Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

‘A place where you can get what you want’

The sign outside of the neon-lit building was cheesy, though Shane had to fight the tilt of his lips nonetheless. A strip club wasn’t his first or second or third or -- It wasn’t his choice. It wouldn’t ever have been something he suggested as a way to blow off the steam of a game they lost on home territory, and yet, his quiet protests had been ignored. 

Hayden nudged him forward, shivering as he rubbed his arms through his thick coat. “C’mon Shane, it won't be that bad. Nothing like that place in Florida.” 

Shane’s nose wrinkled at the memory of a sad woman, mascara tracks that hadn’t been fully scrubbed away as she tried to convince him to accept a lap dance. He had refused, politely at first, and then slightly more frantically after she placed an unwanted hand on his shoulder. At least no one else had become suspicious at his vehement refusal. The place had been fuckin’ creepy, even by Drapeu’s low standards. 

“Yeah, okay.” He laughed, devoid of humor as he ducked inside the building, flashing his ID at the security guard who only acknowledged it with a nod. “But if I leave here with an empty wallet, I’m telling Jackie you robbed me.” The joke, his attempt at heterosexual levity, hit its mark. Hayden grinned, in that knowing way that the guys in the locker room looked at each other with, when they discussed their latest conquests. It made Shane feel nauseous, his stomach churning from the smell of cheap perfume, nerves, and stale cigarettes. 

Berkes was saying something loud, almost certainly obnoxious as a scantily clad server passed them, her tray laden with drinks so full that liquid threatened to slosh over plastic rims with every step. He took one of the drinks off of it, slapping down a few bills as payment. She winked at him, drawing loud whoops from the rest of their team. 

Shane was already approaching the point of overstimulation despite only stepping foot in the brightly lit, overcrowded building. 

Hayden linked their arms together, tugging Shane along with him as he scouted the area surrounding the stage, pulling Shane close to the laminated, raised floor. “See buddy, I told you we’d get a good spot,” He said, patting Shane on the back as they took their seats, the metal chair uncomfortable and cold beneath him.

“Yeah,” his voice was weak and the chasm that could have once been called his stomach widened, perhaps irreparably as the girl on the stage winked at them, twisting her body around the static pole in a way that could have been called seductive. 

Straight boys, normal boys, didn’t feel like this when faced with an objectively beautiful woman. 

The mask slipped onto his face, cocky and confident, two things he never naturally felt. He leaned back in his chair, let his legs fall apart, his hands resting on his knees as he feigned interest. 

“She’s hot, right?” Hayden whispered, his eyes not leaving the dancer, following her movements with such interest that Shane almost wanted to laugh. 

“Sure.” Shane nodded, accepting the offered drink from another server with a thankful smile. His hand shook as he hastily pulled his wallet out to pay her. Her head tilted to the side, curiosity flaring in her expression. Shane clenched his fist, crumpling the notes, willing his body to stop betraying him. Finally, when he could force his fingers to work again, he dropped them on her tray, not making eye contact. Obvious, so obvious to anyone with a working brain. 

Hayden stood, leaned forward so that his elbows were on the stage and thrust his chin in Shane’s direction, his face lit up when the dancer untangled herself from the pole, walked closer to the edge to acknowledge Hayden’s presence. 

Dread settled in Shane’s chest, made him feel like the velvety walls were closing in around him as he looked around at his teammates, stuffed into booths with women, scattered across the floor, lust-drunk with something to prove. 

“My buddy has never had a lap dance,” Hayden half-shouted, offering her another wad of bills that she readily accepted. “He thinks you’re hot!” 

Shane looked around again, his eyebrows drawing together as he tried to figure out who Hayden was referring to. When the woman’s gaze, electric under the shifting lights, met his, he paled. 

“Oh, um, I think I’m,” Shane stammered, his mouth going dry as she climbed off the stage, graceful and appealing in ways he would never be and ways that he would never understand. 

“Name is Svetlana,” She drawled, her words accented heavily with something, maybe something Slavic? Shane’s brain had short-circuited the moment her attention had shifted to him, his jaw working furiously as he tried to think of some way out of this. 

The couch, velvet again, just like the walls were, was  worn threadbare in spots from extensive use, was at least more comfortable than the chairs by the stage. He traced patterns into the fabric, back and forth, back and forth as he worked to steady his breathing. 

Svetlana was nice, at least. He thought maybe she was nice. Or maybe she was just doing her job. She ran her fingers through her hair, her corkscrew curls bouncing in a way that drew his attention. Her breasts were now bare, the lacy bra discard, laying across one of Shane’s knees. 

He wanted to scream. Wanted to go home and crawl into bed until Rose texted him like she did every night, and then maybe he would feel good enough to eat something. 

“Is first time, yes?” Svetlana asked, voice soft and soothing as she stepped closer, her heels clacking against the floor, the sound jarring enough to bring Shane out of his thoughts. 

He swallowed, then nodded, not trusting his voice. Her smile widened as she slowly sank down onto Shane’s lap. She placed her hands over his then slowly guided him to her waist, her skin warm and reassuring under his palms. “You touch, gentle. Rough and I stop and you get shit kicked out of you.” 

Shane blinked owlishly, then slowly moved his hands off of her, letting them hover, not quite touching. 

It was with that that Svetlana realized that he was terrified of this. Her mouth formed an ‘o’ as she slid off of his lap, staring down at him with renewed interest. 

“Is not what you want.” She stated, pursing her lips as if this wasn’t something she had previously considered. “I will be back. Stay.” 

When she left through one of the side doors, he relaxed, shuddering as he buried his face in his hands. The act was becoming harder to keep up the longer he repressed himself and he knew that cracks were starting to form in his carefully crafted exterior. 

At the clear of a throat he looked up, his eyes widening. 

Svetlana was back, with a friend this time. 

He was sculpted. A statue, one that should have been in a museum, not a shitty stripclub on the outskirts of town. Blond curls that begged to be touched, a cupid’s bow sharp enough to cut. Moles adorning his body, constellations against tanned skin. Fuck. 

“No, hah, no, I can’t do this,” Shane rushed to say, growing pale, growing paler still at the look that the two exchanged, amusement clear on their faces. 

“On noven'kiy,” He is new. Svetlana settled onto the couch next to Shane and started to put her top back on, sending Shane an apologetic glance as she reached across his legs to retrieve it. “Nervnyy milyy mal'chik. Druz'yam ne rasskazyval.” A nervous, sweet boy. Didn’t tell his friends. 

The man smirked at that, stepping forward much like Svetlana had, though instead of straddling Shane, he sank to his knees, letting his chin rest on Shane’s thigh. “Name is Ilya, moya milaya.” my sweet. “Is okay to be nervous. I take good care. Is something for everyone here.” And with that, he leaned closer, pressed his cheek dangerously close to Shane’s groin, looking up through long blond eyelashes. 

Shane was mortified to feel himself start to harden-- It had been a while since he had gotten laid. Like, a year, and that had just been a fumbling blowjob in a dark hotel room with a man he would never see again and whose name he would never know. 

“Fuck. Fuck, okay. I don’t know what to do,” Shane admitted, looking everywhere but the man that was currently between his legs. If he looked, that would make it real, and if he made it real, he would probably do something really embarrassing. “My-- My team is out there and I’mnotgay.”  

He supposed he should have been offended at the surprised look on Ilya’s face, but Shane had always been a bad liar and this was no exception to that rule. 

“You are not gay.” Ilya repeated, his mouth twisting to the side as if he had tasted something sour. “Ok. Not gay,” he said again, looking at Svetlana, who appeared as though she was trying to hold back laughter. Shane couldn’t blame her. He would laugh at himself too, if his emotions weren't paralyzed by a strange mix of fear and arousal. “Then we will be ‘not gay’ and I will still make you feel good, is okay?” 

They stared at each other then, and all that Shane could think about was how pretty Ilya’s eyes were, hazel with green starbursts surrounding his blown pupils.

“Okay.” 

Ilya moved at that, fluid and loose, relaxed and almost lazy as he pushed himself up using Ilya’s thighs. Their lips were close enough to touch, the faint smell of nicotine and minty toothpaste lingering long after Ilya pulled away, the muscles in his arm flexing as he placed a hand on the top of Shane’s head, held him there, vulnerable and open. 

“I am going to touch you, will be fine. Too heavy for me to sit on,” Ilya noted before letting his fingers trail down Shane’s chest. 

The protest that had been ready on Shane’s tongue died out with his touch. It felt like fire, even through his shirt. It felt like he was being seared from within as Ilya’s finger, long and self-assured, unbuttoned the top, and then the next button, and then the next, until Shane’s chest and stomach were exposed to the prying gaze of both Ilya and Svetlana. 

“On milyy,” She remarked, clicking her tongue as she started to get up. He is cute. 

“Mne khochetsya ukusit' yego, kak igrushku dlya zhevaniya.” I want to bite him like a chew toy. Ilya agreed, brushing his fingers across Shane’s erection, poorly concealed by the thin pants he was wearing. 

“Wait,” Shane breathed, reaching out to Svetlana before letting his hand drop awkwardly, his hips stuttering forward from Ilya’s touch, even as conservative as it had been. “If you leave, my friend, he’ll wonder where I am. Don’t go. Please,” he whispered, shame heating his cheeks. 

Svetlana shut her eyes for a moment before smiling in a way that Shane almost thought was reassuring. “Okay, but I tell your friend you come, and he pays me extra, yes?” 

A snort from Ilya as he grabbed Shane through his pants, squeezed hard enough to draw a whine from him. 

“Yes, yes, okay. Take all his money, I don’t care.” Shane didn’t spare her another glance, too focused on the man in front of him, with his cruel gaze and hard smile, the way that he stroked Shane as if he had done it countless times. 

Shane let himself forget that he was in a closet made of glass walls, splintered and threatening to shatter. He let himself forget that there was something wrong with him on the most basic level there was, and let himself forget that one wrong move would destroy his friendships, his career, his life. 

He let himself live in the moment, his breaths coming in hot gasps as Ilya moved to sit next to him. He leaned forward, his lips pressing against Shane’s ear, his teeth sharp against his earlobe. The contact made Shane lurch forward, his dick throbbing. He mouthed oh my god, the words not quite coming out as Ilya followed his movement, once again biting his earlobe, sucking in a way that broke what was left of his composure. 

“Oh,” Ilya said as he moved his hand off Shane’s crotch, tapping his fingers against his inner thigh instead. “You come so quick. You do not, ah, do this?” He moved the hand in an up and down motion, the English phrase escaping his thoughts. 

Shane choked on his laugh, and the sound ended up being more like a sob. His underwear was sticking to him, hot and uncomfortable, and he had just came in his pants like a teenage boy after their first wet dream. “No, I-I jerk off. Sometimes.” He sounded miserable, felt miserable, and would have given anything to dissolve into thin air when Svetlana giggled, muffling the sound into her well manicured hand. 

“Should do it more. Last longer next time. Will show you good trick,” Ilya promised, rubbing his hands against his bare thighs as he stood, preparing to leave from the same side door they had entered from. 

“Wait,” Shane cringed as he started to rebutton his shirt, and fuck, he was going to have to find a bathroom to try and clean himself up before rejoining the rest of his team. “Money.” He said, shoving what was probably far too much at Ilya. 

Ilya looked at the money, then at Shane, with his pretty, flushed face, and his wet eyes and his shaking legs and just shook his head slowly. “Keep it. Is fun, touching sad needy boy.” 

With that, they left, taking a piece of Shane’s pride with them as he shoved the money back into his wallet, spots of color high on his cheeks. 

Bathroom, he thought as he shifted, then back to pretending to be normal. 

Hayden whistled at Shane when he stepped back into the area in front of the stage. His underwear had been unsalvageable, wrapped in paper towels and stuffed into the trashcan. Going commando was not anything he would ever volunteer to do, but it was a necessary evil. 

The rest of their team had filled into the surrounding chairs as the lights further dimmed, jeering at Shane as he sat back down. 

He looked at Hayden, the question on his face clear. Hayden at least had the decency to look embarrassed as he leaned closer to whisper in Shane’s ear. “Sorry buddy, they kinda guessed. Couldn’t lie to them. But.. You were in there for a while-- Get lucky?” 

Shane hesitated before smiling hesitantly. “Kind of.” For once, it wasn’t a lie. Just.. A little bit misleading. 

“Oh, fuck yes!” Hayden said, turning around to hold his hand out expectantly. Drapeau grumbled something under his breath but handed a handful of money. Shane’s heart dropped to his stomach. “Told you Shane had it in ‘im!” 

He fought to keep the hurt from his voice as he turned from Hayden, staring straight ahead at the empty stage. “You bet on me?” 

“Just a few bucks. Easy money,” he offered sheepishly, sighing as music started up, heavy on the bass. The music was foreign, nothing Shane recognized until the lyric ‘ah, Svetlana’. He sat up straighter at that, clasping his hands in his lap as two people, two people he recognized, walked onto stage, applause ringing out through the building, catcalls mostly drowned out by the music. 

Ilya was a vision, draped in dark blue gauzy material, his underwear (if you could even call it that) held together by lace and not much else. Shane’s jaw hurt from the force he clenched his teeth with, watching as Ilya linked his fingers with Svetlana’s, watched as they wrapped themselves around the pole, the display almost too intimate to keep looking at. 

JJ’s voice, close enough to his ear to make him flinch, was dripping with contempt. “A man? Merde, as if we want to see this.” He scoffed, scooted his chair a little closer to Shane and lowered his voice. “Putain de dégoûtant.” Fucking disgusting. 

Shane couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way that the muscles in Ilya’s back rippled as he draped himself across Ilya, their bodies moving in such perfect sync that it should’ve been inhuman. “Oui,” was all he whispered back, sucking his lower lip into his mouth, chewing to keep himself busy and to keep from saying something stupid. 

Hazel eyes, heated and filled with something feral met Shane’s, and if Shane had been a little less delusional, a little less caught up in his own head, he would have realized that Ilya winked at him. 

Winked. 

“C’mon,” Hayden said, as he hooked a hand under Shane’s arm, pulling him up and out of his stupor. It was hard to look away from the display on the stage, but he managed it somehow, thankful that he couldn’t get hard again. 

They waited for the rest of their team to settle their tabs at the bar, striking up a casual conversation about their earlier loss and what they could have done better to break through the other team’s defense. It was fine, Shane thought, until he slid into the passenger seat of Hayden’s car, shivering as he waited for the car to heat up. 

“So, how was it?” 

“How was what?”

Hayden laughed but then stopped as he realized that Shane was being serious, not funny. “Come on. I know you got some.” 

Understanding flooded him, made his face heat as he thought about the hand that had rested so confidently on him, touched his body as if he had really wanted to, not like he was just performing a task. 

“Oh my God, you totally did! Now you finally have something to talk about in the locker room. Coy Captain Hollander is no more.” Hayden cheered, removing a hand from the steering wheel, holding it out for a fist bump. Shane hurriedly did, only so Hayden would put his hand back on the wheel. 

“Jesus, Hayd. I’m not going to kiss and tell.” 

“You kissed her?” He asked, looking at Shane from the corner of his eyes. Interesting. 

“Oh, no, jeez. She just.. Touchedmydick.” 

“Shane,” Hayden started, suddenly cautious as he focused on the road, snow falling hard enough to blur in their headlights. “How much did you give her?”

Shane rubbed his hands on his pants, desperate to rid himself of the clammy feeling. “I offered her money but she wouldn’t take it.” Had Svetlana not asked for more from Hayden, like she had said she would? 

“Guess she must’ve liked you then.” Hayden relaxed, tapping his fingers against the cover on his steering wheel. “Congrats man. Normally a handie costs extra.” 

“A-- a what?” 

“Oh, come on. A handjob.” 

“Gross,” Shane mumbled, letting his head fall against the passenger window. It hadn’t felt gross when Ilya was touching him, but now that he had time to spiral, it was gross. It was gross that the only time he could stay hard was when another man was involved. It was gross that the only time he ever felt good was when he didn’t have to worry about judgement from those who wouldn’t accept him if they knew his secrets. 

“Says the one who got a handjob,” And fuck, Hayden sounded so smug that Shane knew this wouldn’t be the last time he was teased about it. 

The buzz of the locker room died down to mere whispers as Shane walked in, rubbing his towel over his still damp hair, another towel slung low at his hips. 

He frowned, holding his hands out, turning slowly until he finally caught Miitka’s eye. “What?” 

A laugh, quiet at first, then growing in volume until half the locker room had joined in. 

“What,” He said again, though this time it came out much sharper, annoyance flickering across his face as he moved to his locker, dragging his clothes out, trying to ignore the weight of curious stares at his back. 

“Nothin’, Cap. Just heard about your fun with that hooker.” Gagnon, one of the worst on the team. Asshole. The sound of skin against skin, a high five probably. 

Shane swallowed his response down, doing his best to stay calm. Collected. Let their stupidity roll off of him. 

“You fuck her?” Drapeau this time, his nasally voice easily recognizable. 

Shane’s exhale was sharp as he tugged his underwear on, letting his towel drop to the floor as he turned around to face them. “No, I didn’t. And she’s not a hooker. She’s a stripper. There’s a difference.” 

Gagnon snorted, rolling his eyes. “Not really. They’ll do anything for money. Sounds like a whore to me.” 

The anger left Shane, making him deflate. There was nothing he could say to win, not when it came to people like this. His throat felt raw as he swallowed again, pulling his shirt over his head. It stuck to the still-damp patches of skin on his back and he desperately wanted to crawl out of his skin, maybe go and hide somewhere that he would never be found. All he did was nod, a single jerky movement as he finished getting dressed. He kept his eyes on the floor as he stomped out of the locker room, his heavy footfalls echoing in the quiet of the hallway. 

At least there hadn’t been a media swarm today. 

Ilya laid back in his bed, legs crossed at the ankle as Svetlana joined him, taking her usual spot on the opposite side. They’d slept in after an extra late night at the club-- Svetlana snatched the remote from him and went to their recorded programs, her eyes lighting up as she scrolled over the hockey game. She wasn’t exactly the Voyageur’s biggest fan, mostly kept their games on as background noise, but she had a point to prove today. 

“It’s definitely the boy from the club,” She said as she popped the cap off her beer, taking a few long pulls off of it without looking away from the TV. 

“You think somebody gay is stupid enough to play hockey? In the closet or not, he would have to have a death wish.” 

“He said his ‘team’!” Svetlana whisper-yelled, elbowing him in the side as the announcers finished with their pre-game drivel. “Or were you too busy eye-fucking him to listen to what he said.” 

Ilya looked as though he might be seriously thinking about what he had been doing-- His lips turned down at the corner before he sighed, flicking his lighter until finally a flame appeared, scorching the end of his cigarette so fast he hissed. He needed to buy a new one, but they had just paid rent and he would be short until he went back to the club to collect his tips. 

“Too busy eye-fucking him,” Ilya finally said, grinning when Svetlana laughed. 

The camera zoomed in on the Voyageurs, Svetlana fumbling to pause it. She rewinded, went too far, then fast forwarded it again. The shot was blurry, but the side profile was unmistakable. Long straight nose, proud, pouty lower lip. Freckles that made Ilya believe in the story about them being an angel’s kiss. It was him. 

“No, is not him. He is not as pretty as this player.” He lied through his teeth, something that felt a lot like sadness settling heavy on him. Death wish indeed. 

Svetlana looked at him, her lips parting before she narrowed her eyes, smacking his chest with her open palm. “You are such an asshole, Ilya. You know that’s him!” 

Ilya shifted, the mattress creaking under their combined weights. He blew smoke at the ceiling, too afraid to identify the emotion that swelled within him, unwelcome and unwanted. He was just curious about this hockey player, who was so unlike the other athletes he had had the misfortune of meeting. 

“It is him,” He started, treading carefully as the camera panned back out, this #24, this Shane Hollander, won the face-off against the visiting team. “But you know I do not mess with closeted men. So frustrating, when they can’t even look me in the eyes after I fuck them, make them cry for me.” 

Svetlana’s nose wrinkled at his graphic choice of words, but she otherwise didn’t comment on it. “Not every closeted man will be like Sasha.”

“No,” Ilya agreed, tapping his cigarette on his cracked ash tray. “But I don’t want to take the risk. I’ll let one of the other men handle him, if he comes back.” He shrugged, feigning indifference, as if the thought didn’t spark undeserved jealousy. Shane wasn’t his. He had no right or reason to feel at all jealous. 

“Your loss.” She sighed, taking another drink of her beer. “I wish he had let me play with him. So cute,” she said dreamily, blowing the TV a kiss as a cameraman captured an especially good shot of Shane. “The gay ones are always the best looking.”

“Oh, is that why I’m the best looking?” 

“You are bisexual, not gay. Definitely not the best looking.” 

She squealed when Ilya growled at her, his still burning cigarette left to put itself out in the tray as he jumped on her, supporting his own weight as he loomed over her. Her eyes were half-open, her chest rising and falling enough that her breasts brushed his chest. Her legs were around his waist before he could blink, a tangle of limbs as they kissed, the hockey game fading into background noise-- 

Except the only thing Ilya could focus on, as he kissed Svetlana’s neck, hitched her hips upwards to thrust into her, was the announcer calling out another goal by none other than Shane Hollander. 

It felt like they were keeping a score that was far more personal than the game on the television. 

Ilya: 1 

Shane: 1 

Play stupid, lovesick, yearning games. 

Win stupid, fucked up, pathetic prizes. 

Chapter Text

‘Boxing day blues? Drown your sorrows.’ 

It was bold enough that Shane had to give whoever was making these signs major props. His boxing day had been blue. Rose was filming something in the States and his visit with his parents had been.. 

Well, dreadful. 

Yuna sat next to Shane, close enough that their knees brushed with every movement. “So,” she had started, almost succeeding in sounding casual. She had never been good at that though-- Being casual. Shane had the same problem, one that his dad had always sighed at both of them over. 

“So,” Shane replied, turning the box over in his hands, rubbing his fingers against the slightly textured cardboard. “What?” 

“Anyone special we should know about?” 

It wasn’t the question Shane had been expecting, but was one that made him sick all the same, nausea settling like a rock in his stomach. “Special? What kind of special?” 

The rustle of the newspaper his dad was reading drew their attention, twin sets of brown eyes staring him down. He held his hands up in surrender, crossing his arms with a grumble as he left his paper in his lap. 

“Sweetie, playing dumb doesn’t suit you.” She reached out to rest her hand on his knee, her eyebrows raised. 

“No, no one special. No, I don’t need you to try and set me up with someone. No, I’m fine with it. Still not over Rose.” The lie tasted like ash on his tongue, a reminder of the blurred lines of morality that he constantly trampled over. It wasn’t fair to his parents, or to his friends, or to Rose to keep using her in this dishonesty (despite her being entirely fine with it), but it was all he had. And he had to choose himself, for once in his life. 

Disbelief flashed across Yuna’s face before it smoothed back out, her smile slightly strained as she rose to stand. “Of course. Well, the offer still stands.” 

The offer to set him up with yet another woman he wouldn’t be able to perform with, she meant. The offer to cause emotional damage to both her son and whatever poor girl he took out on dates that would never turn into anything because he was flawed and unable to love women like someone normal could. 

He pulled his beanie down lower on his head, pulled his jacket tighter around himself as if it would somehow help disguise his identity. He hadn’t meant to come back to the Vanilla Unicorn, but it had just happened, as if invisible strings were guiding him. 

He was slightly less apprehensive without the rest of his team there, but he was still more than overwhelmed at the sights, the sounds, and the various scents in the club. He immediately made his way to the bar, flagging the bartender down for a ginger ale and a moscow mule. He would need the liquid courage for the plan that was starting to form in his mind. 

His cocktail arrived in another plastic cup, disappointment flaring at the presentation. He shoved the thought from his mind. He was being picky, particular like always-- Of course a freakin’ strip club wouldn’t have copper mugs for it. He stared at the drink, stared until he managed to convince himself to drink it anyway, presentation be damned. It burned going down his throat, the sting grounding him as he glanced around the club, looking for blond curls that begged to be tugged. 

Nothing.

He popped the tab on his ginger ale, sipping it, letting the carbonation fizz on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing. Someone took the barstool next to him, tapping long golden-painted nails on the countertop. 

“Ginger ale. Very adventurous.” 

Shane huffed, pulling at the metal tab on the can until it came off. “I just don’t drink that much. Lightweight,” he explained, gesturing to his already rosy cheeks. He blinked, remembering the expected pleasantries. “Svetlana. Hi.” 

Svetlana stared at him for a moment before her lips curved up into a smile. “Kak milo,” How nice. “Very sweet boy. I tell Ilya, he is good looking. He is cute! But Ilya, he say he does not want to screw with,” She looked around before leaning closer, lowering her voice. “He does not want to screw with scared boy in closet.” She was paraphrasing but she thought it got the point across. 

The tips of Shane’s ears went pink as he finished off his ginger ale. “I’m not gay. Not in a closet,” he whispered back, not meeting her eyes. 

Svetlana reached out and placed one of her hands over the back of Shane’s, rubbing her thumb against his skin in slow circles. To anyone else, it would have looked like flirting. To her though, it was meant to be a gesture of comfort. To show Shane that she didn’t care-- It didn’t matter to her, what or who someone liked. “Okay, Hollander. Sure, you are not gay. Just do not like women?”

“What? How do you know my name?” Shane grabbed her hand, a wild, caged look in his eyes as he tried to think about whether he had given his last name. Hayden had called him Shane a few times, but that was all he could remember.

Svetlana allowed the touch, even as she rolled her eyes at the utter ridiculousness of his panic. They lived in Montreal. Where there was a very famous hockey team. It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots or recognize him, especially when she watched as much hockey as she did. “Easy face to remember. Watched the home game. Is cute, how scared you are, but all they will see is that you are with pretty girl in popular strip club. Now, order me drink and we talk about Ilya.”

Shane’s resolve wavered. On the one hand, he was curious about the blond man that she clearly seemed to know quite well. On the other hand, it was a very bad idea to ask questions about someone that he couldn’t have and didn’t want to. On a third hand which couldn’t be his because he only had two, so maybe it could be Svetlana’s, there was the whole ‘not wanting to mess with closeted men’, 

“Oh my God, your thoughts, Hollander. They are so loud. Can hear them from here. Stop thinking, order me vodka and cranberry before I die of old age.” 

Shane managed to catch the bartender’s eye, smiling weakly as he came over. His shirt was fishnet, exposing the majority of his chest and was otherwise only wearing a pair of shorts that looked like they might have been made of latex. He averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “Vodka cranberry for her. Another Moscow mule for me.” 

“Very brave, having second drink with Svetlana. Now.” She rotated the barstool, grinning at Shane as if they were old friends. He should’ve made Rose come with him-- She would love this woman, with her pretty copper-brown curls and wicked smile. “Ilya. He is best friend. Worth all stars combined, even if he is asshole. Very good boy, would give world for someone.” 

Shane sipped the new drink, choked on the liquor as soon as she started to speak. “That’s.. cool,” he squeaked, clearing his throat until he stopped feeling the urge to cough. “But.. why are you telling me this?” 

Svetlana frowned, downing her own cocktail without issue. “You do not want to see him again?” 

A bad idea, a very bad idea, one that would almost certainly eventually blow up in his face took root, started to develop, an idea that he should have shut down. 

“No,” he whispered, soft and unsure as he dragged his finger around the plastic rim on his cup. “I do, he’s very,” Shane choked on the word, “attractive. Just..” He blinked away the wetness that formed in his eyes, shameful tears trying to make themselves known. “I’m not supposed to.” 

Svetlana nodded, took the half-drank cup from Shane and finished it off. Shane started to protest, his words dying at the sharp look she gave him. Scary. 

“Sappy drunk, can tell,” She said with a wave of her hand, grinning at the surprised look on Shane’s face. ”Very experienced with drunk men.”

There was something beneath her words, something just a little bit sad, but Shane couldn’t bring himself to pry. Instead, he only nodded. She was right after all-- He was a sappy drunk, one that couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. 

“Is he here? Now?”

A snort, and then a quiet ‘no’. “He is sleeping off bad hangover.” 

“At almost midnight?” 

“He worked all night. Need to pay bills, send money to niece, buy house things. Expensive even as roommates.” She shrugged, her shoulders stiff as she leaned over to Shane, pressing her lips to the shell of his ear. “Relax, is person with phone camera.” She slid her hand up his thigh, let it rest loose and open on his hip. “Is just Svetlana and Shane. No expectation.” 

“I think I need to go,” Shane breathed, willing his panic to recede. “Home,” he clarified, his eyes shutting at the feeling of her lips against his cheek. 

“Mmkay, Hollander. But before you escape-- Marleau, napkin and pen. Thank you lyubov.” She snapped her fingers, taking the offered materials. She scrawled her number down, pressed it to Shane’s chest, and then got up, leaving him to sit with his thoughts and not much else. 

It didn’t take long for the photographs from that night to surface, or for the articles to follow, posted on trashy websites that Shane found himself glued to. 

Hockey Star Hollander spotted in local club-- again!

Exclusive photographs on page 3

Shane stared at the article title, stared at it until the words blurred. He took his glasses off, set them on his nightstand, and smiled. Being seen with a woman, no matter the job, only further cemented his heterosexual appearance for the media. His relationship with Rose had gotten people off of his back, but it had only been a matter of time before the scrutiny began again. 

He typed out a message to the number he had saved under the name ‘Svetlana’, reading it a few times before deeming it good enough to send. 

Shane: Hi, this is Shane. From the club. Just sending you a text before I lose your number :) 

Ilya stared at the message from the unknown number, running his hands through his damp hair, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He turned the brightness up, as if that would somehow change what it said. 

“Sveta!” He called out, spitting toothpaste into the sink, washing it down with just a quick flick of the handle. “You gave my number to the hockey boy? The Voyageurs poster boy?” 

A giggle, loud and clear, and then a loud curse as she dropped something. “He likes you! I can tell by the way he blushes. Give him and his money a chance.” 

Ilya didn’t care about his money. He didn’t care about the way that Shane had reached into his wallet without a second thought, offering him more than a week's worth of rent from one accidental orgasm. His stomach clenched as he thought of the way that he had seemed so sincere, so sorry for something so innocent. It was refreshing, when most of the clientele seemed to forget that he, and the other guys, and the girls were still human. 

He reached out to his neck, touching the cool, reassuring surface of his crucifix and then sighed. Svetlana had set him up for failure. 

Svetlana: ah, shane. 

The crack in his phone screen was getting worse, tiny glass shards starting to come off, but he couldn’t bring himself to buy another. Not when this break was his fault. He left his name out of the text for.. Well, he didn’t necessarily have a good reason. 

Svetlana: how was game 

Stupid. Durak. His father’s voice echoing the insult in the confines of his mind. 

The response came quickly, quicker than he would have expected for it being late. 

Shane: terrible, but we’re still in the running for playoffs. Have a flight tomorrow to colorado. Kind of dreading it. 

Colorado. One of Svetlana’s least favorite teams-- He could work with this. He enjoyed hockey, enjoyed the way that the players looked on the ice. 

Svetlana: fuck colorado. Terrible defense. Will smoke these losers 

She really did know hockey. Shane touched the message, held down on it long enough to select the heart react and then plugged his phone in. 

Maybe they both just needed a friend.

They texted throughout that morning, only stopping when Svetlana told him that she had to go to sleep if she wanted to be performance ready for her shift that night. 

Shane shoved his phone in his jacket pocket, sinking into his chair. 

“So,” Hayden started, “You meet someone?” 

Shane looked up at him, frowning at the open curiosity in Hayden’s voice. “What do you mean?” 

“Y’know. Did you meet someone? Maybe the girl you’ve been texting all morning, which, buddy. You’ve done a really bad job at hiding it.” 

Shane’s face flushed as he adjusted his jacket, suddenly desperate for their boarding group to be called. “Kind of, but, she’s just a friend. Don’t get any ideas.” 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Hayden repeated, his eyebrows raising, his smile widening at the clear discomfort Shane was experiencing. “Okay, well, wipe that stupid ass smile off your face and I’ll stop getting ideas. What’s her name?” 

Svetlana was a friend, had given him her number, so surely she didn’t care if Shane told someone else. Right? Right, he thought. Besides, it was only Hayden, one of his best friends, one of the few people he would trust with a pseudo-secret like this. 

“Svetlana.” 

Hayden groaned at that, giving his own face a few gentle slaps. “Time out. Nope, Shane, time out. I know it’s been a while since you broke up with Rose, but c’mon man. Svetlana is a.. A stripper,” He whispered, as if Shane might have forgotten. “She probably just wants your money.” 

“It’s not like that,” Shane insisted, frowning at the judgement and pity that Hayden had said it with. “She’s a friend. She likes hockey!” 

“Oh, she likes hockey. Well that makes so much more sense, right? The stripper who likes hockey gives you a free handjob.” 

Hayden hadn’t thought it was possible for someone to blush as violently as Shane did. 

“I’m done with this,” Shane said, slowly enough to get his point across. Their boarding group was called, much to his relief, as he jumped up. He snatched his carry-on off the ground and hauled it over his shoulder, half-stomping to join the line their team had started to form. He was beyond annoyed, his good mood tarnished by Hayden. 

He took the window seat in his row, leaving the aisle for Hayden, who tried several times to apologize over the course of their long flight. Shane kept his cold-shoulder act up the whole time, sending Rose a few texts out of boredom, texts that went unanswered. He had expected it, known that she was shooting on a schedule so packed she hardly had time to breathe, but.. He missed her. 

Shane: made a new friend 

Shane: don’t worry, she could never replace you 

Shane: but.. She likes hockey too, so you DO have some competition. :)

He shut his eyes for the rest of the flight, letting the rumble of the plane soothe him into a somewhat fitful sleep.

The bar that they were celebrating their victory in was packed to the walls, hot enough that Shane felt sticky from sweat despite the frigid temperature. His phone went off, twice, and he hurriedly fished it out of his pocket, hoping that it was Rose. 

It wasn’t, but it was kind of the next best thing-- He was curious to see what Svetlana would have to say about the game. 

Svetlana: told you they are losers. Hope they cried at almost hat trick 

Svetlana: is boring night at 🦄 

Shane: no crying, but their center was pretty pissed at the penalty call they got. 

He hesitated, then snapped a quick picture of his hand on the sticky bartop, his untouched beer just barely in frame. He didn’t know if they were the kind of friends who sent pictures to each other, but he supposed he would find out soon enough depending on her response. 

Shane: ‘celebrating’ our win [image attached] 

Ilya nudged Svetlana under the table, glancing down at his phone, which was laid on the table, the picture open. 

“I cannot text him like this. Is too..” Ilya searched for the word, came up short, and gestured at the phone instead. “Dishonest. Look, he sends me picture from bar.” 

Svetlana hardly looked at it-- Instead, she rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes and snatched the phone, snapping a quick picture of Ilya, tapping send before Ilya could take it back. 

“You are an idiot, Ilya. If you are too scared to text him as me, text him as yourself. It’s not my problem that you didn’t immediately tell him it was you.” 

“Wh-- It’s not my problem that you gave him my number!” llya’s Russian was whispered, hurried-- It wasn’t that they weren’t allowed to speak in their native language, but it was frowned on by management. Made them seem less approachable to customers. Ilya thought it was bullshit, but neither of them could afford to lose a job they were so good at. 

Svetlana raised her middle finger as she slid out of the booth, taking one of the trays from the bar, smiling gratefully at Marleau as she sauntered off, the cups sloshing, liquid dangerously close to spilling over. 

There was another heart reaction on the picture of Ilya. His eyes were wide in the picture, his curls sculpted and held together by gel, dark eyeshadow brushed across his eyelids courtesy of Svetlana. Ilya’s mouth twisted to the side-- He looked terrible. Bitch, he thought, though it was with fondness. 

Shane: good to see he’s not hungover this time :) 

Shane Hollander was going to be the death of him. 

The reporters swarmed Shane, caught him off guard despite years of wins and interviews, losses and interviews, playoffs and interviews. His heart thumped in his chest, rabbit-fast as he plastered a smile on his face, the fake one that he reserved for times like this, 

His shirt was off, sweat glistening on his torso, his athletic shorts slung low enough on his hips that he wouldn’t be shocked if they cut that part out of frame. The questions came at a rapid fire pace until Theriault raised his hand, holding up one finger. 

“One at a time,” He barked, his glare sharp enough to quiet even the most insistent of the reporters. “Five questions. First, go.” 

“Shane, how do you feel about your position in the scoring race?” 

Shane frowned, shifting his weight to his other foot. “What scoring race? What position am I?” 

“Third across the league. Just a fun little spreadsheet the fans keep up with.” 

“Oh.. I mean, that’s cool I guess. I’m just here to play and make my team and my fans proud,” he was earnest and hoped that that was conveyed through his tone, something he sometimes had trouble with. 

“What do you think about the photographs of you at the,” The reporter checked their notes, then continued, “Vanilla Unicorn?” 

“Sorry, what photographs?” Shane asked, even as his face flushed, his ears hot, his neck hot. He knew what photographs, of course, but had been hoping that he wouldn’t be directly asked about them-- Not so soon after they’d been taken. 

“The ones with you and one of the workers there. We reached out to them for a comment, but they wouldn’t provide her name. Would you?”

Shane shook his head startlingly fast. “If she doesn’t want to be named, then I think we should respect that.” 

This was one of his biggest issues with the media. Nothing was ever private, or sacred, or left alone. It was one of his biggest fears surrounding his sexuality, one of his biggest fears surrounding himself. That the wrong person would ask the right question, and the life he had built himself would crumble under the pressure and speculation. 

“Well, then would you answer the original question? What do you think about the photographs of you two together?” 

His temper flared but he swallowed it down under the watchful eye of Theriault and the flash of cameras. “I think they’re fine,” He said, doing his best to sound casual. “They’re just pictures of a man and a woman being friendly. What could be wrong with that?” He shrugged, nodding at one of the other people with their hands up. “Third question, that’s two more, everyone.” 

“Would you say that you’re in a relationship with this woman?” 

“My personal life isn’t up for comment, next question, and let’s please try and keep this one about hockey.” 

“How do you feel about the Voyageurs’ chance at the cup this year?” 

At this question Shane smiled, genuine, a flash of his teeth showing. “I think we have a really good shot, we’re been working together on the line, practice has been super good. All in all, I wouldn’t be shocked if we scored a spot in the playoffs.” 

Svetlana paused the recording, her eyebrows raising when it took a minute for Ilya to blink and acknowledge that the TV was paused.

“You see how sweet he is, even in the face of these vultures? I do not think he would be mad if you just told him who he’s really texting.” 

“Or,” Ilya reasoned, finally looking away from the still-image of Shane, the crook of his lips, the way that his chest glistened even on their shitty TV screen. “He blocks my number. He clearly likes women. Clearly likes you. Look at him, the way he gets so flustered at the question about your name.” 

Svetlana smacked his chest then stole the cigarette, still burning, from between his fingers. “And yet, he told me that you are attractive.” She sounded smug as she said it, raising the cigarette to her lips. 

“You are kidding, which is cruel. Next, you will tell me that Marleau thinks I’m attractive, too.” 

“No, just me. Asshole men are not his type. But..” Her voice turned serious, smoke coming from her nose, a stupid party trick that had become a habit over years of smoking. “He said you are attractive but that he’s not supposed to find you attractive. Should see if you can break his shell. I think,” She swallowed, coughing on the smoke. “That he would be worth a chance. If you can get past his walls.” 

Ilya groaned, pressing his hands to his face. “Fucking closeted men.” 

Chapter Text

“No. No.” Shane hadn’t meant for the words to come out as loud as he had, but the quiet buzz of post-game chatter came to a halt, raised eyebrows and sideways glances sent in his direction. He bit down on his lip, took a breath and then forced a smile. “Sorry, I just don’t know why everyone wants to go back to the strip club. That can’t be our post-win tradition.” 

Drapeu scoffed at that, rolling his eyes so hard it must’ve hurt. “So what, you start dating a stripper and now the rest of us can’t have a good time?” 

Shane blinked, then returned the eye-roll. “Not my girlfriend, just happens to be a girl who is  also my friend. I know, hard to believe. Shane Hollander has friends outside of the team.” A few scattered laughs, JJ’s hand coming down on his shoulder in support. “But it’s bad optics to only be seen at a strip club. Y’know? Like we’re degenerates or something.” 

Hayden snorted. “Cap says ‘like’ we’re degenerates.” A few jeers, then laughter, unashamed and loud. “We are degenerates. C’mon Shane, live a little. Let’s go see if Svet-la-na is there.” He drew out her name, winking at the end of it. 

Shane paled then blushed-- He would have to text her and ask if she was working that night, just as a friendly warning. 

“Okay,” He said, slowly, making sure he still had the attention of the majority of the team. “But we have to run drills tomorrow morning, so no one is getting drunk, and no one is going home with a stranger. Can we all agree to that?” 

A round of affirmatory cheers, none of which were particularly reassuring. 

Great. 

Shane: hey, just a warning. The Voyageurs team is coming your way 

Shane: if you’re working

Shane: like, we’re going to GO to you. Physically. 

Svetlana: will you be coming again? 

Svetlana: ;) 

Svetlana: physically 

Shane stared at the texts, trying to make sense of the response he had received. Language barrier, he thought, and then the double-meaning hit, his lips rounding into an ‘o’ as he hurriedly closed the conversation. She couldn’t have been flirting, not when he’d told her he wasn’t interested in her that way-- Maybe she just had that kind of humor. Still, he couldn’t afford for the wrong person to see a text message like that on his screen, not when he had already deflected several questions about his (nonexistant) ‘love life’ that night. 

He would clear things up with her when they went later that night-- 

Surely she hadn’t been flirting.

Sticky

The booth was sticky and he didn’t want to even begin to imagine what might have caused a booth in a strip club to be sticky. 

“Do you think,” Hayden started, his elbows rattling the table as he lurched forward. “That they pay well?” 

Comeau’s laugh was loud enough to draw a few questioning stares. “What, being a Voyageur doesn’t pay well enough?” 

Hayden scoffed, gesturing to the stage where several women draped themselves around the static poles, one spinning around the mobile pole front and center. “Pays just fine. But do you think they make a lot? Like, living wages?”

“Who gives a fuck,” Drapeu said, shrugging as he took a drink off of a passing server’s tray. “They’re here for us to look at. Or,” His smile turned sharp as he dipped his chin in Shane’s direction. “If you’re like Cap, they’re here to touch.” 

Shane frowned at the comment but didn’t otherwise correct it-- It would have been a lie to contradict him, with how open Hayden had been about paying for Svetlana to ‘treat’ him. 

Better they thought it had been her and not him. 

Shane found his gaze wandering, the conversation around him fading into a dull buzz as he searched what seemed like an endless crowd for either of the two people he somewhat cared about seeing. 

Svetlana was easy to spot, perched on the lap of one of the patrons, her legs almost entirely bare, glittery, like they had been painted with something. He should have stopped there-- Should have stopped himself from continuing to look, but he didn’t. 

Ilya was a beacon-- Radiant, his hair a halo in the shifting neon lights. Shane’s eyes drifted lower, pausing on the single pierced nipple, drifting lower, following the trail of moles and the dusting of darker, just as curly hair. His face heated as he forced himself to look away and re-focus on the conversation that was going on around him. 

“Oh thank God,” he murmured as he accepted a beer off the tray of another passing server, a male this time, one not nearly as gorgeous as Ilya. The condensation made his hands slick as he tried to pop the tab, shooting Hayden a grateful, shaky smile as Hayden opened it for him, shaking his hand off after. His stomach rolled at the combination of alcohol and the salad he had had for dinner but he swallowed it down, letting the bitter taste of the beer settle on his tongue. 

The hand that settled on his shoulder startled him enough that he almost yelped, biting his tongue hard enough to taste copper in the process. He knew, without looking who it was, her perfume settling over him like a floral shroud. Svetlana. 

Drapeau whistled, then lifted his drink, tipping it in her direction. “Any chance you could get me another one of these?” 

Svetlana looked him up, then down, slowly enough that it would be obvious she was doing so. Her lip curled, red against her white, slightly crooked teeth. “Do I look like waitress?” 

Before Drapeau could open his mouth to respond, Shane interrupted them, fearing what Drapeau might be willing to say to her. “No, you don’t look like a waitress. But can I talk to you? Maybe somewhere more private?” He needed to get a handle on this before things went south even more than they already were. 

Svetlana’s returning smile was wolfish as she squeezed Shane’s shoulder, her nails digging in hard enough that he could feel it through the fabric of his shirt. “Of course, only best room for favorite hockey player. Come.” Her words left no room for argument, her heels silent against the worn, matted carpet flooring as she walked away without waiting for Shane to respond. 

“I’m going to..” Shane trailed off, knowing that it was obvious that he would be following her. The echoing wolf whistle and cheers from his teammates bordered on humiliating but were thankfully mostly drowned out by the shitty bass from the overhead sound system and the laughter and conversation from the other patrons. He weaved through the crowd, his skin crawling, shirt feeling too tight, too rough as he did his best not to touch anyone else. 

Svetlana’s hand snaked out from behind a brushed velvet curtain, snagging his wrist as he walked by it. Her touch grounded him, bothered him at the same time. It was hard to remind himself that this was a friendly touch when he was already so overstimulated he wanted to scream. She tugged on his arm until he ducked behind the curtain, his nose wrinkling at the harsh smell of a freshly smoked cigarette. 

“What did you want to talk about?”

“The text you sent me earlier,” Shane rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight to his other foot. “What did you mean?” 

Her confusion was written plainly on her face, which only served to confuse him. Did she not realize which text he was referring to? He frowned, then got his phone out, opening their conversation. “When you asked if I’d be coming again..” He looked at the floor, studying the worn out toe of his tennis shoe. “Physically.” 

Svetlana plucked the phone from his outstretched hand before he could blink, squinting at the thread of messages he had pulled up. She exhaled slowly, her lips twitching as she fought a smile. She started to type something, leaning away from Shane as he reached back for his phone. 

Shane: for you yes 

“Is not me sending you texts,” She finally said, holding it back out to him. “I give you his number, not mine.” 

The panic that rose within him made his legs feel weak, his ears starting to ring. “What do you mean?” He did his best to keep his voice steady but it was shaky, higher pitched than usual as he sat down on the threadbare cushioned bench in the corner of the tiny, barely private room. 

“Ilya. I give you Ilya’s number.” She shrugged, either ignoring, or not realizing that Shane was on the verge of a panic attack. “He is lonely, you are clearly lonely. Is good for you.”

“It’s not-- This is not good for me,” Shane whispered, his eyes wide and damp as he stared up at her. “I thought I was talking to you, not another man! Not a,” he lowered his voice again, almost pleading with her now, “male stripper. Not that there’s anything wrong with that but this is my career and if you couldn’t tell, my teammates are,” His mouth twisted to the side as he tried to come up with the most polite way of putting it. “Not.. Strictly accepting.” 

“Accepting of what? You say you are not gay, right?” She said flatly, throwing his own words back at him, her eyebrows raised almost challengingly. 

“Right.” 

“So what is problem? Is just two attractive men being friends. Surely this is not crime.” 

The color had all but leeched from Shane’s face but he nodded along with her words. “Right,” he whispered again, though it did nothing to reassure himself that this was okay. That the open line of  communication with someone he was more than a little bit attracted to wasn’t the worst thing he had ever done. 

“Great,” She beamed at him, fluffing her hair with one hand, adjusting her clothes with the other. “You should probably tell him you know truth. Or don’t. Is not my business anymore.” 

Shane stared at her, dumbfounded by the ease in which she shed all responsibility for the situation she had put the both of them in. He shook his head, then looked at the text she had sent Ilya. “Oh my God, Svetlana, friends do not send friends texts like this. This is-- This is flirting!” 

Svetlana pursed her lips then shrugged. “I am his friend and flirt with him. Is no big deal. Now, was that all you wanted to talk about? I have money to make tonight.” 

He exhaled slowly, pressing his palms against his eyes so hard that he saw stars before letting his hands fall back to his sides. “I guess. But why do.. This? Set us up to text each other?” 

Svetlana paused, her hand on the curtain that separated them from the rest of the building. The look she gave Shane was curious and maybe a little sad. “Because I think maybe he likes you. Because I think, maybe, you might like him too.” She left Shane with that, the curtain swinging shut behind her. 

Shane groaned, the sound filling the relative silence of the space as he tried to collect his thoughts. He would delete the ‘Svetlana’ contact. It was the only logical solution to his problem-- There was no way he would be able to give into the attraction between them and there was no way that anything serious could ever be left to develop. 

He tapped the contact, his finger hovering over delete. It would be easy. Just a touch or two, a confirmation that he really wanted to delete it. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to, his hand beginning to tremble. There was no reason for him to be this hung up on someone he had only physically been with once, someone he had only texted with for a matter of days. But he was. 

Shane: Svetlana told me. That it’s not her. 

Shane: but don’t worry, I’m not mad or anything! 

Shane: can I see you? Not here? 

His nails were jagged, bitten down to the skin by the time the responding text lit up his screen. 

Ilya: ok

The restaurant was dimly lit, soft music playing in the background. It had been a busy week for the Voyageurs, full of press conferences and last minute interviews, but Shane had finally managed to carve out time for himself-- It was the perfect time to meet Ilya and define their ‘relationship’. 

The linen shirt he wore clung to his sweat-damp skin, the sparkling water he sipped on flat, bitter on his tongue. He checked his watch again, then the time on his phone. Fifteen minutes had passed since Ilya had confirmed he was almost there. 

He avoided making eye contact with the waiter, who had been hovering not entirely discreetly since taking his drink order, checked his phone again, and was just about ready to send another text when the scrape of the other chair made him look up. Ilya’s jeans were slung low on his hips, his shirt short enough that it showed just the hint of tanned skin. His hair looked as though it had been somewhat tamed, only a few stray curls curving around his ears, brushing his forehead. He looked younger without the overdone, costume-like outfit that Shane had seen him in before. 

“Is fancy,” Ilya spared the rest of the restaurant only a brief glance, his lips tilting up as he picked up his menu. “Not even numbers on it?” 

“You can get whatever you want,” Shane rushed to say, his face flushing pink. “I’ll pay.” 

“Is date, then?”

“No! No. Just..” Stress. Shane was stressed under the full weight of Ilya’s grey-brown stare, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll just pay, please let me.” 

Ilya’s eyes narrowed but he otherwise didn’t comment, instead picking the menu up again. The English blurred together for him, the words mixed with French and almost completely unintelligible. He looked at Shane over the top of the menu, studying his face. He was prettier in person, captivating in ways that his shitty TV hadn’t been able to fully show, that he hadn’t been able to see under the neon lights of the Vanilla Unicorn. Full bottom lip, reddened from being bitten. Upturned eyes, warm brown and wide as he scanned the menu for what seemed like the tenth time since Ilya had started paying attention. Long, straight nose, freckles dotting his face. Cute. 

Their waiter, or who Ilya assumed was their waiter, cleared his throat, mild interest visible in his expression as he looked between the two of them. “Are you ready to order?” 

Shane looked up at that, then nodded stiffly. When Ilya didn’t immediately begin speaking he wet his lips and then set his menu down. “The beurre-blanc salmon and.. The mixed greens.” 

“Same as him,” Ilya said, shrugging at the slightly panicked look that Shane gave him. “And.. whatever he is drinking.” The waiter, James, bowed his head and collected their menus, leaving their table with a few murmured pleasantries. “So.”

“Oh my God,” Shane groaned, slowly lowering his head to the table, clasping his hands at the back of his head. “This was a mistake, I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

Ilya blinked then rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “Hollander. Is fine. People do.. People hang out all the time. Breathe and get over self.” His drink was placed in front of him, a sparkling water to match Shane’s. It looked relatively inoffensive-- He picked it up, took a sip and coughed, immediately putting it back down. “What the fuck is this, Hollander?” 

Shane slowly lifted his head, unable to fight his smile as the panic receded, replaced only by amusement. “Sparkling water. Probably Perrier or something.” 

“Is gross.” Ilya’s voice was flat as he glared at his glass, pushing it closer to the middle of the table. “Sparkling water,” he mimicked, a poor imitation of Shane’s voice. “Not even alcohol.” 

Shane’s laugh was soft but audible, his eyes crinkling from his smile. It was refreshing being around someone who spoke their mind. His teammates were all media trained, perfect in the way that was remarkably fake (at least, in most public settings), and Shane was tired of it. Tired of the way that they were all, himself included, incapable of being real. “Sorry it’s not cheap liquor. I wanted you to come because.. I guess I just wanted to talk to you,” he admitted, toying with the straw that was still wrapped, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. “We’ve been texting but.. I didn’t know it was you and I just-- I was having fun. I don’t get to have fun very often. Sounds stupid, right?” 

“Is not stupid. I liked it too. Should have told Svetlana to fuck off, though.” Ilya leaned back in his chair, relaxed despite the strange, upscale environment. “So you are not gay,” At Shane’s shh, he scoffed but lowered his voice, “you are not gay, but you get off to men touching. Hm.” 

“I’m not gay,” Shane whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop. “I don’t know what I am. Or what I want, really. I’m not-- I’m not allowed to really know or explore or figure it out. But I like you.” At Ilya’s grin, wide enough to show his slightly crooked teeth, Shane winced. “As a friend. I wanted to talk to you because I want to make it clear that we can be friends. No more flirting. No more weird texts. Just stuff that friends talk about.” 

“Sure, yes, if it will make you feel better.” Ilya paused, then unwrapped his silverware as his plate was set before him by James. “But I flirt with all my friends.” His smile was almost convincingly innocent as he poked at his salmon with his fork. “Is normal.” 

“It’s not normal and it will make me feel better.” Shane pushed his own food around, his stomach churning, his nerves still somewhat frayed. “When you were texting me about hockey.. Did you actually know about the other teams?” 

Ilya tilted his head to the side, grimacing at the taste of the fish. “A little. Svetlana, she loves hockey. I like it, but I asked her for help.” 

It was a bad idea, but what was one more in a string of other bad ideas? 

“I have two tickets,” Shane started, doing his best to remain as casual as possible. “For my games. Comp tickets, my parents come sometimes but.. Not always. Not super regularly. If you ever wanted to come, you guys could have them. Or just her. Or just you.” 

“Tickets.” Ilya considered it, then nodded. “Okay, Hollander. I will tell her. Am sure that she would like.” 

Shane’s shoulders relaxed and finally, he started to eat the meal he had half-heartedly ordered himself. 

It went well, all things considered-- 

Even if Shane found himself thinking just a little too long about the sharpness of Ilya’s jaw, and the way his shirt gaped, showing just a hint of collarbone. 

His heart beat just a little faster every time Ilya even so much as looked at him, and fuck. 

That wasn’t supposed to happen with ‘friends’.