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1.Vodka, pure, cold, on ice
Ilya stands on the ice, staring at Shane, who stands on the other side of the court. Every movement, every gesture is a challenge for him. He can't explain why his heart beats faster when Shane raises his stick, as if the rink were an arena where he commands by his very presence.
Shane is like vodka, pure, cold, on ice; his gaze pierces through and through, without unnecessary words, without falsehood. He is like a sheet of ice, impenetrable, inaccessible, yet mesmerizing.
Ilya feels a mixture of admiration and frustration. He can't allow himself to be weak, because every move he makes could be judged, defeated. But at the same time, his body reacts to Shane with a pleasure he himself doesn't understand.
As Shane dribbles across the ice with incredible precision, Ilya feels a knot in his stomach, a mixture of rivalry and fascination. His senses are heightened; he hears every puck slap, every skate rustle on the ice, but most of all, he hears his own heartbeat, which accelerates at the sight of Shane.
Ilya begins to realize that this isn't just about hockey anymore. He's drawn into something far more dangerous, into Shane's magnetism, which draws him like a magnet, though he doesn't know why.
After the game, when the locker room empties and the echo of the puck slap still hangs in the air, Ilya is left alone in his thoughts. Thoughts of Shane prevent him from focusing on anything else.
The memory of his gaze, cold, impenetrable, yet intense, sends a shiver through him that he can't quite place. Shane is like a shot of vodka, sharp, expressive, exciting, and dangerous. Every encounter with him is a shot of adrenaline that Ilya can't resist.
Ilya also begins to notice the little things Shane does without even realizing it: the way he adjusts his gloves, the way he takes off his helmet, the way his breath steams in the cold air. All of this mixes in an emotional cocktail of fascination, tension, and subconscious desire.
He longs to get closer to him, yet at the same time, he knows that any step toward Shane could end in humiliation on the ice.
At night, lying in a dark hotel room, Ilya recalls every detail of their encounter. Thoughts of Shane are like a sip of straight vodka, sharp, poignant, leaving a lingering aftertaste. He tries to push them away, to focus on training, on the competition, but he can't. Shane becomes an obsession, a cold fire that burns from within, simultaneously attracting and repelling.
His emotions are chaotic: on one hand, rivalry, adrenaline, and the desire to win; on the other, fascination, Shane's subtle, incomprehensible magnetism.
The Russian feels that getting close to the Canadian is forbidden, that the combination of rivalry and desire is dangerous, but he can't stop his heart. Shane is like vodka: pure, cold, impenetrable, and yet irresistibly tempting.
2. Flavored Vodka – Lemon/Cranberry
Ilya never thought competition could taste sweeter. Meeting Shane at a joint training session is no longer just a test of skill, but an experience that mixes tension and curiosity in unexpected ways.
His heart still beats faster when Shane stands next to him, but now something new emerges, the awareness that their closeness is beginning to cross that dangerous line.
Shane seems lighter, more accessible, and Ilya experiences it as an unusual, sweet-and-sour mix of emotions, like a shot of flavored vodka fizzing lightly on the tongue, warming from the inside, but with a hint of surprise.
This flavored vodka is no longer cold and sharp; it's tempting, playful, provocative. Shane still retains his character, a challenge, difficult to understand, but now he can be savored, discovered step by step.
During their ad campaign shoots, Ilya notices Shane delicately adjusting his skates, pointing out minor adjustments in his technique, with a smile he's never seen before. When the Canadian talks to the crew, he literally glows with that sweet, shy glow of his.
Every gesture evokes a mixture of embarrassment, excitement, and a wave of other unfamiliar emotions. His thoughts wander between "It's just photos" and "Why is my body reacting as if this fucking Canadian is something more than a rival?"
Ilya is aware of every touch, even the accidental one. When Shane hands him the stick, their hands briefly touch, and Ilya feels a current flowing through his fingers that has nothing to do with hockey.
His mind swirls around Shane like a mischievous alcoholic aroma: sweet, slightly tart, alluring, and irresistible. He tries to hide his feelings, but his body reacts involuntarily.
In the locker room, when the two are alone after training, Ilya notices small details, Shane gasps for air after a grueling workout, his hair slightly sweaty, and his eyes glistening in the dim light. These images swirl in Ilya's mind like a drink, a sweet note he shouldn't taste, yet he can't help himself.
He craves closeness, touch, contact, yet at the same time, he's afraid to admit he wants something more than collaboration.
Roznaov, on the one hand, feels the pleasant warmth of Shane's proximity, like a sip of flavored vodka that caresses the palate and leaves a delicate aftertaste that leaves one wanting more.
On the other hand, there's a subtle sharpness, an awareness of rivalry, competition, and the fact that any closeness could be misconstrued, that it shouldn't happen. This contrast swirls in his head, causing an emotional shiver.
That evening, as Ilya sits alone in his hotel room, thoughts of Hollander keep circulating in his mind. Memories of a smile, a touch of a hand, glances in the locker room—everything blends inside him like a mixture of flavored vodka: sweet, tempting, slightly dangerous, full of the promise of something more.
He tries to understand his emotions, but the harder he tries, the more Shane pulls him into a spiral of desire and curiosity.
This feeling, a mixture of desire and adrenaline, becomes his obsession. Shane is like flavored vodka, unpredictable in his subtlety, sweet in moments of intimacy, but with a distinct character that cannot be ignored.
Ilya begins to realize that competition is no longer the only reason his heart beats faster; it's Shane, in all his enticing, flavorful complexity.
And then they started fucking.
3. Premium Vodka - Beluga / Stolichnaya Elite.
Ilya never thought trusting someone could be so exciting and terrifying at the same time. Shane is no longer just a rival, no longer just an object of desire. He becomes someone to whom he can confide his deepest secrets, his most hidden fears, and at the same time, feel a security he never knew before.
Shane is now like premium vodka: refined, rich in flavor, multi-layered. It's no longer a sharp, cold vodka on ice that was difficult to swallow. It's a drink that warms from the inside, delighting with subtle notes that require attention and patience to fully appreciate.
The Russian feels that getting to know Shane is like tasting the finest spirit; every sip reveals a new layer, every conversation reveals the depth of his character.
During their travels together to tournaments or national team matches, Ilya notices small things that previously escaped his notice.
Shane not only attracts attention on the ice, but his gestures off it, the way he recounts his family memories and his childhood moments of weakness, evoke in Ilya a mixture of wonder and tenderness.
Each of Shane's stories is like another sip of premium vodka: smooth, rich, and full of character that unfolds slowly, requiring patience and attention.
Ilya is learning to trust Shane, to open his heart to him, even though part of his mind still lingers on the competition and adrenaline of hockey. He hasn't told him everything, hasn't told him about his mother, his father, his life in Russia, or his mental state.
But he's tossed in a few anecdotes here and there, which should be enough for now.
With every confession, every smile, and every casual touch, he feels their bond grow stronger.
His own heart responds to Shane with a depth he hadn't known before. It's not just lust, it's a need for closeness, intimacy, and understanding.
In the quiet moments, as they both rest after intense sex, Ilya notices Shane's small details: how his hands tremble slightly after the exertion, how tiredness appears in his eyes, but also a calmness that becomes more pronounced in Ilya's presence.
Every glance from Shane now feels like a sip of premium vodka, evoking warmth and confidence, yet leaving a hint of mystery that Ilya wants to explore further.
At the same time, Ilya's emotions are complicated. Trust doesn't mean a lack of fear. There's still a subtle fear of rejection, of Shane leaving, or of their relationship being ruined by rivalry or misunderstanding.
Every moment of closeness carries a tension that mingles with security. It's a blend Ilya begins to appreciate, like a refined vodka whose flavor gradually develops in his mouth, revealing new notes with each sip.
Shane becomes more than just a rival on the ice. He's a place where Ilya can breathe, feel himself, allow himself to be vulnerable and joyful. Although he does it reluctantly, it's still all about sex.
Every moment spent together becomes a celebration of their trust, as if every gesture and every glance were slowly blended into a noble drink whose value is only appreciated over time.
In the evenings, as they sit in their hotel room, talking quietly about everything and nothing, Ilya feels their relationship mature. Shane is no longer a threat or a challenge; he's a partner he longs to know in every detail.
His feelings are deep, complex, and nuanced, like the taste of premium vodka, which leaves an unforgettable aftertaste in his mouth.
Ilya discovers that Shane's desire is no longer a chaotic, sudden desire. It's conscious, slow, built on trust and mutual respect. This feeling becomes a part of his daily life, as natural as the ritual of drinking his favorite drink, which brings joy and warmth, but also requires attention and gentleness.
And that was perhaps what terrified him most.
4. Pepper Vodka
Ilya never thought a single look could cut so deeply. Seeing Shane in the club with Rose was a blow he couldn't fully forgive himself. Shane laughed, leaning toward Rose, his eyes sparkling with a joy Ilya had once attributed solely to himself.
What had once been shared now seemed distant, alien, as if Shane had crossed over to a world Ilya no longer had access to.
Ilya watched from the sidelines, his heart beating faster, as if every note of the club's music injected adrenaline directly into his veins. He danced with the blonde, smiling with a forced grace that didn't reach his eyes. Ilya knew it was just a dance, just a fleeting moment, but his mind couldn't shake the thought that Shane might once look at him that way, and that he wasn't looking anymore.
Shane was like spiced vodka to him: peppery, intense, sharp, and all at once tempting.
Every word he spoke, every gesture in Rose's presence, stirred in Ilya a mixture of desire, jealousy, and anger. It was vodka whose taste burned down his throat, leaving a fire in his stomach that wouldn't let go. Ilya felt a burning mixture of emotions welling up inside him: frustration, regret, longing, and disappointment.
As the blonde leaned closer to Ilya, his reactions were mechanical. He smiled, nodded, led the dance, but another melody played in his head: Shane and Rose, their closeness, that invisible line Shane had crossed, and Ilya couldn't change it. Ilya's fingers clenched into fists, and his heart trembled with pent-up emotion. Shane's every move was a reminder that their story was no longer what it had been.
Ilya tried to convince himself that it was normal, that Shane had the right to be happy, that this was just a professional rivalry carried over into his personal life. But every laugh Shane shared with Rose was like a sip of pepper vodka, sharp, burning, and impossible to swallow, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth with regret.
His body reacted to Shane regardless, his heart beating faster, his breathing shallow, his muscles tense. It was like forced consumption of alcohol, which he simultaneously craved and hated.
When Ilya looked away from Shane, he noticed the reflections of the lights on the dance floor, people swaying to the music, and thoughts swirled in his mind: Why not me? Why can't we be together? Every moment Shane and Rose were close ached as if a peppermint vodka fire burned inside him, igniting emotions he couldn't control.
He knew the answers to all these questions, but he was afraid to admit them, knowing it would open a wound too large, one that would fester and bleed.
At the same time, a mixture of arousal and humiliation surged within him. He was jealous, so jealous it was almost physical.
Ilya realized his feelings for Shane were deeper than he had ever imagined. It wasn't just fascination or physical desire; it was a need to be seen, to be appreciated, to be chosen. And now Hollander seemed to be choosing someone else.
After returning home, Ilya couldn't sleep. Images of Shane at the club swirled through his mind like liquid alcohol vapors, sharp, bitter, stinging, yet irresistibly alluring.
He felt a mixture of anger and longing, pain and desire, as if a single sip of spiced vodka had captured all the emotions he couldn't otherwise express.
Ilya knew their relationship would never be the same. The rivalry, the flirtation, the intense intimacy, the incredible sex—all of it was blended with the reality of Shane with Rose.
The Russian felt he had to face this pain, this fire inside, or let it consume him completely. That night at the club was a turning point; the blond realized he had to find the strength to accept the situation and face his own feelings, or let his emotions take over.
5. Classic Vodka – Finland Vodka / Grey Goose.
A few weeks of silence passed like months in the still rhythm of everyday life. Ilya still felt the burning fire within him from what had happened at the club, and though he tried to live as he had before, every training session, every sighting of the Canadian on television or social media, was a shadow of their former closeness and painful loss.
Thoughts of Shane were now like memories of sharp, peppery vodka, a sharp aftertaste of emotions that had left a mark on him.
And then, completely unexpectedly, the door to his house was flung open. Shane rushed in, nervous, sweaty, panic in his eyes, and the words tumbled out of him like a torrent.
“Ilya… I think… I think I’m gay! It was all… I… I broke up with Rose… I’m sorry… I’m sorry I left you alone… I… I didn’t know how to say this!”
Ilya felt his heart pound in his chest. The entire mixture of anger, longing, frustration, and desire hit him like a wave. His first reaction was almost mechanical; he looked at Shane in disbelief, a mixture of relief and pain.
The brunette’s words were like smooth, classic vodka, gentle, measured in their sincerity, soothing, yet still stirring a warmth inside.
“You… you broke up with Rose?” Ilya asked, his voice breaking slightly, though he tried to remain calm.
"Yes… and… she was okay, but… that wasn't it… Ilya, I… I couldn't… I couldn't pretend everything was okay. I couldn't stop thinking about you. It… it was all because of you," Shane spoke quickly, almost in a whisper, as if each word was a burden he finally had to release.
Ilya felt a mixture of warmth and relief. It was like the first sip of smooth vodka after months of sharp emotional tastes: gentle, harmonious, bringing a calm that allowed him to think clearly. His heart slowly stopped trembling with tension.
They talked for a long time. Shane talked about his doubts, about how lost he was in his relationship with Rose, about his panic, his inability to admit his feelings. Ilya listened, felt warmth, understanding, and above all, the sense that Shane was being honest and genuine. Every word was like a sip of vodka that no longer burned his throat but warmed him from the inside, leaving him with a sense of security and stability.
When silence finally fell, they looked at each other. Ilya saw a mixture of remorse, desire, and hope in Shane's eyes.
His own emotions were complicated; he still remembered the pain, jealousy, and frustration, but at the same time, he felt a willingness to try again. He also knew he wasn't the only one who had been hurt in this whole mess.
"Do you want to... try again?" Shane asked quietly, nervously, as if he couldn't believe he was asking something possible.
Ilya was silent for a moment. He felt a whole range of emotions: desire, longing, trust, and a slight apprehension. But when he looked at Shane, he felt something he had longed for: stability, certainty, a closeness he hadn't experienced before.
"Yes... but... we have to keep it hidden," he replied, his voice both firm and warm.
Shane smiled, slightly relaxed, and embraced Ilya. The moment was like the first sip of a smooth, classic vodka: harmonious, peaceful, safe, giving the feeling that everything could get back on track.
Their hearts beat to the rhythm of a new beginning, emotions still intense, but now grounded in trust and acceptance.
Ilya felt a peace within himself he hadn't known in a long time. He knew they would still have to be careful, that the outside world couldn't know their true feelings. But for the first time in a long time, he felt they could move forward together.
Their relationship, though still hidden, had a foundation that allowed it to weather any storms: true trust, mutual understanding, and a deep affection that no longer needed a seasoned fire to be present.
But first, they needed some good therapy.
+1. Single Malt Whiskey
Ilya sat at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea in his hand, watching Shane, who was busy at the window, adjusting the curtains. The house was silent, filled only with the sound of their breathing and soft footsteps. Shane's every movement felt so natural and familiar to Ilya, as if he had known him his whole life.
He was here, with him, not as a rival, not as an object of fascination, but as a partner with whom he shared his daily life. It was a closeness that could no longer be compared to anything before.
Shane was like single malt whisky, complex, rich in nuances that were slowly revealed. Every gesture, every glance, every small habit was like a note in the drink, sometimes a sweet childhood memory, sometimes the slightly smoky aroma of experiences and failures, sometimes hints of patience and care that Ilya had previously only glimpsed.
Now, after years of shared history, every element of Shane was known and appreciated in its entirety.
The Russian smiled faintly, feeling a peace and warmth in his heart he hadn't experienced before. There were no more dramas, no uncertainties to keep him on edge.
Their relationship was hidden from the world, just as the taste of single malt whisky reveals itself only to those with the patience and knowledge to appreciate it.
But for Ilya and Shane, this concealment wasn't a burden; it was a space where they could be themselves, grow, and nurture their love without external pressure.
Everyday life was full of small rituals, which Ilya began to appreciate in a new light. Breakfasts together, evenings spent talking about anything and everything, support in difficult moments—each of these elements was like a sip of single malt whisky, full of character, smooth, leaving a lingering aftertaste of security and warmth in the mouth.
Rozanov felt their love was mature, deep, and stable; there was no need for drama, because true intimacy didn't require fire to endure.
The Canadian approached him, placed his hand on Ilya's shoulder, and smiled in a way that spoke volumes.
Ilya felt a warmth throughout his body that was more satisfying than any rapture he had felt before. It was a closeness inhabited by love, friendship, understanding, and desire, all in perfect harmony, like a perfectly balanced single malt.
Ilya knew their lives weren't without challenges. They still had to protect their privacy, still had to balance between the outside world and their own happiness.
But unlike before, now he was certain of one thing: no matter the obstacles, Shane was there for him, and their bond was unbreakable.
That evening, as they sat together on the couch, gazing at the peaceful landscape outside the window, Ilya felt a sense of complete peace. Their hands intertwined, their breaths synchronized, the silence that wasn't emptiness but the presence of the other—it was a moment when everything else ceased to matter.
It was a mature, deep love that tasted like single malt whisky, subtle, rich, revealing new nuances with each moment spent together, full of warmth and satisfaction that can only be appreciated after years of experience.
The blond knew he wouldn't trade these moments for anything. The dark-eyed man was his home, his refuge, his taste for life, complex, profound, and utterly irreplaceable.
And even if the world never knew the full truth of their relationship, Ilya felt they had everything they needed: each other, peace, and a love that would endure all things.