Chapter Text
Ilya collects his bags from the luggage claim and makes his way out of the Ottawa International Airport. He checks his messages to find that Shane has texted him his location along with the license plate number of his car. Crossing the roadway and looking around, he does eventually find Shane behind the wheel. Shane gets out and helps Ilya put his bag into the car. Then immediately Ilya finds himself being pulled into a hug he is more than happy to return.
“That week felt like a year,” Shane says. Ilya agrees. Actually, it felt like ten.
“No hockey to distract,” he says instead.
“Hockey's a distraction?”
“Uh yeah. I cannot be thinking about your freckles during Power Play, Shane, obviously. But this week with no hockey my brain was all Shane freckles all the time.”
Shane cheeks flush a beautiful pink and Ilya grins. “All the time?”
“I mean...there was brief moment of training and skating that did help. But ultimately my brain still came back to your freckles and the face you make when you are in throes of passion,” Ilya muses.
“Where did you learn that,” he says, eyes wide.
“Svetlana decided I needed to expand my romantic vocabulary so we watched a lot of historically inaccurate things,” he tells him.
“Svetlana decided?”
“She does not like me to sound like Slavic caveman. But I know you think it is sexy,” he smiles.
“Because you don't sound like a Slavic caveman,” Shane retorts. “You just...sound like you. And I like how you sound.”
Which is a very sweet thing for Shane to say, honestly. Basically, to Ilya, it feels like Shane has told him that he likes Ilya's voice because he just likes Ilya. That he likes Ilya exactly the way that he is.
Shane clears his throat and starts telling him about all he's prepared at the cottage. How there are groceries and everything they could need but they can stop before they are on the freeway to get anything Ilya wants. The only thing Ilya wants is to hold Shane's hand so he does.
Shane squeezes Ilya's hand back and they take off down the freeway. Ilya watches briefly as the city slowly starts turning into woodlands. Which is strange for him, because he's never been outside a city his entire life. He's nervous, but excited.
He does ask as they drive, “How did conversation go with Hayden Pike? I do not think we got to talk about it during preparation for trip.”
“Oh...it actually went surprisingly well,” Shane says. “Said some things made sense now.”
“Like what?” Shane blushes which is usually so adorable but is now also intriguing.
“He said he was confused why I did my Lily shoulders when I talked about you,” he says which makes no sense and Ilya's English is better than ever.
“Your...Lily shoulders?” Shane is now practically a strawberry.
“It's...it's what Hayden called my reaction anytime we texted. But because you're saved in my phone as 'Lily,' he used that as a frame of reference.”
“And what is it that you do...when you text or talk about...” Ilya starts to ask, but then he thinks about the fact that as soon as Shane saw him, his shoulders had lifted just slightly. And they haven't dropped at all. In fact, they seemed to lift even further when Ilya had taken his hand.
“....Ooooh, I see. Lily shoulders,” he grins and taps Shane's shoulder with one hand before reclaiming Shane's hand again.
“So now Hayden knows,” Shane sighs softly, “and Jackie and my parents. And Svetlana. It seems...uneven?”
“It is fine,” Ilya tells him. And it is. Shane needs to know that people still love him. Ilya...he knows he can survive if people do not and it is not worth finding out. Not right now.
“I'm still open to you telling Marleau,” Shane offers. Ilya smiles and squeezes Shane's hand. It means a lot to him. Especially since he knows how anxious it makes Shane to have more people being aware of their relationship. Especially if those people are involved in hockey in some way. Still, it isn't necessary. Not right now.
“Perhaps I will one day. Maybe after having more Stanley Cup rings.”
Shane smiles but doesn't take the bait. Instead he turns on the radio to a soft volume and squeezes Ilya's hand again.
Ilya uses this time to relax, enjoy the car ride and watch Shane. The sun filtering through the trees only seems to highlight those lovely freckles. Ilya hopes after this summer, there are more to them. Eventually, they pull off the main road and Shane drives up a dirt road to a rather stunning home.
“This is cottage?” Ilya asks.
“Yeah,” Shane says as he parks, “why?”
“This is not cottage, Holzy, this is mansion from magazine,” he says.
Shane rolls his eyes, “It's a cottage because it's like in the woods and private and stuff.”
“Right,” Ilya allows. Though privately he still thinks it is closer to a mansion that just happened to be built in the woods.
“It is beautiful.”
“Wait until you see the rest of it,” Shane says. Then he gets out and starts collecting Ilya’s luggage from the trunk.
“I can carry my bags,” he says. “Mhm, it's not necessary, I know,” Shane teases him. He looks so happy and relaxed that Ilya doesn't even tease him back, just follows him into the house.
It’s even lovelier on the inside. But it’s more cozy than Ilya would have expected from the outside. He looks out the windows, showing a sparkling lake. A memory comes to him of his call with Shane when the place had first been finished. “Shall I give you the tour?” Shane asks.
“A tour hmm? Like architect?”
“I didn't design it myself,” Shane says, “I just had like things I wanted and the architect put them in.”
“Okay,” Ilya says, “show me your cottage Mr. Real Estate.”
“Even though I had it built doesn’t mean it’s just mine,” Shane says. Which Ilya does not know how to take that comment. He thinks he can guess what Shane means, but that sentiment is far too overwhelming right now. Shane begins to show him around the cottage. Points out the little dock out by the lake and Ilya makes a mental note to go swimming. There is also a large shed on the property that Shane says is a polyglide rink.
“Which is my room?” Ilya asks.
Shane holds his hands behind his back, “Well there are two separate guest rooms, they're very similar to each other if you wanted to choose.”
“I will need very large comfortable bed, king size,” Ilya says, smirking at Shane as if he wanted to be sold on either of those rooms that did not have Shane in them.
“All of the rooms have king sized beds,” Shane smiles.
“And an ensuite bathroom,” Ilya adds.
“Well, that is going to be an issue,” Shane says, looking like it’s not an issue at all.
“Oh?”
“Yeah see only the master bedroom has an ensuite and that's my room,” Shane sighs.
“Is that part of the tour as well?” Ilya asks.
Shane gives a put upon sigh and leads Ilya to the master bedroom.
“As you can see, it's a very nice room. But not available.”
“Not?”
“No, not to guests,” Shane shakes his head in mock-sadness, “but...”
“But?”
Shane grins, “But it might be available to my boyfriend.”
Ilya grins back and steps forward. He takes Shane by the chin and kisses him.
“Good thing that I am here then,” he says, before playfully pushing Shane back toward the bed.
Shane raises his eyebrows, “Are you sure you're my boyfriend? You look like him but I don't know.”
“You don't know? Describe boyfriend,” Ilya commands.
“Well, he's tall and he has these gorgeous brownish-blond curls. Hazel eyes that don't have any comparison and a mole, right here,” Shane says, tapping his own cheek where Ilya's mole falls.
“He's one of the best hockey players in the NHL, is an Olympian and although he sounds Russian, he is in fact Canadian.”
“Oh, is he really,” Ilya hums as he lays a hand on Shane's hip, “he is made of maple syrup and politeness?”
“No,” Shane laughs and then breathes deep and gets serious again, “no, he is made of hockey and ketchup chips.”
“Ketchup chips are delicious, Shane Hollander. Potato, tomato, so healthy,” he says seriously.
“Wow, you sound just like him,” Shane laughs. “It's uncanny really.”
“Perhaps, you should have vision checked, Holzy,” Ilya teases.
“Well...I do have glasses for when I read,” Shane admits. Ilya gasps.
“And I have never seen them?” He asks, absolutely upset at this idea.
“Maybe I'll bring them out later,” he shrugs, “and I guess you are my boyfriend, so the master bedroom is yours as well.”
“Glad that you could see reason. Now...since this is, I suppose, our room,” Ilya starts. And what a statement that is. Our. It makes something flutter in his chest and he can't help the way his smile likely grows.
“What shall we do in it first?”
“Mmm I don't know, you were interested in the ensuite,” Shane hums, “it has a shower and a tub.”
“No, I do not want to go there yet,” Ilya murmurs, slowly walking him back towards the bed, “is important to start in the most important part yes?”
“Is that the rule?” Shane asks, allowing himself to be guided back.
He takes a seat when the back of his knees hit the bed. Ilya climbs on top of him, practically straddling his lap.
“Yes. Is written in boyfriend bylaws. 'When you are in luxurious fancy house they build and sharing room, you must christen bedroom first.'“
Strawberry Shane is back, red to his ears, “Oh well... if it's in the boyfriend bylaws.”
“Mhm,” Ilya nods, pushing Shane back until he is laid out on the bed, “how would you like to hmm? Something old or something new?”
“Maybe...maybe a little bit of both?” Shane answers.
“Mmm...greedy, but I like it,” Ilya says, before pressing a longer kiss to Shane's lips.
Shane slides back up to lean on his too many pillows and tugs his shirt off in one movement. Ilya has no rush, they have so much time, so he decides to kiss his way over the trail of freckles.
“Is this going to be another time like Vegas?” Shane asks.
“You say that like you didn’t enjoy it,” Ilya teases back. “But no…is shorter version of it before we get to have fun.”
“Oh, so this part is not fun, right,” Shane laughs softly, making a little broken noise when Ilya dips his tongue against the patch of freckles on his lower back.
“Yes,” Ilya murmurs, “just needs to be done. Must check they are were I left them, welcome new ones.”
Shane lets out another little breath. “Is that also in the boyfriend bylaws?” He jokes back.
“Mmm-hmm. Not to mention, is for my own sanity. Is my own enjoyable scavenger hunt,” he says.
“Well, how is the inventory going?”
“Is going perfect. I have discovered some new ones along your shoulders,” Ilya says, coming back up to kiss them.
“You don't actually remember all of them,” Shane breathes out.
“Do not insult me when I am doing such good job, Shane,” he mutters, “I know everyone. We will be friends forever, your freckles and me.” He kisses the back of Shane's knee where a burst of them are and then sits up.
“Okay, all done,” he says, “all accounted for.”
“I don't think I'll ever fully understand your obsession with my freckles,” Shane says, but he's at least smiling. “But...I'm happy that you like them.”
“Of course. They are part of you,” Ilya says, pressing a kiss to Shane's neck. “Now...something old first or something new?”
“I thought that was the something old,” Shane grins.
“Freckle check? No, this is now, how would I say...in rotation. Necessary, like making sure we have lube and your ass is ready for my —”
“Ilya,” Shane whines.
“Shane, you are grown man. You must use other words other than my name if you want something,” Ilya gently chastises.
“I've been waiting all fucking week for this. Please stop teasing me or I might die,” Shane says.
“I am not teasing, Shane Hollander, I am taking time because we have so much. And this bed is so big. And you are so hot.”
“Then let me take my boxers off please,” Shane practically begs.
“Is that what you want?” Ilya asks.
“Part of what I want, yes,” Shane grits through his teeth.
“And then once your boxers are off...do you want to do something new or old?” Ilya asks.
“Depends on what the new is,” Shane says.
Ilya thinks...they don't do anything too crazy. He likes that they don't really need it and Shane is so flexible that they've tried more positions together than he had with most anyone else before. Except...
“Okay. Well maybe is not something you're interested in but I could ride you? Is okay if it not I can think of something else. Just most obvious thing we have not done.”
Shane's eyes go wide like cartoon puppy, “Me inside you?”
Ilya shrugs and tries not to feel too embarrassed, “Is just idea. Or, I can tie you to headboard. Yes this will be good. No need for weird stuff.”
“I'd...I'd like to try that,” Shane finally gets out. He licks his lips. “The...the riding and the hands tied.”
“Yeah?” Ilya asks, still not entirely certain about this idea. After all, most of the times they have had sex, it is Ilya penetrating Shane.
“Yes,” Shane nods. “...Do...do we need anything for that?”
“Just condoms,” Ilya says. “Which I have.”
“Okay,” Shane says, but he's looking off as if he's...thinking.
“I do not need this, Лучи, let me open you up, yes?”
“No I...I want to try,” Shane says, his eyes coming back to Ilya, “do you?”
“I...I would definitely like to try. I am just...I do not want to do anything that you are not interested in,” Ilya says.
“I mean...I think it might be different since it's with you,” Shane says.
“But you do not like —”
Shane sits up, pulling Ilya close and holding his chin, “I've never had any kind of sex I liked before you.”
Well, that was...flattering. Sad, but flattering nonetheless. He thinks Shane should have been able to have good sex before the age of 18. But he will gladly take the award for getting Shane Hollander to enjoy sex.
“I am surely not first person to give you a good blowjob,” Ilya says.
“Ilya, you're the first person I wanted to be mentally present with,” Shane reframes.
“Shane,” he breathes out.
“So if there's something I haven't been into before with someone else, that means nothing about what it'll feel like with you. And if I'm still not into it or I want to change anything I'll tell you. Like I have before. Like you tell me,” he finishes.
Ilya licks his lip and nods, “Okay. I'm going to get condoms.”
Shane nods.
“Hurry?” he asks.
And who is Ilya to deny him? He quickly gets up, going back over to the living room to dig through his duffle. He pulls out condoms and some extra lube, as well as one of his favorite toys just in case. Then he makes his way back to the bedroom, pulling off his boxers before joining Shane back on the bed.
Shane has been stroking himself unhurried and looking like he might just lean back into those pillows and take a nap. Ilya isn't going to go right into uncharted waters so he swats Shane's hand away and puts his mouth on him before he can protest.
Shane makes that lovely sound between a gasp and a moan. Ilya lets out a hum when Shane's fingers wrap in his curls, which only pulls another wonderful sound from his boyfriend.
He considers that he can get Shane off very quickly if he wants to. Then they can try this or not some other time and Shane won't feel pressured by his own dick. Unfortunately Shane can tell what he's doing because he pulls at his hair, hard. “Get up here,” he demands.
Ilya does as he's asked, coming up to where Shane is. Shane pulls him into another very hot make out session.
Then he says, “I don't wanna cum before we try the...the riding thing,” he tells him.
Ilya runs his hand over Shane's cheek and nods, “Okay. Just tell me if you want me to stop. Promise?”
Shane closes his eyes and nods, “Please.”
Ilya gives a nod. He starts kissing down Shane's chest once more. Unwrapping one of the condoms, he rolls it onto Shane's dick. Then he applies some generous lube to it. Finally, he takes what is essentially a satin belt from a robe and ties Shane's hands to the headboard.
“Keep those there, okay?”
Shane nods, biting his lip and then stretching his fingers.
“Hurts?”
Shane shakes his head, “It's good.”
Ilya runs his fingers over Shane's chest as he straddles his hips and sits back on Shane's thighs.
“Your hands are tied, you cannot push me off so you say,” he orders, making sure Shane is looking at him.
“I'm not going to want you off me, can you please touch my dick,” he pants out.
“I will do better than just touch your dick,” Ilya says. Taking Shane in hand, he carefully guides Shane into himself and he lets out a low moan when he is fully seated on Shane's lap. “
“пиздец,” he swears, though it comes out more as a breath.
He hasn't done this in a while, not since they started which he realizes has been a while. He swallows and gets a hold of himself as he gets used to the feeling of Shane inside him. He focuses back on Shane, tries to look at his expression for discomfort or...disgust.
Instead, Shane is just looking up at him with those big brown doe eyes. Like Ilya is something amazing.
“I am going to start moving now, okay?” Ilya asks.
“Okay,” Shane says. Taking a breath, Ilya plants his hands on Shane, one on his chest and the other on his side. He then starts moving his hips, every so often lifting himself up and back down.
Ilya watches him, looking for any sign that he loves or hates this, “Talk to me?”
“You're so fucking beautiful,” he whispers before his hips twitch under Ilya, “can you go faster?”
“I can absolutely go faster,” Ilya says, with a grin. He does pick up his pace, now feeling like he's properly riding Shane. His boyfriend makes an attempt to meet his thrusts and Ilya does what he can to pin Shane's hips back down to the bed. “
“Нет, I am one in charge.”
Shane nods quickly, his eyes cast down to where they're joined, “Yeah, yes.”
“Good,” Ilya groans as he keeps his new speed, “such a good boy, Shane. Can you come like this, do you think?”
Shane whimpers and then moans at the praise. His head nods almost like he's a bobble head.
“Y-yeah...yeah, fuck,” he breathes, especially as Ilya keeps up his pace.
“You are very sexy like this, Мой капитан. Just letting me use you like this,” Ilya says, leaning down and biting lightly at Shane's neck.
“Use me,” he echoes, and Ilya bites back a moan at the way Shane's hands tighten on the scarf, “take what you want.”
Ilya rakes his nails over Shane's chest, teasing a nipple as he goes and making Shane cry out.
“I want you to come so hard from having me ride you that you forget your name but remember mine,” he says, “can you do that? Hmm?”
Shane practically curses out. There are tears at the corners of his eyes, but he nods. “Yes, yes...God, Ilya,” he moans.
It's a ridiculous thought to have when he's riding Shane so hard he can hear the slap of their skin together loudly in the silence of the cottage, but he doesn't think he has ever had Shane in such a bright room. Everything is illuminated in sunlight and he wants to fall to his knees and worship the man under him.
Instead, he starts kissing every inch of skin that he can reach. His stomach, his pecs, even those delightful freckles on his shoulders.
Shane's hips are trembling with the effort not to move, to be good for him. “You are so good to me Shane, letting me take what I want, not touching. I'm going to let your hands free now.”
Shane nods. Ilya reaches up and unties the scarf and sets the fabric to the side. To his immense amusement and arousal, Shane keeps his hands where they are. Likely because he hasn't been given express permission to move them
“Do you want to touch?” Shane groans softly and nods but still does not move his hands. Ilya slows the pace of his hips and takes Shane's hands, kissing them before he brings one of them to his hip and the other to the place where they're joined. He gasps when Shane's thumb immediately finds his clit.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groans. “You are so good. So good for me. To me,” he praises.
“Want you to come first,” Shane whispers, “I wanna make you come first.”
Ilya bites his lip and nods, it's true he'd been so focused on Shane's pleasure he'd forgotten himself. He keeps moving his hips at a slow churning pace and lays his hand on Shane's, pressing their thumbs together against him and against the pressure of Shane's cock inside him in the perfect way.
He begins to feel the pressure building inside him. His pleasure growing and growing. He continues to chase it, rocking a little bit faster against Shane and encouraging Shane's attention on his clit. Finally, like an ocean wave, his climax crashes over him. He can feel himself tighten around Shane and he cries out.
Shane curls up and comes to a sitting position that pushes him deeper and closer. Ilya throws his arms around Shane's neck and lets his body do the work of clenching and rocking into Shane until he's moaning desperately and speeding up his uncoordinated thrusts. But Ilya is in charge and no amount of mind-blowing orgasms is going to let him forget that. He kisses Shane, biting and violent, and uses all of the strength he has left to clench tight around his cock until Shane cries out into their kiss and comes.
They both ride out their climaxes. When Ilya can finally think, he moves just enough so that they are lying next to each other. He basks in the afterglow and waits for Shane.
“Okay,” Shane says after some time in silence, “yeah.”
“Yes?”
“Yup,” Shane agrees. Ilya scrunches his face in confusion.
“Yes what, Shane?”
“Yes, literally everything is better with you,” Shane says.
Ilya grins and presses a kiss to Shane's lips again. This time it's softer and savoring.
“Did I make you forget your name?”
“I think I forgot most words,” Shane says, so earnestly.
Ilya sniffs, “So was fine?”
“No, it wasn't fine, it was great, like everything is with you,” Shane says, as always so earnest that it almost makes him want to cry.
It’s a relief. No matter how he had played it off, he was worried that he would finally find something that Shane wasn’t into. Or even worse, would make Shane second guess everything between them.
Shane groans softly as he stretches, “I should get washed up.”
“Ah, we should get washed up,” Ilya smiles, “now the bed is broken in is time for tub.”
“I think if we go another time, I’m going to die,” Shane says. As if Ilya cannot see the way he quickly gets out of bed with an eagerness.
“Mm, little death,” Ilya corrects.
“How many little deaths until I actually die?”
“Hollander you are pro-athlete, top body and stamina in the world, you can come more than once an hour,” Ilya reminds him.
While Shane does not preen, Ilya can see him brighten slightly at the praise. His cheeks flush from more than just their earlier exertion. “Besides, now we must do something more usual,” he says.
“Mmm something old?”
“Yes... familiar,” he hums. “Vanilla.”
“That feels like a dig,” Shane huffs.
“Is not dig. Vanilla is classic. Lovely in its simplicity,” Ilya argues.
“How are you being romantic while calling me boring?” Shane laughs, but he's already digging fresh underwear from his drawer and turning toward the ensuite.
“You never mind me calling you boring,” Ilya points out, following after him. He sees no point in dressing again, if they’re just getting in the bath.
“Because when you say it, my brain now just assumes it’s your term of endearment,” Shane says.
Ilya smiles and kisses Shane's shoulder, “It is, yes.”
Shane takes his hand and wraps it around his middle so that Ilya is pulled to press along Shane's body. He kisses the shoulder again and then up his neck.
“Insatiable, hmm?”
“No I'm very sated, but I want you close,” Shane sighs with a shy little smile that makes Ilya's heart pound.
It is these small things that he treasures. That Shane is just perfectly content with having Ilya near. Not doing anything but taking in his company. Ilya has only had one other boyfriend, but it was never as serious as this. Especially since his early teenage boyfriend was only interested in one thing. But Shane…Shane is happy with just Ilya.
“Shower or bath?”
“Shower,” Ilya says, “shower and then you show me every other room in the cottage.”
“Every other room?”
“Mhm I need to plan, must know the layout,” he grins.
“I think you’re the insatiable one,” Shane jokes.
“I have very good looking and talented hockey player as boyfriend. Of course I am,” Ilya retorts back.
They go in the shower for way too long, but the hot water and Shane's body are too tempting to get away from. He moves carefully to his knees and takes Shane in his mouth, his own chest filling with pride and want as Shane quickly grows harder. He takes his time, almost meditating between the weight of Shane on his tongue and the fall of water on his back. He swallows and stays there, looking up at Shane leaning against the shower wall panting.
He practically wrings the second orgasm of the hour out of his boyfriend. Shane pulls him up to his feet for another kiss. By the time they are finished, their fingers have pruned and they are just sufficiently dry enough to collapse back into bed.
“Sleep,” Ilya says as he pulls Shane close, “we can see to other rooms later.”
“Okay,” Shane says softly, already half gone. The sun is still bright and warm and a nap might be good so Ilya closes his eyes and joins Shane in sleep.
◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈
When Shane wakes, the sun is orange and setting, his stomach is growling, and Ilya is curled up against him. He smiles up at the ceiling, open and crazy. He can't think of a moment before that has felt this perfect, not a single one.
Hell, he’s won an Olympic gold medal and even that doesn’t compare. He turns to look at Ilya, who looks so peaceful while he’s sleeping. Carefully, he takes one of Ilya’s hands, resting on his chest and kisses the knuckles.
Ilya's eyes are still closed but his lips tilt up in a smile. “Are you watching me sleep, Hollander,” he says, his voice husky and molten.
“Yes,” he says easily.
“Creepy,” Ilya says, but he still has that warm, relaxed smile on his face.
“You’re just very nice to look at,” Shane defends.
“You're hungry,” Ilya pouts when Shane's stomach makes an embarrassing noise.
“We skipped lunch,” he reminds him.
Ilya finally opens his eyes. The golden light of the evening makes them practically shine. He looks out the window.
“You are right,” he says. Then he looks to Shane. “…I will make you dinner.”
“You don't need to do that,” Shane says. Then he watches as Ilya starts softly giggling. The giggles grow and turn into a full laugh as he rolls away from Shane.
“What’s so funny?” Shane asks.
“You sound like me,” Ilya laughs. “I want to make you dinner, Shane.”
“Okay, but let me help?”
“You can help by sitting at kitchen and looking pretty while I cook,” he says as he gets out of bed.
“Ilya,” Shane frowns. He really wants to cook with Ilya.
“Is a simple dinner. Would be too many cooks in kitchen for what I am making,” Ilya tells him.
“It's a big kitchen,” he insists, getting up and stretching, “I promise I won't get in the way.”
“I know you will not,” Ilya says. He seems to consider. “Okay...I will let you mix ingredients.”
It turns out that Ilya wants to make a tuna melt. Shane is glad he downloaded a list of common groceries so that Ilya could use whatever he wanted and not have to eat Shane's seaweed chips.
Watching Ilya cook is fascinating. Shane is kind of surprised, though he doesn't know why he is. Ilya is a grown man who lives by himself. Surely, he learned to cook if only to keep himself alive. And he finds himself enjoying cooking with Ilya. It feels...homey.
“Who taught you how to cook?” Shane asks as he hands over the tuna mix.
“My mamma,” Ilya says as he spreads the mix on some bread.
“Oh,” he says softly. Ilya brings her up so rarely and gets so sad when he does that Shane isn't sure he should ask more even though he wants to ask so much.
He is saved from deliberating when Ilya continues to talk.
“When I was little, she would bring me into kitchen and show me how to do things. Simple things, of course.”
“Russian things?”
“Not really, I mean. They were Russian because we were in Moscow,” he laughs as he assembles the toast, “just like. Eggs, sandwiches, chicken soup.”
“That's sweet,” Shane says quietly. Ilya hums but doesn't say anything else. Maybe he wants...maybe he needs Shane to ask.
“How old where you?” he asks softly as Ilya slowly plates the tuna melts. He doesn't say when she died. It's so obvious and loud he almost hunches over under it. Ilya glances up and then back down at the plates where he spills potato chips beside the bread and cheese and mayo tuna.
“I was twelve,” he says.
God, Ilya would have been so young. Shane's heart clenches for his boyfriend. He doesn't have words, so he puts a hand out, gently covering Ilya's hand.
“What was she like?”
“...She was so funny. And beautiful. People...people said that I was her but smaller. I do not know the right word for it,” Ilya says. “But they would joke that we were like matryoshka doll.”
Shane had seen them, the nesting dolls everyone thought of when they thought of Russia. When Shane thought of Russia now he thought of missing Ilya while walking streets he no longer could.
“But you were already here skating at that age,” Shane frowns lightly.
“Mmm yes. Went home sometimes, sometimes mama came here,” he says as he pushes Shane's plate forward, “father could not come as active military police. It was nice, just me and mama.”
Shane nods, “And your brother?”
Ilya pauses and looks up at him, “What about my brother?”
“Was he ever here with you and your mom while you competed?”
Ilya blinks and shakes his head, “No. Father did not allow it. Said it was women's work.”
Shane frowns slightly. That doesn't make much sense, given from what he has learned, figure skating started out as a men's sport. And Russia often produces a lot of figure skaters, both men and women. But perhaps Ilya's dad had a different attitude about it?
“I'm sorry,” Shane says.
“Perhaps was for best. My brother...he took after my father. Career and attitude. I do not think he liked me since I was born,” Ilya says.
Shane wants to say I'm sorry again but Ilya would probably find that annoying. And useless. Shane being sorry didn't make Ilya's brother love him or his mom be alive.
“Do you mind talking about her?” Ilya chews and seems to think about it as he does.
“Is hard word like this mind. You are asking if it matters to me but in...a bad way of mattering. It matters. It is...it makes me think of her and I want to see her and I think I am maybe forgetting her face. So. Makes me sad yes but I do not mind I don't think.”
“'I'd love to hear as much about her as you're willing to share,” Shane tells him. Ilya looks back up at him. He leans forward and catches Shane's lips.
It is soft and gentle and, Shane thinks, conveys words they haven't said aloud yet. “Thank you.”
They eat, mostly in silence, their knees brushing against each other.
“Let me show you the rest of the house,” Shane asks after he's done the dishes and brushed his teeth.
“I think I have seen the best of it already but go ahead,” he answers.
Shane shows him the rest of the house, which is mostly guest rooms. Then he takes Ilya outside to the small rink that he built. It's bigger than the one at Ilya's place, all polyglide. And Shane has purchased all the equipment they would need.
“...Those are...are those figure skating boots?” Ilya asks, pointing at two sets of skates that Shane had bought a few weeks ago. They are sitting next to a couple of pairs of hockey skates.
“Yeah, I figured you would want to practice, and I would like to be able to at least attempt to help you train so I got some for myself. I was going to install a jump trainer actually but it's a pretty specific setup so I figured we can do that while you're here if that's the equipment you use. I wasn't sure. But I did also have a sound system set up because I know practicing a program with music is important,” he tells Ilya.
Ilya looks back at him and it takes a minute to determine what the emotion is. His boyfriend looks astounded and a little disbelieving. Like he cannot believe that Shane would do that. In fact, Shane thinks he might have made Ilya speechless.
Ilya kisses him for the hundredth time that day and Shane thinks madly that he wants that kiss forever.
“We will do research about equipment,” Ilya finally tells him after a moment, once the kiss comes to the end. “But...this is everything,” he says, taking another look around the rink, his eyes on the boots and then back to Shane.
“You did this for me,” he says rather than ask.
Shane looks over his face quietly for a moment trying to consider what he actually wants to say, “I want you to feel at home. Here. With me.”
This earns him a near indecipherable look. But Shane can see that Ilya’s eyes are shining.
“I do,” he says, softly. He takes one last look around before he says. “So, is tour of…home, finished?”
“Yeah,” Shane says softly, “alright um, so I was thinking not much more to do at night than watch movies so I got a bunch of those? I haven't really signed up for a lot of streaming but we can put up your accounts if you want.”
He takes Ilya by the hand and shows him back to the den area, trying to make space in his chest from how heavy and important the way Ilya looks at him is.
They curl up together on the couch. Ilya sets up some of his streaming services. He and Shane bicker about what to watch, before they put something on in the background. Shane can’t fully remember, hasn’t been paying attention, as his focus is on Ilya. How he looked back at the rink.
“When I was in Sochi I saw,” he starts but he isn't sure how to say it properly, “...during the memorial part.”
“Mmm. Me, yes? You saw little clip of my jump,” Ilya says, “you have told me before.”
“Yeah I just...was wondering if it would be okay with you if I see more?”
“You want to watch my skating?” Ilya asks.
“Yeah. I want to see the routine that won you bronze. I just…I want to see something that you seemed to love,” Shane says.
“…I would be okay if you watched. I could…probably find video,” Ilya says.
“Would you be okay watching it though?” Ilya frowns a little, the confused one not the annoyed one.
“Why would I not be okay?”
Shane clears his throat and tries to say what he means without being an asshole.
“I mean, does it upset you to see yourself? Like from before?”
Ilya blinks and then sits up a bit, “You mean before I got rid of tits and got my massive guns?”
“Who taught you massive guns?”
“Marley,” he smirks, “does not upset me, Shane. I was really cute.”
“I just…” Shane starts, though doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.
Ilya saves him, “I realize some people like me are upset of reminders of how they were before. I am not like that. As I said, I was cute and I did not hate not being a man at the time.”
Shane blinks. Every account he'd read so far had talked about discomfort with the past, but Ilya was the one who used the name Lily on his contact and seemed nothing but amused about it.
“Thank you for not asking really? when I can see it on your face,” Ilya smiles sweetly and kisses them, “I promise.”
Shane nods, not knowing what else to say. “So…do you want to watch video now?” Ilya asks.
“Yeah. Yeah for sure, it's probably in YouTube right?”
“It is yes. Don't check comments though. Lots of people guessing about how little Russian girl disappeared.”
Shane is once again hit with the fact that people think Ilya died. It is wild to think about, especially when he’s curled up next to him on the couch, very much alive and lively. He pulls up the YouTube video. And in fact, the top comment is talking about ‘Liliya’s’ disappearance.
“I hope they make true crime documentary some day,” Ilya says as he holds the remote out, “will be fun to see.” He presses play on the video without any further preamble.
The video first starts with commentary, talking about the next skater from Russia and focuses on two people off on the side talking. One is a woman that Shane recognizes from the Disney World pictures: Allison Wiebe. The other is a young girl, nodding along with whatever her coach must be telling her, the blonde curls of her ponytail bouncing with the movement. And it takes a moment for Shane to recognize that is, in fact, the younger version of his boyfriend.
Just as he had seen in Sochi, the skater — Ilya — takes the ice and warms up with laps of the rink, checking the ice for debris from past skaters before taking position at center ice.
Ilya in the video is wearing a rather beautiful black rhinestoned skating dress, its fabric tips fading to red. The music starts and it builds in energy. Starting slow, the instrumental creates a sense of growing tension. However, the song itself sounds lamentable and desperate. Almost a last ditch effort of someone broken-hearted to try to keep going on and meet expectations.
He tries to focus on the technical aspects of the program but he's too captivated by the beauty of it, of Ilya in a body that Shane cannot recognize. What he can recognize is the barely contained hunger in the way he moves.
At the height of the music, the younger Ilya on the screen practically flings herself into the air and lands, though it's a little shaky. And there, Shane recognizes the look Ilya gets when he's unhappy with a play, but keeps going. The routine comes to an end with a dizzying set of spins, one which includes Ilya having his foot above his head and finally ends.
There is a roar of applause and the commentator talking about what a stellar performance it was for such a young athlete, the youngest in the women's singles. But Shane is only paying attention to the exchange between coach and skater because it's so familiar. Allison Wiebe holds up a fist with a smile and Ilya bumps it before being pulled into a hug.
“You do that,” Shane whispers, “with your team.”
Ilya nods, “She is where I got it from. In Russia...many skaters are treated harshly. They think being tough creates good skaters. But Allison...she was proud no matter how I did...and that...that meant a lot.”
“I don't understand the scores,” he says, frowning at the expression of young Ilya as the scores come through. Aliison Wiebe seems pleased but Ilya looks...devastated. “They are good,” Ilya shrugs, “not enough.”
“But...you did amazing,” Shane says. Maybe he's biased because of his feelings for Ilya. But he does think even with some of the minor technical mistakes, that Ilya's program was beautiful and moving.
“I lost points from my landing and perhaps they did not like creative parts as much as others,” Ilya shrugs.
“Either way...like I said before, bronze is not good enough for many Russian parents. Going home with less than gold is failure and I am certain my father would have made me quit. 'What good is paying for training if you are not good?' Is exactly what he would say.”
“What he would say? What did he actually say?”
“Nothing,” Ilya says, poking around YouTube for another video, “never saw him again. Managed to come back to Canada instead of going directly to Russia for celebrations. Asked for asylum.”
It's difficult for Shane to wrap his mind around. Never seeing his parents again. His childhood home. But...given what Ilya is saying about his homelife, it makes sense.
“You said to ignore the speculation about your 'disappearance.' Can...can I ask what the official story is?”
“Officially I was with a new group of people that my coach was not aware of and I drowned in a lake,” he says much too casually, “less officially to my team and friends here in Canada I got dragged back to Russia and married off. You know. What would have happened if I did go back.”
Shane practically falls out of the couch in sitting up straight, “Married off?”
“Yes. Failed skater is useless for most things but makes good trophy wife, is good way to get return on investment.”
“God, Ilya,” Shane whispers. He looks back at the television, trying to imagine that younger version of his boyfriend married off to some...stranger as a trophy wife. And it makes him sad and angry for his boyfriend. He hates that idea, even if it never came true.
Ilya looks like he isn't sure if he is going to click on the video he's selected. Bronze Medal Free Skate. He hovers for a minute and then turns to look at Shane.
“This is what happened to my mother,” he says, holding his gaze, “she was pairs skater. She was good. So good, so beautiful on the ice. So in tune with her partner. But they missed the podium, season after season for four years. She was nineteen and her parents decided enough. They will not sink more money into sport with no return. They make her quit. They take everything from her. They arrange marriage to military police sergeant, fifty-one years old. She... she has his children. She tries to love them, she loves them. But he is so harsh and she is so sad.”
Shane reaches out carefully and takes Ilya's hand. Ilya takes it, squeezing and moves closer. Close enough where he is now curling up against Shane's chest. Seeking comfort. Running his free hand through Ilya's hair, he waits for the rest of the story. Because he has a sense there is an end and it is obviously unhappy.
“...I found her,” Ilya says. “I was twelve and had just returned from training. My two week vacation to be home.”
“Sometimes I think why did she do it when I was home. I was never home. Why not Alexei? Why not my father? They would not have cared. Maybe that is why, I think she wanted someone to care that she was gone,” he whispers before his voice becomes choked, “she wanted me to keep her with me.”
Shane can connect the dots. He thinks of Ilya's words on the balcony back in 2011. 'I wouldn't do that to someone’ and his heart clenches. He holds Ilya tighter. “My father...he insisted it was accident. Like someone could accidentally swallow whole bottle of pills,” Ilya scoffs.
“My short program...it was for her.”
Shane moves closer and presses his lips, closed and gentle, to Ilya's.
“It was beautiful,” he says softly. Ilya smiles, his eyes still wet, “My free skate was for me. I knew then. Is easy math. It would have taken incredible mistakes from the favorites to even get silver. So this, I knew, would be my last program.” He leans back and presses play on the next video.
Like last time, the video starts with Ilya talking with his coach. There is obvious stress and anxiety in his expression, but he can also see that little determined furrow to his brow. His outfit this time is green with pink flowers across the torso. He skates away from the wall, once again checking for debris before he takes the center of the ice again. A smooth soothing voice, the commentator, introduces Ilya and explains the music of the program, particularly its themes.
The idea of the story ending with death when Ilya knew in that moment he wouldn't compete in skating again utterly breaks Shane's heart.
Watching the skate only makes Shane more emotional. He thinks that it perfectly captures who Ilya is and the emotions he was likely feeling at that time. It's not nearly as technical as his short program, though Shane doesn't see any mistakes. By the end of the program, he has to wipe away tears, especially as the younger version of his boyfriend collapses to the ice and covers his face.
Ilya is warm and close and Shane wraps his arms tighter around him.
“I know I don't know anything about this but it was the most perfect thing I've ever seen,” Shane says with a smile.
“It felt perfect,” Ilya agrees, “and there on the ice knowing it was all over, I don't know how I ever got up. Some of me did not, I think.”
Shane wonders what parts of Ilya he thinks were left on the ice. But he thinks that the parts that matter, that make Ilya his boyfriend, are right exactly where they need to be. Shane presses a kiss to the top of Ilya's head.
“I'm glad you did though. That you decided to do something different.”
“I want you to meet Allison Wiebe,” he says after some time.
“I'd like that,” Shane answers softly.
Shane privately thinks that meeting Allison Wiebe might be the closest thing to meeting one of Ilya's parents. Especially as he watches the way Ilya's former coach supports him in the 'kiss and cry.'
From what he can tell the score is excellent. He watches as Allison hugs Ilya and they both cry, he thinks, for very different reasons.
He continues to run his hand through Ilya's hair as the video ends and Ilya lets out a long sigh that sounds just a little bit sad. “So...that is bronze performance.”
“It was amazing, you are amazing,” he says, “I want...I want to be part of this for you. Whatever it looks like now.”
“Like you want to learn how to figure skate? Is very different than hockey skating,” Ilya says, arching a brow.
“I mean...that could be part of it. But I also want to support you in both sports,” Shane tells him. “You mentioned you were practicing again and that you were training with someone?”
“Yes, Rory. He is...like me, but kept skating. He keeps begging me leave hockey — which I will not — to compete,” Ilya says.
Shane feels a thrum of panic, “Your skating coach wants you to quit hockey?”
“I mean yes, I am very good. He wants me to win and show me off. But I am not quitting hockey, Hollander,” he grins, “I will win many more cups than you.”
Something in Shane settles just a little bit. The idea of Ilya quitting hockey always unsettles him. He’s not certain why outside of the fact that Ilya has always been there.
Watching Ilya’s Olympic programs opens up something between them. Their weeks at the cottage are something out of a dream, a dream full of perfect sex, slow mornings, and feelings that don't need saying in a place where they can show them. Maybe that's what it feels like the end of the world when he sees Ilya’s all packed and ready for the airport on the date they both knew was coming.
Ilya himself seems hesitant to leave. He had procrastinated until the day before to pack. In the car, he never let go of Shane’s hand and before dropping him off, Ilya pressed dozens of kisses to his face, before reluctantly getting out, grabbing his things and heading to the airport. Though, he did turn around once more to wave goodbye before disappearing inside.
They had closed the cottage behind them and Shane was relieved not to have to go back to it without Ilya. Instead he gets on the road back to his parents house. They aren't home when he arrives, probably out getting groceries, so he curls up on the couch and finally looks back at his phone.
Lily: I want you to come with me.
Lily: I want to stay with you.
Lily: See you on the ice.
He feels that ache in his heart again. It feels like someone has taken one of his limbs and he doesn’t know what to do with that. Briefly he hugs the phone to him, a very insufficient replacement for Ilya, and then texts back.
Shane: I wanted you to stay
Shane: I wanted summer to last forever.
Shane: See you at the next game
◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈
The first game of the season should be a breeze, but that doesn't mean he can let his team get cocky. So... mandatory morning skate. They didn't know that it was Ilya who had whispered it in the ears of the assistant coaches.
“I'm so hungover,” Marley groans as he leans against the boards.
“Do not puke on ice, Zamboni god will strike you dead,” Ilya reminds him.
“You say some of the weirdest shit, Rozy,” Marley says, but he at least looks amused. “Zamboni god.”
“You laugh, but I have seen this truth,” Ilya says. The whole thing is a joke he and one of his coachlings—the other figure skaters Allison coached—came up with.
“Are you going to tell me where the fuck you were all summer?”
“I told already,” Ilya frowns, “I was home.”
“Like fuck you spent months in Ottawa, what could you possibly do for months in Ottawa.”
Ilya shrugs, “There is plenty to keep someone busy for months. Is national capital.”
“And pretty close to Montreal,” Marley retorts back.
Ilya looks at him with mock shock, “You are accusing me of something?”
“I'm accusing you of being weird about getting your dick wet. Is she like married?”
“No, there is no married woman,” Ilya says, with a small frown. “What do you take me for? Homewrecker?”
“I can't help it if you're really fucking secretive about Montreal girl for years and then obviously spend the summer with her and still want me to believe her name is Jane. No one in real life is called Jane.”
“Okay,” Ilya retorts, using the tone he usually does when he thinks Marley has said something he thinks is dumb. Not that Marley is wrong, there is no Jane. But it is obviously a real life name.
Then mercifully the training exercises restart and Marley is too busy playing hockey to dig any more into Ilya's summer. Except they have a game and they're definitely going out afterwards and he's going to be annoying about it then too.
They of course win the game. Celebrations are held at a local bar this time. Ilya is nursing his drink, smiling at the Good game! Shane sent, when Marley slides into the chair across from him.
“Okay, man, you really need to tell me what’s going on with this ‘Jane’ girl. Did you fucking elope?”
“What the fuck, Marley?”
The other man leans on the table, “First of all, wherever you were you were hiding because there wasn't a single pap shot of you in your cars or in a club or literally anywhere for months. When you did answer me which took you for fucking ever it was the only signs of life you were giving. Second of all, not that you weren't always texting her anyway but your phone is like fused to your hand since you got back. Third of all —”
“We need to get you to team doctor for concussion Marleau,” he growls softly.
“I’m not concussed—”
“You sound like conspiracy theorist,” Ilya says.
“And you’re not acting like a playboy anymore,” Marley retorts.
“What you mean acting like —”
Marley sighs and lowers his voice, “Come on Rozy you never took a drunk girl back to your place you're not a piece of shit. I followed you one time that first season and I saw you hand that girl over to her roommate at the door. I knew you weren't scum I needed to beat up and that I wanted to be your friend.”
“You followed me? You know how weird that sounds?” Ilya asks. He’s not mad at Marley, he’s still his best friend in hockey. It’s just uncomfortable to know that someone knew something about him he hadn’t told them.
“Yeah, I'm gonna follow the fucking guy putting a drunk girl in his car,” he says. And Ilya well that's why he loves Marley but also why he's so scared. Marley has very strong beliefs that he will not bend on and Ilya has always been too afraid to find out if one of those will cost him their friendship.
“I would not do something like that,” Ilya quietly says. Even if he hasn’t had feelings for Shane since junior hockey, it’s not something he would do. In another life, any of those girls could have been him, taken advantage of by some asshole.
“I know, man. I didn’t know that then, but I do now. It’s just…you have this reputation as a playboy and yet…seeing you over the years, you act like…I dunno, a gentleman?”
Ilya wants to laugh and he does but it also comes out a little choked. It's obvious enough for Marley to frown and pull back.
“Man, Rozy, are you okay? You can talk to me, brother.”
He takes a drink, looking away for a second. Ilya is between two minds. Terrified, because he does not want to lose Marley as a friend. But desperately, he does want his friend to know, to not push him away.
“I…cannot talk about it. Not here,” Ilya quietly says.
“Okay let's go somewhere else,” Marley says, already getting up.
“What? No. We are celebrating. Captain and Assistant Captain cannot just fuck off,” he says. Which is a really poor excuse because they literally always ditch the team for the club at some point.
Even Marley knows it as he shoots Ilya a look.
“Come on, Rozy,” he tilts his head. “They’ve managed before.”
Ilya sighs and tries to think of an excuse. Maybe he'll say he already accepted a ride home from Johansson or that he's feeling like drinking more shit beer or anything. But he thinks if Shane was brave enough to tell his best friend and teammate then so should he.
Ilya allows himself to be led to Marley’s car and climbs into the passenger seat.
“Alright, where to, Captain?”
Ilya blows out a breath considering. It should be in private, he should tell Marley to take him home. But home is forty minutes away and what are they going to do if they get there and then Marley wants to be as far away from him as possible. Or if he tries to... no, Marley wouldn't.
“Long Wharf,” he finally says.
“Damn, Rozy,” Marley laughs, “taking me on a date?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ilya retorts.
He tries to make it sound playful. His nerves make it come out flat. He sees Marley’s expression turn to concern.
“Shit…is it that serious?”
He leans his head against the window like a child. It's less than a ten minute drive and he doesn't think if he speaks now he's going to make things any easier. It will be simpler if he is somewhere that Marley can walk away from. It's not busy at the pier tonight so they are able to walk down it, still in silence, for a bit until Ilya just stops and looks out to the dark waves.
“Ilya, man,” Marley whispers, “are you sick?”
Ilya shakes his head. He thinks it would be simpler to tell Marley if it was something like that. But then a thought pops into his head and he tilts his head slightly. It is funny but in a horrible way. Maybe he is sick, by some people’s standards.
“I am not dying,” he says at last.
“Okay. Not dying isn't not sick, Roz,” he says without a hint of laughter.
Ilya takes a breath. Fuck his hands are shaking and he cannot look at him when he says it. He doesn't even know what it is he will confess until he hears it leave his mouth.
“I am not like you think I am,” he whispers.
“What are you talking about?” Marley asks, sounding confused. “Did…did something happen?”
Ilya can't speak, he's trying but he can't. His voice and his breath are betraying him and his fucking hands won't stop shaking. He pulls out his phone and wouldn't it just be hilarious if it fell right out of his hands and off the pier? He types an old familiar name and then gives Marley the phone with a trembling hand. He can't look at him but he knows that he's confused.
“What is this? Who is this? Your sister?”
“I do not have sister,” he breathes out, “it's me. She's me. She's who I used to be.”
Marley is quiet for a long moment. Maybe processing the words, maybe determining whether to push Ilya off this pier.
Then the man asks, “You were cute. What the fuck happened?”
Ilya's head snapped up so fast that he probably pulled something, “What?”
“I mean I get it? I kinda maybe get it, but why do you look like a ferret now? Is it the testosterone?”
“Why the fuck do you know what testosterone is?”
“Why do you think I'm brain dead?”
“You do not think Jane is real life name!” Ilya retorts. “…And I do not think you are brain dead. Just…not many people like me in…hockey world.”
“No the fuck there aren't,” Marley says with a sniff and a nod, his hands on his hip, “but there are other places. Yah know? How'd you get it past management?”
“Really good contract clauses,” he says, thanking Tessa for that again, “team doc knows.”
“Right, makes sense,” Marley nods. “…musta been tough giving up nice outfits for a fucking jersey.”
The comment makes Ilya feel a little bit lighter. “There is no fashion in hockey. Is very sad.”
He is quiet for a moment before he asks. “So…you do not mind?”
“No, man, I don't fucking mind, I thought you were dying,” he says.
“Sorry,” Ilya says but he knows that he's smiling. “What the fuck does this have to do with Montreal girl though?”
“That is thing…there is someone—” Ilya starts.
“I fucking knew it!”
Marley practically fist pumps. Ilya takes a deep breath, “but is not girl.”
“Wait, what?” Marley asks.
“But…the girls at clubs?”
“They are very beautiful and am attracted to them. But I…like both.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Marleau hisses and Ilya braces. Could it be that somehow this was too much for him? “So, you're like leaving nothing for any poor sucker out here huh, Rozy? All the girls, all the guys, every ice sport? Are you secretly a snowboarder too?”
Ilya is so relieved he cannot help but laugh. “No…no. Two winter sports is enough. I did think of Formula 1,” he jokes.
“Bastard,” Marley says, as he smiles and shakes his head. “So…who’s the lucky guy?”
He takes another deep breath and tries not to get his hopes up. Something has to be too much for Marley, so maybe this is it.
“Shane,” he says, and he cannot find any shame in it, he probably can't even conceal how much he loves saying.
“Shane who?” Ilya gives him a side glance and raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, now you're fucking with me,” his friend whispers.
“Am not fucking with you,” Ilya tells him.
“You? And Shane fucking Hollander?”
Marley asks, looking absolutely disbelieving. Ah. There is the limit. Marley is shockingly okay with Ilya having been born a girl, of him liking men and women. But the line was being involved with the captain of their rival team.
“Yes,” he says, holding Marleau's gaze. He feels that this part, this he won't flinch from.
“How long?”
Ilya swallows, “How long you give me shit about Montreal girl?”
“Jesus Fuck,” Marleau says like a punch to his gut. Well. It has to be something. And he won't apologize for any of it but especially not Shane.
“This is upsetting you?”
“Well, are either of you retiring any time soon?”
Ilya tries to cover his heartbreak with anger,“No. We will continue to crush everyone in this fucking sport until we fall apart. Old fucks like Hunter.”
“Yeah I fucking thought so,” Marleau says, still visibly pissed off for a too long moment before he deflates and then, despite Ilya's full body flinch pulls him into a hug.
“That's the most rotten fucking luck, brother, I'm so fucking mad for you.”
“What…what?” Ilya asks. He does not know what is happening. Marleau’s words only baffle him more.
“Any other person in the world and you could yell from the rooftops about your beau. Show them off and brag. But with Hollander…” Marley shakes his head.
He pulls away and looks at Marley's face searching for reason, “This is what you are angry about?”
“Yeah, I mean, Roz, you're a touchy lovey asshole, you tell every fucker on the team that you love them even when we crash completely. And you don't get to Grand Marshall the fucking pride parade with your man because it's that guy? It's not fucking fair.”
Ilya shrugs. He does think that Marley has a point. Part of him would love nothing more than to rub it in every asshole's face that he is with the best and prettiest boy in all of NHL. But he cannot. It would ruin his career. It would ruin Shane's career. And Shane loves hockey.
Shane loves hockey more than anything in the world. Ilya clears his throat.
“Are you really okay with me?”
“With you what?”
His eyes go wide in exasperation, “Fucking all of it Marley.”
Marley rolls his eyes and pulls Ilya in, ruffling his curls.
“Yes, I'm fucking fine with it, you dumb little ferret.”
“What is this ferret shit,” he huffs, but it's undercut by the way he's fucking crying.
“Hey, I've got you,” Marleau says as he gathers him into a tight engulfing hug, “I've got you, brother.”
They stand like that for a while, Marley just holding onto him. Ilya feels a little stupid, but it's also nice to have comfort that is more friendly than romantic.
“I'll always have your fucking back, kid.” Marley promises.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Nothing to thank me for,” he says before pulling him back, “Hollander good to you?”
He nods, feeling the smile blooming on his face, “Yeah.”
“And you spent all summer with him?” Marley asks.
“Cliff, he built an entire polyglide rink, got us ice skating boots and was talking about getting figure skating training equipment,” Ilya says.
“Goddamn,” he says, “goddamn Rozanov.”
“Yes,” he nods, “I know.”
“Alright give me his number,” Marleau says.
“What? What the fuck for?”
“To put him in the meme rotation obviously.”
Ilya rolls his eyes. But he sends a text to Shane to tell him about the circumstances. Shane sends back a confused message but says ‘okay.’ So, Ilya gives Marley Shane’s number.
Marley immediately and gleefully starts typing a message.
“What are you —”
“None of your business Rozy this is between me and your man,” he grins.
“You do realize that Shane tells me generally most things,” Ilya says.
Marley looks up at him and then snorts.
“Definitely married.”
“What are you saying you idiot? You think I would tell you all this and not say if I was married?”
“I believe you that you’re not legally married,” Marley says with a grin. “But you absolutely sound like you are.”
He feels his own face heat up and punches Marley in the shoulder.
“I almost did,” he admits, “a few months ago in Vegas. We were very drunk.”
“Oh my god,” Marley laughs. “Of fucking course you did. So, basically you’re engaged.”
“We decided on boyfriends,” Ilya says.
Marley snorts, “Yeah okay. Alright let's go get some expensive ass drinks just you and me, yeah?”
“Yes, that would be good,” Ilya agrees. Marley grins and throws his arm over Ilya’s shoulders. They make their way to one of the nearby bars and settle in.
◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈
Their first game against each other is annoyingly deep into the season, which means it's been months since they've seen each other but also that they're well warmed up and playing hard.
Ilya sends a text message to Shane, trying to make plans for after the game. Marley comes over and grins. “You excited for tonight?”
“For tonight?”
“Mhmm,” Marley waggles his eyebrows, “you tend to have a good time in Montreal huh?”
Ilya groans.
“You are somehow more insufferable. I regret telling you everything,” he lies.
“No, you don't,” Marley jokes. “Tell Jane I say hi.”
“Tell Jane yourself,” he huffs, “do you know how many memes I translate now?” Marley cackles and walks away.
Ilya shakes his head and smiles. He and Shane decide to meet up at the condo building Shane bought.
Ilya: We will have to celebrate Raiders win
Jane: You wish.
Ilya: So bad at chirping. See you after.
They win, but it isn't a breeze. They fight up until the last minute to maintain their one point lead. It's his favorite kind of match against Shane, winning after fighting for it.
As he skates by Shane, he winks.
“What did you think of hat trick?” he grins.
“I think you're a show off,” Shane says with a huff, but he does smile.
He skates back, probably overkill but it isn't like no one knows he likes to gloat at his friend after wins.
“See you in the murder alley,” he whispers as he skates back past him and toward his own bench.
Marley raises a brow at Ilya and shakes his head.
“Now that I know, you are so obvious,” he says quietly.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Ilya grins.
“You just literally cruised on him, man,” he shakes his head, “seriously everyone is blind.”
Ilya shrugs. He is appreciative that no one seems to recognize it for what it is. It is after all how he and Shane have been able to more or less keep their privacy all these years.
“I'm guessing you're going to be out all evening?”
“Yup,” he smiles.
“Fucker,” Marley laughs, “have fun.”
“Oh I will,” he grins, “let's get out of here.”
As he makes his way out of the arena, once he has changed, he does spot Shane. He is talking with his parents. Hayden Pike is there too, but that matters less. He points them out to Marley and already makes his way over to them. After all, Ilya is not going to pass up a chance to talk to some of his favorite Hollanders.
“Holzy,” He calls with a grin.
“Hello again, Yuna Hollander. David Hollander.” He greets. And then, because it would seem rude if he didn't, he nods to Pike. “Hayden Pike.”
“Rozanov,” Hayden says, icy. It makes him grin.
“Hayden be nice,” Yuna tuts, “Ilya introduce us?”
“Oh! Marley, the cooler Hollanders, Yuna and David. Oh and Hayden Pike I guess.”
Marleau smiles, amused and holds his hand out to shake. “Cliff Marleau, alternate captain. Pleasure to meet you two.” He says, genuinely.
David smiles and congratulates them on a good game. Yuna and Shane stand surlishly by while he does.
“Alright we're all being super obvious here,” Marley laughs, “but um, I'm really glad Rozy has all of you. Truly.”
David smiles, “We're glad to have him in our lives. Glad to know he has a good friend who has his back.”
“It was good seeing you two again,” Ilya says. “Have a good night.”
Yuna steps in and gives him a quick strong hug, whispering, “It was a beautiful hat trick, sweetheart.”
Ilya's cheeks warm slightly, quickly returning the hug.
“Thank you, Yuna.”
She releases him, and the two Boston Raiders make their way out of the arena.
He's already got everything he needs with him, ready to not waste a minute with Shane. He parks outside of the building a whole half hour ahead of schedule, because he doesn't have anywhere else in Montreal he needs to or wants to be. Shane will be with his parents, being seen, escaping suspicion.
Approximately 37 minutes later, Shane texts him, Are you here?
Ilya sends him back confirmation. Getting out of the car, he approaches the door just as Shane opens the door.
“Were you here long?” Shane asks.
“No,” he says, because he wasn't. What's minutes to months? Shane smiles and pulls him into the stairwell, directly into his arms and a kiss.
Ilya lets himself lean into the kiss. His hands come to settle on Shane's hips. In the kiss, Ilya attempts to make up for the months of separation.
“Wait, wait, lets go upstairs,” Shane mutters against his mouth, “we have a whole apartment for this.”
“Don't need apartment, don't need bed, just you,” Ilya hums as he kisses down his chin and to his neck.
“Yes, well...it would be more comfortable,” Shane laughs, a little breathlessly.
He groans softly but nods, pushing Shane up the stairs. The good thing about this being Shane's den of sin is that he's only rented the studio space downstairs and it's empty after six. Which in turn means he can start pulling Shane's clothes off in the hallway.
It is a miracle that they do end up in the apartment, let alone the bed. Ilya crawls on top of Shane and begins kissing down his chest.
“I brought everything that we could need,” he tells his boyfriend.
“You're everything that I could need,” Shane smiles.
Ilya rolls his eyes and kisses him once more, “Very sweet,Мой капитан, but I also think you'd like me to fuck you, hmm?”
“I mean...if that's what you're offering,” Shane tilts his head and unbuttons Ilya's trousers. “I wouldn't mind.”
“Oh? You would not mind?” Ilya teases. “I will need more enthusiasm than this, Hollander.”
“Sorry,” he says not sounding sorry at all, “would you please pick a dick and fuck me please?”
Ilya laughs at the rhyme and bites Shane's arm for his brattiness, “Since you are polite, okay. Want me to pick?”
Shane hums and nods, tugging his own pants off.
Of course, Ilya chooses his personal favorite. That way both of them can have pleasure. Shane grins when he sees it.
Ilya smirks as he runs his hand over Shane's thigh, “You like this one?”
Shane nods, “Like it when we can come at the same time.”
Ilya leans down and kisses him softly, “Turn over for me.”
As always, Shane follows instructions beautifully. Ilya leans down and kisses his usual freckle spots, which makes Shane laugh.
“Taking inventory?”
“Yes. I told you, is requirement,” Ilya smiles against his skin.
Then, he begins kissing down Shane's spine until he reaches Shane's ass. Using his tongue, he prods at Shane's hole.
Shane always jumps at first and then pushes himself further down into the bed, trying to make himself more available to Ilya's mouth. He loves the way Shane curses softly at first and then loud and choked.
He takes some time rimming Shane. His boyfriend practically whines when Ilya pulls back to apply lube to his fingers.
“Shh, is okay. Just preparing,” he assures him. Then, he presses the first finger into Shane.
He likes to watch Shane's face while he does this. He likes the way Shane closes his eyes to get more of the feeling, because seeing things can overload his senses. He likes the way Shane bites back what would be a whimper and makes his lips look like cherries.
His favorite though is when he brushes against just the right spot and Shane cannot hold back his sounds. Ilya continues to work Shane open until he thinks the other man is sufficiently prepared.
Shane protests when Ilya pulls his fingers away the same way that he always does, because despite everything, Shane is a brat who wants to come hard and quickly. But it's Ilya's job to draw things out for them, to give Shane what he needs along with what he wants.
Ilya bites that small patch of freckles, just a small nip. Taking his strapless dildo, he first fits one end inside of himself. After taking a breath and taking the time to acclimate, he spreads lube on the other end and presses back against Shane.
Shane gasps as he pushes in and then reaches back for his hand. Shane loves to hold Ilya's hand as Ilya pushes into him, like he's trying to keep a hold of reality while his body tries to fly away from him. When he's waiting for Shane to adjust he presses a dozen light butterfly kisses to his neck until eventually Shane asks for more.
Starting slow, Ilya starts to move his hips, moving in and out of Shane. Shane's hand clenches around his and he lets out a low moan.
They don't usually talk much during, but Ilya has missed him so much, has needed to feel him close and know that he hadn't just dreamt them up. He finds himself muttering thoughtlessly in Russian, about need and missing him like air and how hungry and wanting he has been without him.
Shane talks back to him, in a mix of English and French. In English, he talks about how it has been too long and how much he's missed him. Ilya does not know what the French parts are, but they sound beautiful.
He pulls slowly out of Shane and turns him over. He enjoys the look of murderous rage that Shane looks up at him with.
“Shh, just wanna look at you,” he soothes as he moves Shane's legs.
Shane helps maneuver his legs over Ilya’s shoulders.
“Little warning would have been nice,” he grumbles. However, his expression has softened.
Ilya kisses him softly as he pushes back into him and Shane groans softly and tries to pull him closer faster. Eager and demanding.
Ilya chuckles and moves his kisses down to Shane’s jaw. He nips there once. A chastisement.
“Patience, Shane Hollander.” Shane practically whines again. He gives Ilya a glare that always reminds Ilya of an angry kitten.
He doesn't move quickly but he does move, watching the glare melt into a soft wide look.
“Красивый,” he kisses against Shane's neck.
“Beautiful?”
He pulls away and smiles, stupidly proud, “Yes, beautiful.”
Shane’s own smile grows. He seems happy that he recognizes the word, but more so at Ilya’s reaction. He brings a hand to Ilya’s cheek and pulls him down for another proper kiss.
Shane comes first and Ilya is so glad he moved them so he could see, see the way the tension builds up and releases along his eyes and his lips. He spills over his own stomach and pulls himself up bent almost impossibly to kiss Ilya and push the dildo deeper on his end.
It does not take long before Ilya finds himself tipping over into orgasm. He groans out and curls over Shane. Resting his forehead on Shane’s chest, he rides out the wave.
He vaguely feels Shane pull the piece carefully away leaving nothing between them but skin, hot and perfect.
Laying there, a set of words settles across him. They push at his lips, begging to be expressed. He holds firm against saying them though, afraid that it might be too much. That saying it out loud would change everything.
Shane's hands card through his hair, slow and steady and Ilya thinks he feels what is unspoken between them.
Ilya takes a deep breath and pushes himself up just a bit.
“Want me to grab you a damp cloth?” He asks, knowing how much being dirty is uncomfortable for Shane.
Shane shakes his head and runs a hand over Ilya's chest.
“No,” he says softly, “no, stay.”
“But...”
“Please,” Shane insists, closing his eyes, “the sooner we move the sooner we have to leave and...just stay please.”
“Okay,” Ilya says softly. If anything, he would stay curled up with Shane forever. He settles down next to his boyfriend, bringing his lips to the other man’s forehead.
“I will stay.”
Shane turns to pulls him closely, tightly, desperately.
“Two, three games a season unless we go to playoffs against each other,” Shane says after a long silence, “for the rest of our careers.”
Ilya frowns against Shane's shoulder, “Yes?”
Shane sniffs, “I just think about it sometimes.”
“What about?” Ilya asks. Though part of him regrets the question. Anxiety settles into his chest. Wondering if Shane no longer wants to do this anymore. If it’s not worth having a boyfriend he only sees during games and the summer.
“It doesn't feel like enough,” Shane says, which does not ease his anxiety any more.
“It can be enough,” Ilya tries, “we are very busy, both of us. We have hockey to play. When we don't we are together, yes?”
Shane gives a little shrug with his lips. Bites them. He seems entirely unsure.
“I mean…yes,” he agrees after a moment.
Ilya can feel the way Shane is tense under him and looks up, “This is not what you want?”
Shane’s eyes widened. He seems alarmed. “I want to be with you. And I want to play hockey. I just…I wish that we could have more time together.”
“But it is good time, yes? What we have?”
“It's the best,” Shane smiles, though his eyes are still worried, “the best.”
“Season will pass quickly and then we go to the cottage during summer and make up for distance,” Ilya suggests. And he tries to ignore how much it feels like he’s trying to convince the both of them.
“Yeah,” Shane says leaning in for a quick kiss, “you're right. I'm being stupid. Do you want to shower? Together.”
Ilya smiles, shoving all of his anxiety into a corner of his mind. He and Shane are fine. They are good.
“I would love to,” he agrees.
Shane is right in the end, morning comes too soon and Ilya needs to be in the airport at noon. They can't leave the building for so much as breakfast without arousing suspicion even if they are known friends, not after a game. So he makes breakfast for the both of them and they eat it with views of the warehouse district and try not to think of the weeks ahead.
When it's time for Ilya to leave, he and Shane kiss in the stairwell. He gives Shane one more farewell kiss, gentle and hopefully conveying everything Ilya is feeling in this moment. Then, he slips his way out of the building and makes himself get into the taxi.
Five weeks until their next game against each other. Other games, training, Marley, Sveta, so many other things in his life so much more to it all than five weeks of waiting, he has to believe that.