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Ilya's eyes burned, but he forced them to stay open despite how tired he was.
His arm had gone numb a long time ago, but he didn't dare move an inch.
He barely even dared to breathe, as if moving the air around them risked shattering the moment.
Shane was…fucking beautiful. In every possible way. It wasn't fair that this was the first time Ilya just got to simply hold him, to be close to him like this, when he was so gorgeous. Obviously Shane was also sexy, the whole world got to appreciate that side of him, but Ilya would trade all of the magazine photoshoots and shirtless ads for more time seeing him at peace like this. One of them was always rushing to leave, either to get back before they were gone for too long or to get away before the emotions got to be too real.
They had been getting too real for Ilya for a while, and with everything lined up perfectly for once, he couldn't resist the temptation of asking Shane to stay. He'd tried to convince himself it was a bad idea, he really had. He'd spent days leading up to the game telling himself so, that he shouldn't cross a line that he couldn't come back from. He'd argued the points (that there was no way they could actually date, that it would ruin their careers, that he could never go home again) to himself while researching best recipes for macrobiotic diets. But then he told himself the recipe didn't have to be for Shane, that Ilya was also a professional hockey player who would benefit from knowing a few healthy recipes, so it was fine to look around. He also told himself, while going back into the store for ginger ales he'd purposefully skipped the fist loop around, that they could be for anything. Maybe they would be for treating his hangover after he celebrated the win with the team. They weren't for Shane.
But then Shane was there, in front of him, fresh from washing off in Ilya’s shower, and any desire to keep fighting against what he wanted disappeared in an instant. Ilya gestured for him to get back in the bed, kissed on him as he convinced him to stay, fucked him again to make good on his promise of not being done with him, then took his time cleaning them up.
Neither of them had to run off, no one was waiting for them to return, not a soul was suspicious about where they were. Unlike so many times before, this time when Shane had looked at Ilya with those heavy lidded eyes, Ilya didn't have to force distance between them.
Between himself and how much he felt for Shane.
He didn't have to leave or watch as Shane left, braced for that sickening knot in his stomach. Instead, he was able to kiss Shane again, and again, and then wrap himself around Shane and hold him close. He slid one arm under Shane's head, softly saying, "Here, rest," before he grabbed the sheet and pulled it around them. Once settled, he wrapped his other arm around Shane's chest and kissed at his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, as he whispered, "You'll need to recover your energy to keep up with me."
"Fuck off," Shane had muttered, and his voice had already been heavy with sleep. It had made Ilya ache a little, and he wanted to push Shane into talking more with that voice to make up for all the times he could've heard it before. Tempted to tickle at his sides or bite at his shoulders until Shane responded.
He didn't though. Instead, he tightened his arm around Shane and pressed his knees into the back of Shane’s, and when Shane sleepily lifted one knee Ilya tangled their legs together, maneuvering himself until every inch of them was touching.
By the time Ilya felt satisfied with their closeness, Shane's muscles had relaxed, and as Ilya held him he could feel as his breaths evened out under Ilya’s hand on his chest. He was extra glad that he had left the blinds open. It had been sexy while fucking Shane, the windows wide open to the world, even if there was no chance of anyone seeing them. Now, though, the brightness in the room kept Shane illuminated in front of him.
He could only see the back of his head and over the side of it, but the sunlight trickling in still shone across the high point of his cheekbones. There was a thin dusting of freckles there, only a hint of what could be seen across Shane's face. Ilya almost wanted nothing more than to follow the freckles down his cheeks, to kiss each one, or stare at them for as long as he could.
Except he did want something more, and that was for Shane to stay asleep in his bed, in his arms. It felt important to him, like something significant was happening with Shane sleeping, something too big to hold on to. Like if Shane woke up he would just disappear, vanish out the door like every other time.
But he had agreed to stay.
Ilya would have a second chance to hold him to sleep that night. He had the rest of the day to be with Shane. Not fucking him, not fighting against him, just being. The rest of the day, an entire night together, and even the next morning.
One perfect day, and then they would go back to their usual ways. Hardly talking at all, weeks passing between texts, and only happening before rushed meetings that ended with cold hotel beds.
But that was tomorrow's concern.
Ilya rubbed his thumb against Shane's chest, watching the gentle movement from his shoulders as he breathed. He was also tired, but this time was precious, so he couldn't bring himself to let his eyes close. Even if he couldn't see Shane's face or count the freckles on his cheek, it was still Shane.
Shane, pressed against his chest, his breath brushing against Ilya's arm, relaxed and sleeping and fucking gorgeous. Ilya wanted to savor every moment of it. So, he blinked away the burning in his eyes, unsure of whether they protested the fatigue or staring so long.
There was a small tuft of hair sticking up from Shane’s forehead. It had dried funny after Ilya had wiped the sweat from his forehead with a wet cloth, when Shane was too boneless after the second round to rinse off in the shower. Ilya appreciated the sight of it more than he should, because he knew he was the only one who got to see it. The only one who got to make him like this. He was the one who cut through the acts and performances Shane always put on, who got to strip him of the role of Hockey's Golden Boy and cut through to the core of Shane underneath, the Shane who was funny, and soft, and desperate for someone else to take control, to pull him from his head, to quiet all the noise that played there and let him rest.
Ilya wasn’t sure if anyone else could see how much Shane needed rest. Not just the kind gained from the sleep— knowing Shane he probably got 8.5 hours a night every night— but rest from being The Shane Hollander. The rest gained from being stripped down of expectations. It had been a hard season for him, after the back to back Stanley Cup wins. Ilya could see it in the way he carried himself during games, the tension in his body during pressers. He was pushing himself further, harder, demanding more of himself and of others. Ilya knew that it wasn't sustainable, that Shane would slip up somewhere, lose focus eventually.
What he didn’t know was whether Shane had anywhere else where he could relinquish control. If he had anyone else who didn’t see him first and foremost as Montreal’s Star. Ilya was honest enough with himself to admit that he liked that. He felt… important, chosen, to be the one place Shane let someone take care of him. But he also worried sometimes that he didn't fulfill his role well enough. That maybe he was more stress than an hour of relief every few weeks was worth.
Now though, with a full day ahead of them, Ilya intended to live up to the part. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of Shane's neck, feeling the fluff of his hair against his nose, before pulling back again.
Shane probably wasn't much of a bath person. Ilya thought he seemed like one of those people who wrinkled their nose at the thought of sitting in dirty water, but Ilya also felt like he could convince him. He could wash him in the shower first, maybe blow him there, then pull him into the tub. Maybe he'd fuck him before all that, then in the tub he could enjoy Shane resting against him just as languid as he was now. Or maybe he'd wait to fuck him until after, and then he could take his time. Use his fancy lotions, a kind of luxury Shane never even considered indulging in, and rub Shane down in a way that both teased him and catered to him. They had been doing the quick and desperate thing for years now, and Ilya realized suddenly how badly he wanted one night of slow with Shane.
There were so many options for how they could spend the night, and Ilya wanted it to be perfect. These opportunities would be far and few between. And… if the way Ilya was starting to feel continued, they had to be limited.
There would only be so many times they could do this before it would snap something in him, before the line he had crossed turned into a garrote around his neck. As perfect as the man who laid in his arms was, dusted with freckles and hair messed up, he was just a dream. All of this was too good to be true, and Ilya knew it deep down. He knew it would hurt tomorrow. He would come back after the game to ginger ales in the fridge that wouldn't be touched for months and would have to sleep alone.
It was the two parts of the single lesson he’d learned from his mother’s death: he didn’t get to love for long, and no amount of hurt was ever able to undo the underlying sweetness of the few stolen moments he did get. So Ilya would make damn sure the few times he and Shane were together like this would be perfect. The pain would come and it would get to be too much, but if he crafted enough perfect moments he would be able to look back on these times with no regrets.
The steady rhythm of Shane's breathing started to change, a subtle shift in his chest that Ilya felt through his palm. Ilya watched him closely, just as he had been the whole time, as Shane began to stir. He twitched, then shifted, and fuck, he turned his head to look at Ilya and he smiled. Blyat, he was so gorgeous.
Ilya knew what this chance was, and he knew he needed it to be executed perfectly. He would take care of Shane. He would get him dressed in Ilya's clothes, and cook for him, and give him one of his drinks and watch him smile. He knew better than to even think about the future, but today was promised. He would have the whole day with Shane, and he would make him happy.
And for Ilya, that would be enough.