty from the first ten seconds and he knows this is going to be hard to watch. Shane is in fine form and he works annoyingly well paired with McKendry on his left wing. He'll have to remember that for the next All-Stars, whether they are on the same team or not.
He grits his teeth as he watches Kozlov practically ram Shane into the boards. This is perhaps the second or third time during the game, with the man practically targeting Shane. Annoyed and feeling his blood begin to boil, he pulls out his phone and contacts Sveta.
Ilya: Kozlov on Russian Team. What do you know of him?
Sveta: More full of shit and drugs than your brother. Decent hands, mostly muscle.
Ilya: No, what do you know about him. How can I make his life bad with a lot of money.
Sveta: What are you planning?
Ilya: Potential revenge. Now, details.
Sveta: There is nothing that is not known that would not have already ruined his life already
He watches as the fucker swipes at Shane's feet while the official goes apparently fully blind. Yuna curses in a way she hardly ever does beside him.
Ilya: Fine who do we know close enough that can hurt him.
Sveta: Ilyushka, down boy.
Ilya: Fucking, I can't do anything from here, Sveta.
Sveta: You are serious about this?
Ilya: Yes.
Sveta: ... Hollander is a big strong hockey player, Ilyushka he will be fine.
He swallows. Fuck, he was being obvious. Immediately beginning to type back a response, Sveta sends another.
Sveta: And do not attempt to lie to me, Ilya Irineevich Rozanov
He looks up just in time to catch another, this time failed, attempt from Kozlov to pin Shane to the boards. But Shane is too fast for him and fucking scores from under the assholes legs. The three of them jump off the couch in cheers and shouts. It's probably a whole two minutes before they calm down.
Ilya: I will not lie. But he is there alone and I need to protect him.
Sveta: He is with an international delegation on the world stage, he is safe. Do not worry. Enjoy looking at him, Ilyushka he is beautiful.
Ilya: Yes. Yes he is.
Sveta: Having someone you care for is a good look on you. Hollander is lucky man.
Ilya thinks he is the lucky one. Especially since he is currently the one curled up on the Hollander couch, being treated like another member of the family. To have a person who is willingly learning Russian from him and who has earnestly promised to bring home the gold for him.
Shane scores another goal in the second period and Canada ends up taking the game 4-1. David pops a sparkling cider out of the fridge which is the most adorably boring David Hollander thing he could have imagined.
“I'm going to call him,” Yuna squeals.
Ilya gladly takes a glass of sparkling cider. Grabbing his cellphone he sends a text message to Shane.
Ilya: Congratulations on your win. It was great game. You are one step closer to gold
He doesn't expect Shane to see it any time soon. Especially with the celebration that is likely happening in the locker rooms, and the media probably wanting to talk to the captain and Yuna's call.
Instead, he almost immediately receives a picture of the celebration in the locker room. The text that comes with it says wish you were here.
Ilya sends back a heart. And the next text message is, Next time.
“When he makes it to the gold game,” Ilya says up from the phone, “we should go watch with everyone, yes? Make them see how proud we are of him.”
David comes around and pulls him into a hug, “Yeah, we should.”
Ilya is filled with warmth at this moment. He cannot help but smile at the idea that it is that easy. How he is part of a we and that he can be included with the Hollanders in celebrating Shane.
The men's singles starts fairly early the next morning, David still working on pancakes when it starts. Rory is in his phone because of course he is, full of notes. It makes Ilya shake his head because he already tells, even though Ilya has been very clear, that Rory wants him to compete.
It is always flattering how much Rory believes in Ilya's ability. But as Ilya regularly tells him, he is content with hockey right now. What Ilya wants more than anything right now to win the Stanley Cup and continue to play against Shane. As much as he loves figure skating, that is only a hobby now.
“So, any thoughts on the competitor's today, Ilya?” Yuna asks, as she sits down with her cup of coffee.
“Mmm, I think the Japanese skater is set to win after his short program. Canada also has chance, if his free skate is perfect or more technically difficult,” Ilya shares.
“Love hearing you talk about this,” David says with a warm shake of his head, “you sound like a coach.”
Ilya huffs a laugh, “It is easy, you will be experts by the end of the week.”
“I don't know about that,” David chuckles.
“I still can't tell the difference between an axel and a Salchow.”
“Well...easy difference is axel is only jump that starts forward. Is why it's worth most points,” Ilya explains. “Other main difference in jump is if it is toe jump or edge jump.”
“I think I will leave the judging to you, Ilya,” the other man says with a smile, and places a plate of pancakes in front of him.
He digs into the pancakes with the joy of a small kid, absolutely drowning them in maple syrup. He learned the hard way to bring his own to Boston, absolutely disgusting what they sell across the border.
“This,” he points at a horribly executed Lutz, “this is crap. You can tell is crap, yes David?”
“I am not going to pass judgement on something I absolutely cannot do,” he says as he stabs at his own pancakes.
“I can do it and I am telling you that is embarrassing,” he insists.
“What's wrong with it?” Yuna asks, sounding very interested and invested.
“See David, this is right question to ask,” he teases. He goes on to explain the problems with the Lutz, including the under rotation and the shaky landing among other things.
David is looking at him with that look he has for crosswords puzzles, “And you can do that.”
“Yes,” he says waving his arms, “and so can he! This was not a mental falter was ... under practiced. Can tell he had bad launch discipline. Was his coach's job to catch this.”
“Where'd you learn?” David asks, still curious. “How to do the jump? And all the technical knowledge?”
“From my mother,” Ilya says. Which is technically true. His mother was the one who first got him out on the ice. He didn't learn how to do any of the jumps though until he started training seriously with Allison all those years ago.
Yuna doesn't say anything but she pulls him close and digs her fingers in his hair. He thinks that it's a little crazy that he lets himself accept so much comfort from the Hollanders. They are Shane's parents, not his. Even if they are welcoming and loving and tell him that he's family, if someday Shane comes to his senses, it will not be just him Ilya loses but all this.
He tries not to dwell on it today. For now, he is warm and welcomed. And he gets to enjoy one of his favorite sports with the people who have become some of his favorites. So, he returns his attention back to the men's free skate and shares his comments and critiques.
As the competitors rise in caliber, he pays attention with a different attitude. He has never attempted a quad anything. He could, probably. He has thigh muscles like he's never had before and if he can get his lower leg strength up to par maybe. Maybe.
There is, of course, a text from Rory as these higher level competitors continue skating.
Rory: You know...I think you could easily land some of these jumps.
Rory: Then that could absolutely be you out there
Ilya: You need more hobby.
Rory: You better be conditioning while you're on this little vacation.
Ilya rolls his eyes. It's like Rory doesn't even know him.
Ilya: Of course I am still conditioning. Stretching and lifting and practicing coordination. Comes in handy for when I win Stanley Cup.
He had actually been using Shane's home gym, just like he had been using his bed. It felt strange but also a lot like Shane was just about to come home any moment and not a week and a half from now.
To Ilya it feels all very...domestic. Which is strange for him and continues to cause him a level of anxiety that urges him to run or do something to protect himself from future hurt. But then, he gets a text from Shane or Yuna or David showing him something and suddenly that impulse disappears.
Either way, he gets the same reaction from Rory that he always does, which is an eyeroll emoji. Followed by, I know hockey is priority, I just want you to be thinking about other things as well. He reassures Rory. By the time he returns his attention, it is Yuzuru Hanyu's turn. Ilya had been very appreciative of his short program, a beautiful skate that had scored him over 100 points. Admittedly, he's excited to see what the skater could do.
As soon as he starts Ilya just knows that he has this, even as he takes a spill and David and Yuna both hiss in empathy.
“It won't matter,” he says, eyes still trained on the screen, “you'll see.”
“How can you tell? He's just missed another jump,” Yuna points out. Ilya shakes his head just briefly. He has no time, nor focus to accurately describe to the Hollanders about the musicality, not to mention the technical ability. With the short program he skated before, he has gotten the gold.
He knows it, everyone who knows anything about the sport knows it, and it is clear that Hanyu knows it. What he doesn't expect, even though maybe he should have given the short, is the final score. A new record, a new peak, something - he thinks before the thought can be stopped - something to strive for. His body feels electric and he needs to walk off all of the energy that is all of a sudden cursing through him. He stands from the couch with his hands in his hair and walks out of the house to the yard.
The cold winter wind does help ease some of the frantic energy that is running through him. But it is still a live current running through him. Because deep down, he wants to be able to do something like that. To set a new record and inspire other skaters to have their best be better.
Greedy, a voice that sounds like the memory of his father says. And maybe it is. Ilya has changed his life, made a whole new person of himself, a person who is at the height of hockey with so much in it that he wants to conquer and win. That he will conquer and win. But he also wants to get back what he had to give up, what he shouldn't have had to give up, he wants to be the best at all that he knows he can be.
Immediately, not thinking about it, he texts Rory.
Ilya: I want to get quads
That is at least the first step. He cannot possibly step back into the world of figure skating. Not truly. But he can at least determine if he's able to pull off the same technical abilities as these skaters.
Maybe it will be just for him. Just himself and Rory. And Allison Wiebe. Himself and Rory and Allison Wiebe and Shane. And Shane's parents. And Svetlana. Suddenly his secrets feel so open he wants to curl up under some blankets but still.
Rory: Then you'll get quads.
Ilya sends him a thank you and pockets his phone. The energy is still thrumming in his body and part of him thinks that he might just need to jump into a snow drift. That's when his phone buzzes again. This time it is Shane.
Jane: Mom said something was up. You okay?
Ilya: 280.09. Is new Olympic record. I have witnessed this.
Jane: Yeah. Yeah, we all did. It was amazing.
Ilya: I want. I can do that. I know I can.
Jane: I don't doubt it
Ilya hugs the phone to his chest, because he cannot hug Shane himself. It is astounding to him that Shane does not dismiss the idea or questions it. That he apparently has this easy confidence in Ilya, even if Shane has never actually seen him skate before.
He supposes that now he has a seen him skate a little bit. He was surprised that Shane hadn't pushed to see any of it before. Maybe he thought it would be strange to see him as he was. Maybe it is strange to see him that way. It does not matter, Ilya will skate for him as he is now when he comes back.
He will show off for him and properly celebrate his Olympic journey, no matter how Canada places. And then, he will kick Shane Hollander's ass on hockey ice and win the Stanley Cup.
Canada continues to move up the bracket exactly as everyone expected it to. The US got knocked off embarrassingly early and he tries not to be too gleeful but he does tell Shane to ask Hunter to bring back snacks with him since he will be back so soon. Predictably, because they were a mess of poor discipline and violent overcompensation, Russia has been knocked off too.
Ilya walks into the downtown sports bar escorting Yuna while David parks the car. And it isn't surprising but Yuna still acts as if she were when people recognize them and offer her a seat of honor where everyone is gathered to watch the gold medal game. A few people look at him warily but then one bearded man shakes his hand and everyone seems to take this as a sign of some kind.
None of them fully ease off. He can feel some of the looks from the warier ones. But Ilya keeps his gaze on the game. Their opinions of him do not matter. What matters is that Canada is going to win gold under Shane's captaincy.
There are always drinks and food in front of them, none of which they ask for so it seems at least the owner of this place is happy to have them there. David squeezes his shoulder every time Shane makes a great pass or takes a shot. Yuna is too busy screaming at the officials five thousands miles away.
“Yuna, she is very passionate about hockey,” Ilya says with a smile to David.
“You're just now picking that up, bud?” David asks, jokingly. “Yuna sleeps, eats and breathes hockey. I just enjoy watching it now.”
“Shane did say you used to play,” Ilya says, trying not to let his reaction show at receiving the same fatherly nickname that David gives Shane.
“Yeah, but then I found new passions. And now I just have fun supporting you boys,” David smiles.
Ilya feels that same warmth here out in public, exposed to people who probably have burned his image outside of games, as he does tucked into the couch at the Hollander's house. It's soft and familiar and then. Then Shane scores. The bar erupts into screams, beer and chips flying everywhere, Yuna nearly jumping onto her seat.
“God, why does that feel so much bigger than usual,” she asks after she's done screaming.
“Olympics is like... Disney World. There is magic in it,” he tells her.
This earns him a look from Yuna. She narrows her eyes just slightly at him. Ilya just smiles back, trying not to seem nervous under that look, and turns his attention back to the television. Just in time to watch Shane win another face-off against the Swedish center.
Canada scores twice more in the second period and it is looking very good against Sweden's single score, but no one wants to sing their victory until the last.
Yuna takes a deep breath and a deeper swig of beer, “When I was in school, I had this teacher. She used to run from her office where the games played on her radio, clear across to the chapel and prayed during the entire intermission. I don't really think it ever made a difference, but I think I can understand wanting to feel like you can do something at this point.”
Ilya pulls his necklace out from under his shirt.
“Do you want to try?”
“You don't think it's silly?” Yuna asks. Ilya shakes his head.
“You just want to give your son all the support he could get.”
He slips the cross from his neck and already feels naked without it. But still, he passes it over to Yuna.
“Is Orthodox cross, but should still work, yes?”
“Thank you, Ilya,” Yuna says softly. She gently takes it from him and closes her eyes. Ilya thinks he would pray too, if he were more religious. Yes, he believes in God. And yes, wears that cross, but that is more to honor his mother. The necklace was once hers and she is the one who would take him to the Orthodox Church in Moscow and teach him the stories. As he got older, he thinks that his mamma was maybe hoping to find some strength in something bigger than herself. He wishes it had made a difference.
What he does sometimes, rather than pray, is talk to his mama. He knows she can hear him.
Can you see him mama? Can you believe how lucky I am?
Eventually, he feels Yuna's hand in his and she squeezes, “Let me help you put this back on, it's almost time.”
Ilya nods and gives her a quiet thank you. He feels the small weight of the cross around his neck and welcomes it back gladly. When it's fastened, he tucks it back under his shirt and with a small smile back to Yuna, returns his focus back to the hockey game.
He'll admit that Sweden puts in a good effort, but it is nothing compared to the cohesiveness that Shane has somehow achieved in Canada. David's hands are on both his shoulders and Yuna's fingers are digging into his arm as the clock tick downs and then Shane scores one last beautiful perfect goal.
The roar that erupts through the bar is so loud that it could likely be heard in British Columbia. Canada has won the gold medal and defended its title. People are cheering and yelling and celebrating. Ilya feels himself being pulled into a group hug with Yuna and David. His cheeks hurt from how wide he is likely grinning. And his heart is swelled with pride, especially when the camera pans to Shane Hollander, the team captain, celebrating with his fellow players on the ice.
Others hugged him, some of the ones who eyed him warily when he walked in and the man who shook his hand. None of it matters now. Canada won, the screams and laughter and horns honking can be heard from everywhere. The bar achieves some amount of quiet as the team lines up to receive their medals. The close up on Shane as he lowers his head for the medal to be placed has him clinging back to Yuna the way she had been to him. Then, as the flags come into view, the whole bar stands and as one sings the anthem that Ilya had learned when he was just a little child in a language that he barely spoke.
As the team gathers for pictures and poses, the bar falls back into revelry, but Ilya's eyes are still on the screen. And he is so glad, because otherwise he would have missed it.
Shane — Shane who hates press days and who gets exhausted just seeing a microphone — he looks for a camera and presses the shining gold of his medal to his lips and then points directly at it. Directly at him. From across the world.
It hits him in a way that unlocks a small corner of his heart. The place where he has tucked away ballet lessons, playing dress-up, everything princess-y, and romantic ideas about prince charming. It's quiet and young and naive. I'm going to marry that man, it says. And it does frighten Ilya. But he also knows that he wants it, especially now in this moment where he feels proud and special and seen. All the way from Russia, when he didn't think any good could come from that corner of the world again.
Saying goodbye to Yuna and David is hard but it is made much easier knowing that he will be seeing Shane today. Shane, of course, does not know this. He thinks that Ilya is staying in Ottawa until tomorrow. Ilya is in fact already on his way to Shane's apartment to make sure that it is full of fresh food, ginger ale, and himself.
He has decided to take a page from Sveta's book in fact. Though, he does feel a little silly about wearing the Team Canada jersey with Hollander's last name emblazoned on it. But he is excited to see how Shane will react. When he is dropped off at Shane's apartment and the driver is tipped, Ilya lets himself inside with the key Yuna has allowed him to borrow. He orders everything that is needed and has it stored away. To freshen up, he takes a shower and then pulls on the jersey, along with a dark pair of boxer-briefs. Then the only thing left to do is wait.
Shane texts him when he lands, because of course he does. Ilya texts back that he can't wait to see him, which is not a lie, it'll just be sooner than Shane expects. He's worried for a moment that Shane will be annoyed, that he needs some time to rest before he sees anyone again. He bites his lip and shakes his head, it's too late for that kind of wondering.
Grabbing a soda, he parks himself up on the kitchen island. He entertains himself by scrolling through social media. Until finally, after about an hour, he hears the distinct sound of keys scratching along a lock and a door opening. He hears Shane before he sees him. It's a long relieved sigh, likely happy to be home after a long couple of days of travel. Ilya quietly sets his phone down next to him, and waits for Shane to move deeper into the house.
He markedly doesn't laugh when Shane jumps about two feet in the air.
“Jesus!”
“Mmm no, wrong name, try again,” he smirks.
“Ilya,” he breathes out, his face moving from angry to annoyed to relieved and then just shocked, “you're here.”
He motions to himself, “I am here for the gold you promised me, Hollander.”
“What...what are you wearing?” Shane asks.
Ilya looks down at his shirt, acting like he had not put much thought into it.
“Oh, this? Is hockey jersey, obviously.”
Shane blinks and steps forward, “Is that mine?”
“Yes,” Ilya says and he knows that Shane means the jersey but Ilya does not.
Shane swoops forward and kisses him, deep and desperate and everything he's wanted for fucking months. He pulls away and Ilya is very brave and does not whine.
“I...I just came from the airport,” he frowns.
“So?” Shane gives him a look and Ilya groans, “Fineeee. Go shower. Quickly or I will start without you.”
Shane practically runs out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom. Ilya, meanwhile, makes his way to Shane's bedroom and settles himself down on Shane's bed. He is sorely tempted to open up Shane's backpack to try to find the medal. But he can be patient and wait for Shane to present it to him.
Maybe he should start without him, there's no reason not to warm up. He takes it slow, doesn't even remove his boxers. He just dips his fingers where he knows how to build up warmth and tension and touches himself in slow circles. He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until he hears Shane quietly curse at the foot of the bed. His towel is completely useless at his hips and Ilya decides to just hold his gaze and carry on. Shane breathes heavily and moves to put a knee on the bed when Ilya shakes his head.
“No.”
Shane swallows, “No?”
“No,” he confirms, “not without what you promised.”
Shane's eyes go wide for a moment, but then immediately he's grabbing for his carry on bag. Carefully, he pulls out a wooden box that is decorated with the Sochi Olympics brand. The other man comes over and sits on the bed close to where Ilya is lying back.
“Show it to me,” Ilya orders. With slightly shaking hands, Shane opens up the box. Inside lies a beautiful looking gold medal. A little bitterly, he thinks that it is prettier than his own bronze medal, with the delicate designs in the cut-out.
Ilya traces a finger over it. It does feel like it could have magic in it. He wonders if he could look at his own with as much love and pride as he feels for Shane's.
“Put it on,” he demands, pulling his hand away.
Shane looks a little confused. But like a good boy, he carefully lifts the medal out of the case and puts it around his neck. The little wooden box is carefully closed and set on the bedside table. Ilya smiles approvingly and runs his hand down Shane’s chest.
“How does it feel?” He asks.
Shane grins, “Really fucking good.”
“Yes?”
“Mhm,” Shane nods, his hands hovering like he's waiting for permission. He probably is.
“Good,” Ilya says, taking his still damp fingers and tracing them over Shane's lips, “now make me feel just like this.”
With that permission, Shane hands are immediately on Ilya. His hands go to Ilya’s hips, right where his waist band lies. Shane looks up for permission and it is easily granted. In one motion, his briefs are removed and Shane’s mouth is on him.
He's perfect as he always is. Perfect because he works so hard to learn and practice until he is the very best there has ever been at giving Ilya what he needs.
His first orgasm hits him like a tidal wave. Though it makes sense, since he hasn’t really had any outlet outside of his own hand or toys for months. When he starts getting on the unpleasant side of sensitivity he pulls Shane up to kiss him again. “Gold medal,” he teases.
Shane shakes his head and kisses down along his neck, “No, that's what it feels like when you know you're going for it. Now we're going for gold.”
He bites his lip and reaches over to his bedside drawer, except that instead of his usual utilitarian dildo he brings out what looks like one of Ilya's favorite pieces. The first one they used together.
He hands it to Ilya for inspection, “Pretty sure this is the right one?”
Ilya looks over it. And it certainly is very close to the right strapless toy he has used on Shane. Perhaps just a newer model or a different brand. He grins at Shane.
“This is exactly right,” he praises.
Shane fucking shines with pride and Ilya pushes himself up and grabs the lube while Shane gladly takes his vacated place among the pillows. He takes his sweet time prepping him, maybe a mean torturous amount of time until Shane is nearly in tears by the time Ilya pushes into him. He thanks God for all the yoga that lets Shane look up at him while Ilya fucks into him. The gold shining against his skin is actually making Ilya dizzy with want and he presses his hand to it so that Shane can feel its presence as sharply as the way they move against each other.
He knows he hits Shane’s prostate when Shane lets out a cry and then a long moan. Ilya makes that his target. Eventually, after just a few more thrusts, Shane tenses up and finally cums.
Shane doesn't let something like coming his brains out deter him from his goals, however. He weakly motions for Ilya to come to him and after gently removing the piece from himself and Shane he does. Shane flips them with strength. Ilya thought he had very much been drained from him in the last thirty seconds and uses his fingers on him with precision until Ilya blacks out with a second orgasm.
It takes him a few moments for awareness to come back to him. From what he can tell, Shane has used his discarded towel to clean them off. Ilya himself seems to have his head lying in the crook of Shane’s arm.
He taps his fingers against the medal on Shane's chest that is now warm to the touch.
“So it felt like this?”
Shane looks at him with...Ilya can't begin to name what is in Shane's eyes. Or maybe he can but he is too afraid to.
“No,” Shane whispers, “nothing feels like this.”
Ilya sits up just a bit. He cups Shane’s face and pulls him into a kiss that is perhaps far too chaste and meaningful for a friendship with benefits.
He doesn’t say anything else back for once. Mostly because he doesn’t have the words. Not in English at least. Definitely nothing that Shane would understand with his beginner's grasp on Russian. Instead, he curls back into Shane and allows himself to fall asleep, perfectly content.