Archive of Our Own

When Ilya had given Shane his room number on the beach, there had been heat in Ilya’s belly, eyes, and mouth. Electricity had coursed between their thumbs, and the softness of Shane’s lips had called to him with a desperate need that had ravaged Ilya’s insides since Shane had left him, confused and shattered in Boston. Since Ilya had tried to kiss him, and Shane had turned his face away. 

Hollander, Ilya reminded himself. Not Shane. Only Hollander.

Still, he’d mostly expected Shane to open the door of room 1217, mutter out a nervous, We should talk, and then get kissed into submission. If history and experience held true, they’d be naked within two minutes. 

No part of Ilya was prepared for Shane Hollander.

For I’m gay, and I think I like you maybe a little too much, and Sick, like crazy? Because yes, that was true, too. Just the mention of it had dug up a box full of ugly memories that Ilya thought he’d buried with his mother.

No part of Ilya had been prepared to let someone see him cry for the first time in ten years.

Shane still fit perfectly in his arms, or maybe Ilya fit perfectly in Shane’s. They clung to each other on the edge of the bed, Shane’s knees bracketing Ilya’s thighs. Ilya’s grip was too tight, but he couldn’t loosen it. Not when his heart was cracked open and Shane was there, holding him, whispering, “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here.”

Ilya had spent years shoving his pain down, deep enough that it couldn’t choke him anymore: his feelings for Shane, his mess of a family, his self-loathing, the grief he carried that was still as constant as breathing, the complicated push and pull that Russia held over him. They all rose to the surface now, trying to flee through Ilya’s mouth. He clenched it shut, so they climbed aboard drops of saltwater and escaped from his eyes instead. They dripped down his cheeks and left his skin for Shane’s. 

Ilya couldn’t blame them. He always wanted to be closer to Shane, too.

And Shane—beautiful, confusing, complicated, simple, honest, fascinating Shane—didn’t say a word about Ilya’s tears. Shane murmured so soft and low that Ilya couldn’t make out what he was saying. He wasn’t sure if they were words at all, or just comforting sounds from Shane’s lips to Ilya’s hair. Shane’s hands smoothed over him with the same tenderness as his voice, and slowly, Ilya’s tears stopped falling. The pain wasn’t gone, but it was shared. With Shane holding part of it, the weight wasn’t so crushing.

Eventually, when Ilya’s heart calmed and his breaths matched Shane’s, Ilya slowly lowered them back onto the bed. They spread across the sheets together, not quite nestled into each other, but not separated, either. Their feet hung off the bed into open air, the pillows too high above them to properly settle into. It didn’t matter. 

It had been three and half months of silence. Of the echo of Shane’s footsteps in the hall. Of the front door closing carefully behind him. Of I’m sorry, rattling through Ilya’s home, his ears, his bones, while two empty plates mocked him from the coffee table. Two months of torture, seeing Shane and Rose everywhere, in tabloids and social media and incredulous voices in the locker room.

After months of thinking he might never have this again, they could be laying on a concrete floor for all Ilya cared. They were quiet as he soaked up Shane’s warmth with greedy skin. Shane radiated sunlight that shined through Ilya’s cracks and melted pieces of him that he’d iced over—numbed purposefully—more than a decade ago. 

Shane’s arm wrapped around him, and Ilya let his fingers walk the length of Shane’s spine. And maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it was too hopeful again and he would be crushed once more—maybe Ilya was too much his mother’s son—but each touch felt like more. Ilya was afraid to close his eyes, half worried that he’d reopen them to find this was just a dream.

“Ilya…” Shane started, far too seriously. Ilya had already shattered in front of him, had let Shane peer into the cracks in Ilya’s heart too closely. He was too raw to peel his ribs back any further for Shane, and too embarrassed to tell Shane any of it.

“So,” Ilya plucked at Shane’s relaxed, button down shirt, more muted than Ilya’s bright one, hoping to steer them quietly toward gentler waters. “Your stylist picked this too?”

Shane’s cheeks pinked. “Not exactly. I mean, I help.”

“What is it like?” Ilya asked. “You say, ‘I want to look fun and sexy like Ilya Rozanov—’”

“Fuck off.” Shane laughed and flicked Ilya’s arm, but then his fingers settled there just as fast, his thumb soothing Ilya’s skin.

Ilya couldn’t find a reason to hold back his smile. Not anymore. “I am serious. I am good example.”

“Yeah? This doesn’t even fit you. What, it didn’t come in your size?” Shane retorted. He traced one fingertip over the texture of Ilya’s tight tank, but his lips tipped up at the corners. Ilya loved to see him so playful. “Maybe I’m inspired by a lot of people.”

“You like how this fits. You stare at all my muscles when you think no one is looking. But I am looking. I see. A lot of people, like who? Not Rose Landry again?” Ilya raised his brows, but Shane just laughed. 

“It was never going to work with her. I know that now.” 

I know that now. Not a trace of anxiety or second guessing. Settled-inside-himself was a good look on Shane. Ilya was unreasonably proud of Shane for it. 

Ilya reached across the empty space between them to cup the back of Shane’s neck. His smile grew as Shane’s eyes fluttered closed. They reopened, fixing on Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya’s stomach tightened and fluttered again. “Yes. I know, too. You told me. Very gay Shane Hollander. I will not forget.”

Shane made a strangled little noise that Ilya wanted to eat, but didn’t know how. Yet. He would find a way. There were lots of Shane noises that Ilya was desperate to swallow and plant, like seeds, inside of himself. Maybe the light and warmth Shane was shining into all Ilya’s fissures would allow them to grow.

“Not very,” Shane insisted. “Just…” Shane’s mouth twisted as he tried to find the words, but Ilya didn’t need him to. I think I like you maybe a little too much, was still echoing impossibly in Ilya’s ears. Ilya leaned over him, ducked his head, and placed a sucking kiss to Shane’s jaw, savoring the way Shane relaxed into the bed with a smile, tilting his chin up for more.

“Just… I want…” Shane sighed. “I don’t want last time to be the last time. Or this to be the last time.” 

So, they were back to Shane’s serious discussion. Ilya wished they could have time to just be, but Shane’s head was too loud. Like a splinter, the only way to ease Shane’s discomfort was to get it out.

“You know we still can’t be anything. It’s impossible,” Ilya mumbled. He hated every word as they passed through his mouth. Hated the unfairness of it all. Hated himself, too, for starting them on the path that ended up here. He searched Shane’s face, but Shane wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You want to come out, yes? Do you understand why I can’t do that?”

“What? No. I mean yes, I get it. I can’t either.” Shane’s eyes closed on a grimace. “We would lose everything.”

Ilya’s first clenched. He wanted to punch a wall, to rail against Russia, to demand things change so he and Shane could just be. But there was nothing that could be done.

“I know we can’t be—like… I’m not asking for that. What about how we were before?” Shane asked, pulling back so he could meet Ilya’s eyes. “I’m okay with that. I want that.”

“Really?” Ilya weighed the idea, then shook his head. “No. You don’t. You said this was a big deal for you. You wouldn’t tell me you were gay if you weren’t—if you didn’t—ah, I mean…” Ilya was the one who couldn’t find words this time. “You could have someone constant. A man in Montreal.”

“I don’t want some guy in Montreal,” Shane blurted quickly. His eyes drifted down to Ilya’s mouth again. “I don’t—and you—Look, I can’t be openly with anyone, anyway. It would be unfair to ask someone to hide for me. But you and I both have reasons to keep this secret. I know you’re not going to tell anyone. You know I’m not going to tell anyone. We like doing it.”

“But you could have more than a few times a year. You could have… You know,” Ilya stumbled over the words. He loathed them just as much as he knew they needed to be said. “Life. Life with someone.”

“Why are you so stubborn? I don’t want a life with someone else. Not right now, anyway,” Shane said, still unable to meet Ilya’s eyes. He shrugged, like that was nothing. Like he was giving up nothing, when he was giving up the entire world. “Hockey is everything to me. I’m playing the best I ever have with Montreal. We’re winning cups, going to the playoffs every year. We’re first in the division—”

“Barely,” Ilya interrupted with a scowl. “Boston is only two wins from top seed.”

“Yeah, assuming I lose at some point,” Shane shot back. “Also, New York is right on your ass lately.”

“And your ass,” Ilya retorted.

“Oh my god, we’re not doing this right now,” Shane said, huffing a little laugh. Ilya wished he could swallow it, as well as the half-smile on Shane’s mouth, and the sparkle in his dark eyes. “The point is, I’m not going to go find someone else. Just—if you want it and I want it, we don’t have to stop. Right?”

It would be so easy to take the gift Shane didn’t even know he was giving, and run with it. Isn’t this exactly what he’d wanted? To have Shane whenever he could, even in secret?

But Ilya couldn’t live with himself if he took advantage. He—stupidly, ridiculously, irresponsibly, foolishly—cared about Shane too much to do that to him. “You need to demand more. Demand everything. A relationship. You deserve—”

Shane shook his head. “I don’t want—fuck. Just, stop arguing and listen. I want this. I want you. Right now. Take off your fucking clothes, Rozanov, I’ll prove it.”

“Prove what?” Ilya rolled his eyes. “That you like sucking my dick? Yes, I know.”

“You like sucking mine too,” Shane retorted. “So it’s fine, right? We don’t have to stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Ilya admitted. “But—”

“Rozanov.” Shane covered Ilya’s mouth with his palm. “Don’t say it’s a bad idea. It’s always been a bad idea. It will never stop being a bad idea.”

“But?” Ilya mumbled against Shane’s palm. The motion felt so good that he added small kisses there as well. He wanted to kiss Shane everywhere. He wanted time to kiss Shane everywhere.

“But I don’t care,” Shane declared. “Do you, Mr. I Like Trouble?”

Ilya’s lips pulled up at the memory. “No.”

Shane’s smile spread to match Ilya’s. “Good.”

Ilya couldn’t stand the closeness between them, the honesty that was new and shining like a freshly minted coin. He couldn’t stand the way his heart pounded too hard or how Shane’s eyes were bright and eager. They felt too close to something—to a horizon Ilya had never seen before. 

It was terrifying.

Ilya cleared his throat. “So, then, nothing changes, Mr. I Think I Like You Maybe A Little Too Much?”

“Fuck you,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

Ilya laughed. “Yes, yes, I’m trying. Soon.” He swallowed, suddenly serious. “I am also trying to be clear. We need to be reading the same book. This is… Nothing changes, yes? One more season, Hollander. That’s it.”

Shane shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, his hand trailing up Ilya’s arm to cup the back of his neck. “Yeah, I fucking told myself that last season—and the one before—but fine. Like a contract. We’ll renegotiate the terms again next season. We’re on the same page.”

“What? Negotia—” Shane cut off Ilya’s protest, lunging forward and pressing their mouths together in a kiss that was clumsy and hungry and—oh god. Ilya needed more. So much more. 

He cupped Shane’s face in his palms and slowed them down. His brain tried to stick to whatever words they’d been saying before, but Shane let out a new little sound that Ilya needed to swallow and—

“Shut up and fuck me,” Shane breathed against Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya grinned and nipped Shane’s lip. “So demanding, Captain.”

“Jesus Christ,” Shane mumbled, reaching for the hem of Ilya’s shirt with quick hands. “Get naked and call me that again.”

Ilya laughed, freely and openly, and it felt amazing after their bruising collisions in both Boston and the nightclub in Montreal. Memories of both still made him wake up in a cold sweat. “I should have known that would be a thing for you.”

“Fuck off,” Shane huffed, but nothing about it was serious. He yanked Ilya’s tank up until it bunched under his arms and banded across his chest. Ilya was sure it looked ridiculous pushed up above his pecs, but Shane’s eyes roved over his chest like Shane wanted to take a bite out of him. “How do you even look like this? It’s ridiculous. Want your lifting routine. Want your abs in my mouth.”

Ilya’s grin was ridiculous. He didn’t mind it at all. “Would be hard to do, I think. But I know something else that will fit.” He tapped Shane’s lip, and Shane immediately nipped at Ilya’s finger and pulled it inside the heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. “So hungry every time. Does no one feed you, Hollander?”

“No,” Shane mumbled. He didn’t sound like he was joking. “So take off your pants.”

Ilya lifted his hips, unwilling to argue. Even if he’d bothered to try, he would’ve been interrupted by Shane yanking Ilya’s clothes off and letting them fly across the room. The fabric slammed into something that wobbled and fell with a dull thud. Shane didn’t bother to check what it was, and the heat in his sharp, focused eyes as they fixed on Ilya left him struggling for air.

“So, I guess the talking is over now,” Ilya joked.

Shane stilled, and his gaze held Ilya’s with concern. “I thought it was all pretty settled. Anything else you want to add?”

Oh, this beautiful man. Was it really so simple for him? One, ‘Hey I’m gay, and I think I like you maybe a little too much and can’t keep pretending that’s all this is, but hockey is my one true love so let’s keep fucking in secret and continuing on like normal,’ and everything was settled?

Fine. 

It was settled for Ilya then, too. 

“Nope.”

“Great. Why am I still dressed, then?” Shane asked. Ilya grinned and shook his head. He pried Shane’s fingers from the buttons of his shirt, pulling the fabric up and over Shane’s head instead. It fell to the floor somewhere, and Shane stripped off the rest of his clothes to add to the pile. Shane nodded to where Ilya’s tank was still rubberbanded around his chest. “Leave that on. God.”

Ilya grinned as warm satisfaction spread through him. “You think I am attractive, Hollander?”

“Fuck off.” Shane rolled his eyes as he settled over Ilya, kissing across his stomach, licking Ilya’s muscles. He groaned against Ilya’s skin. Abs-in-mouth seemed to do it more than usual for Shane, and Ilya smirked.

“Come on, Hollander. I tell you how pretty you are.”

“You’re a troll,” Shane mumbled, kissing along the space between Ilya’s hip and inner thigh. It felt—Wow. Fucking incredible.

Ilya raised his brows, trying to hold onto his thoughts even as they melted away from him. “See? I say you are pretty, you say I am ugly.”

“You know. By the pool, when you—” Shane stumbled over his words and sat up to glare at Ilya. “You fucking know. And we were done talking, remember?”

Ilya laughed and stretched up to kiss Shane’s smiling upper lip, and Shane let Ilya pull him down to the sheets where they laid side by side. Their puffs of air against skin, lips, jaws, and necks were pure, effervescent joy. 

They were all hands and mouths and tongues, and Ilya’s heart was just full enough that he chose courage instead of fear. “Will you stay a while?” he asked between kisses along Shane’s neck.

Shane’s swallow moved across Ilya’s lips, and Ilya could almost taste it. It was intoxicating, being so close to him that their bodies were more together than apart. “Just until everyone goes to bed and the hall is clear.”

Shane probably had no idea that everyone who wasn’t boring liked to go out to the bars until three in the morning. If Ilya played this right, he could have Shane until nearly four. How many orgasms could he wring out of Shane by then? The possibilities were unlimited. 

But Shane’s quick departure in Boston still lingered in the back of Ilya’s mind. “You are sure?”

“I’m sure,” Shane said immediately, and his ears pinkened as he dipped his head in a small nod. Ilya believed him.

 “Okay,” Ilya agreed, kissing him again, rolling Shane under him. He loved that Shane melted immediately, supple and pliant beneath him.

Shane smiled against Ilya’s mouth. Shane smiled up at the ceiling while Ilya kissed down Shane’s chest. He smiled with his eyes closed as Ilya’s lips circled his nipple and sucked. He smiled with his head tilted back—pressed deep into the pillow—as Ilya’s hand curled around his cock. And Shane looked beautiful, every single moment of it.

It should’ve been terrifying—should’ve made Ilya run. But, ‘I think I like you maybe a little too much,’ kept bouncing around inside all of Ilya’s organs like a rogue hockey puck, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but happy. It had been so long since Ilya had felt true happiness like this. 

Months? Years? Ever? Sex had never once felt like this.

He trailed kisses lower, teasing, licking, nipping, his hand coming up to play with Shane’s pebbled nipple. Shane closed his fingers over Ilya’s, linking them together, and the thing inside Ilya—yes, that was definitely happiness, what the fuck?—glowed even warmer.

Ilya teased Shane’s cock with his favorite tricks before sucking him down. Shane’s wide palm pressed down harder, his fingers stroking Ilya’s while he arched and moaned.

“Holy fuck,” Shane breathed, trying to keep quiet. “Oh, god, I missed this. Missed you.”

Two words that broke Ilya open. 

Not in a bad way, like a vase that was rendered useless. It was like cracks in a sidewalk where dandelions grew, like splitting open a rock and finding a cluster of crystals hidden inside. Like the matryoshka his mother loved, where each nesting doll opened to reveal more. So much more. Endless more. Entire worlds of more.

I missed you too, Ilya thought, and swallowed around Shane’s cock.

Shane had already agreed to stay, so Ilya didn’t bother rationing his doses or drawing it out. He let his fingers drink their fill of Shane’s long lines. He soaked in Shane’s shining eyes, his moans and gasps and pleas. Ilya was rapacious when it came to Shane.

“Wait, stop, I’m going to—I don’t want to—so fast—I want—” Shane’s minor distress tasted as good as the rest of him, and Ilya thumbed Shane’s nipple in encouragement.

Ilya pulled back to press wet kisses to Shane’s inner thighs. “We have time enough,” he rasped out. “Take it, Shane. You will have another.”

“I will?” Shane asked, his voice wavering. Shane, always wandering another path. Ilya didn’t bother answering, sucking Shane’s balls into his mouth, laving at them with his tongue, and then Shane arrived at the same conclusion as Ilya. “Oh, fuck, yes, okay.”

“Okay.” Ilya smiled, a little lightheaded as Shane’s expression shifted through strain and pleasure and wonder. 

With Shane on board, Ilya bobbed along his cock with new energy. Their hands were linked over Shane’s chest, and when Ilya squeezed, Shane’s fingers twitched in response. Shane let out quick breaths, barely there moans, and Ilya knew he was right on the edge.

“I’m—I—fuck—” Shane panted quietly. Shane’s other hand tightened in Ilya’s hair like a warning, but Ilya didn’t need it. He swallowed around Shane’s pulsing cock and greedily took everything Shane offered.

Ilya didn’t linger, prowling up Shane’s body for more. More kisses, more skin, more smiles, more of everything he’d thought he might spend the rest of his life missing. He savored the warmth where their stomachs lay flush against each other, and Shane’s ragged breathing as he tried to pull himself together again. Shane tugged on their linked hands to rest them on the pillow beside his face, turning to kiss Ilya’s knuckles. 

Shane was so tender without even trying. Ilya’s chest throbbed with something that hurt and felt good all at the same time. Something he refused to name. It didn’t matter, not right now, not with Shane touching him. 

Ilya pressed soft, chaste kisses across Shane’s arms and chest. Each was a prayer—a thank you, maybe. Ilya lost himself in the devotion of it, until Shane surfaced from the haze. 

Shane squeezed Ilya’s hand and pressed his lips to Ilya’s hair. “Sorry. Give me a second.”

“No, not sorry,” Ilya said, kissing Shane’s collarbone. “Do not be sorry for drowning when I pushed you under the water on purpose.”

Shane’s lips twitched up. “You make it sound so violent. It’s more like you sucked all the oxygen out of me and I’m finally catching my breath.”

Ilya frowned. “But… Is still violent, yes?”

Shane laughed. “Yeah, I guess. I just mean that I want to do it to you, once I remember how to breathe.”

Ilya shushed him, brushing Shane’s damp hair from his forehead. “We have time. Relax. Close your eyes. I am not dying.”

Shane raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly between them. “You’re not?”

Ilya laughed. “Maybe a little, but also enjoying this. Is okay. Just lay.”

“Okay,” Shane murmured, his eyes fluttering shut again. Ilya couldn’t resist. He dipped down to kiss Shane’s relaxed mouth, first with lips, then tongue, then the slightest graze of teeth. Shane did as he was told and laid there quietly, not trying to return the kisses too deeply, or squeeze, or hold Ilya to him. And Shane’s complete surrender captured Ilya’s heart in his palm and cradled it.

“Always so perfect,” Ilya muttered. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

Shane hummed. “I like when you speak Russian,” he said, the words all running together. He was slipping back under, to that other place. Ilya loved watching the wave of it wash over Shane.

“Hollander, you do not let yourself have this enough. Look at you. Was not even mind blowing.” Ilya climbed off the bed to get Shane a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Fuck off,” Shane said, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. He was wearing his angry kitten face. “What do you consider mind blowing?”

That wasn’t what Ilya had meant. This was a word trap, and Ilya was not about to watch an angry Shane storm out of his hotel room when Ilya had plans to keep him in bed for hours. Ilya uncapped the water and handed it to Shane, who sucked down three desperate gulps before his eyes demanded an answer. Ilya set the bottle on the bedside table, leaned in close, and nibbled on Shane’s earlobe. “My cock in your mouth as you take me so good. So slow. So deep.”

Shane shuddered beneath him, his hands cupping Ilya’s jaw and pulling him on top of Shane for kiss after kiss. So quick to forgive. Ilya was constantly grateful for the way Shane never held Ilya’s errors against him. “Jesus Christ. If you want me to blow you, just say that,” Shane mumbled against Ilya’s lips.

Ilya smiled. “I always want.”

“Always?” Shane asked, pressing their foreheads together. “How often do you…you know?”

“What? Sex? Or on my own?”

“Both. Like…” Shane looked away. “Like I have to come at least twice a week.”

Ilya tried to hide his surprise. “Okay. For me, more like twice a day.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Ilya tried not to frown. “But I have gotten you off twice in one hour, so what is different that you only need twice a week?”

Shane looked even more embarrassed. “Never mind. Why are we talking about this? Put your dick in my mouth.” He said it more like please make me stop talking. So, of course, Ilya couldn’t let it go.

“Is because you need another person?” That made a lot of sense, actually. Puzzle pieces clicked into place—things Ilya had noticed subconsciously but never put words to. “You need someone to get you out of your head?”

“Oh my god, Rozanov,” Shane said with a groan, rolling Ilya onto his back, straddling Ilya’s thighs. “Kind of, but also, not really. I’m done talking about it. I want to suck you off. Stop distracting me.”

Ilya grinned. “What do you do alone? In the shower, probably, yes? You love to be clean.”

Shane smothered Ilya’s lips with his hand. “Shut up.”

Ilya grazed Shane’s palm with a tease of teeth, and Shane’s grip softened, his thumb stroking Ilya’s jaw. As much as Shane wanted to fight for control, his body gave it up easily, freely, at the faintest suggestion. What would it take to get Shane to really attack for more than a handful of minutes? Ilya wanted that—craved it, sometimes. He loved seeing how brave Shane could be in both offense and surrender. Loved it so much that he couldn’t choose which was his favorite.

“So, yes? Or does hockey heat your blood? The locker room? Do you wait until everyone leaves—always the good captain, staying behind—and then fist your dick at center ice?” Ilya was delighted to see Shane’s pupils expand so far that his eyes looked black. “So filthy, Captain.”

“I don’t fucking jerk off at center ice,” Shane growled, gripping Ilya’s jaw tighter. 

Ilya grinned. “I think you do.”

“God, you asshole. You like playing, huh?” Shane asked. He slid down Ilya’s body and pulled Ilya’s nipple into his mouth, tugging with his teeth, sucking hard. Ilya hissed out a low breath and Shane smiled against his skin and continued mouthing his way down Ilya’s body. “Well, so do I.”

“I know.” Ilya waggled his eyebrows. “Is why we fuck so good.”

Shane grinned, looking proud of himself, as he placed kiss after kiss along Ilya’s shaft. Shane’s lips were so soft, full, and relaxed. Every touch sent electricity zinging through Ilya’s body. He never wanted it to stop. 

Ilya ran his fingers through Shane’s hair and let himself sink into the moment, committing everything to memory. Shane’s dark, needy eyes, his plump mouth, his strong fingers gripping Ilya’s hip, his blunt nail tracing the line of Ilya’s pelvis. Shane’s body, strong, supple, and muscled. He stretched out beyond Ilya’s legs, the two of them far too long for the bed this way.

“Slow and deep?” Shane asked, his voice low and confident, and Ilya’s cock throbbed.

“Yes,” he said quietly, but Shane was already too hazy to respond. 

Shane dragged his lips over Ilya’s skin, licking along his sac, looking completely blissed out. He could do nothing more to Ilya than this, right here—feather light touches and a face that looked four seconds from ecstasy—and it would be enough to send Ilya over the edge. 

“There is no one like you. Not on any continent. Not in any universe,” Ilya murmured in Russian as his fingers slid through Shane’s hair. Shane’s lips twitched up, but he continued his slow torment. Ilya had never felt anything like it. He’d had lazy blowjobs before, of course, but not—not this. Not this blooming inside him, not this need to link their fingers together over Ilya’s hip, not the warmth that seeped through his veins in something so much hotter than sexual fire. It was a subtly creeping, thick, lava-like burn. It crept through the last, lingering pieces of ice inside him, melting it away. “I am so fucked.”

Shane’s mouth twitched again, another gentle smile, and Ilya cupped Shane’s face in his palm, stroking a thumb over his freckles. Shane was beautiful in ways that went so far beyond his stunning features. 

And yeah, sure, Ilya was fucked. So what? He could be fucked, and blown, and it would be enough—in the same way that being with Shane was never enough. How could one person be both torture and salvation?

But then Shane’s tongue flicked over the tip of Ilya’s cock, tasting him, swirling over his head again and again, and Ilya forgot every word in his head except one.

Shane. Shane. Shane. 

He wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t ruin this like he had before, but it pounded inside him as steadily as his own heartbeat. Shane’s tongue was soft and flat along Ilya’s shaft as Shane took slow inch after inch down his throat. “That’s it. Yes,” Ilya hissed, his fingers lacing with Shane’s. “So good, Hollander. Just like that. So good for me.”

Shane moaned, just a small, quiet hum of pleasure, and kept going. Shane didn’t need encouragement—not when he was like this, focused and dedicated—but Ilya couldn’t help but give it anyway. He liked how Shane sank deeper into the haze as Ilya caressed him with soft words. He liked how Shane tightened his grip on Ilya’s fingers, how his throat opened just a little more, how Shane’s hips sank into the bed and rocked. 

Shane devoted himself to Ilya’s pleasure in a way no one ever had before. No one had ever made Ilya feel so… Important wasn’t a good enough word, but he didn’t have a better one to offer in its place. Ilya let himself float in the pleasure of it. Time didn’t exist in the depths of Shane’s mouth. 

When Shane decided enough was enough, or maybe when his jaw began to ache, Shane shifted from a slow torture to an intentional one. He sped up, pulled Ilya farther down his throat, snuck a hand around to grip Ilya’s ass. It was too much. “Fuck, Hollander. There. Yes. I’m going to come.” 

Shane pulled off, and Ilya took over the motion, fisting his cock fast and hard as Shane kneaded his ass with one hand and gripped Ilya’s fingers with his other. He sucked Ilya’s balls into his mouth, rolling them around with his tongue, and Ilya fucking lost it. He couldn’t keep his eyes open as pleasure overwhelmed him.

“Fuck—I—” He held Shane’s name back, swallowing around it like it was the eucharist at Divine Liturgy, holy and soul-nourishing. Something Ilya didn’t deserve, but might just save him anyway. “Yes, yes. Fuck.”

He pried his eyes open, needing Shane’s gaze, his freckles, his lashes. Shane’s eyes were focused on Ilya. Shane sucked deeper, rolling one of Ilya’s balls against his tongue, and Ilya flung over the cliff. He clutched Shane’s hand as his release coated his stomach and fingers with every pump of his fist. 

“Up, up,” Ilya pleaded. He let go of Shane’s fingers to pull at his shoulder, and then Shane was alongside him again and they were kissing and kissing. Shane’s knuckles brushed Ilya’s hip as he stroked his own cock, and Ilya wrapped his hand around Shane’s. “Wait. Don’t come. I still want to fuck you.”

Shane nodded, and the frantic pace of his fist slowed and stopped. He barely let their lips part enough to whisper, “Please.”

“Can you wait for me?” Ilya asked. Shane mumbled a pained affirmation, and Ilya kissed him again. “Good boy.”

“Fuck you,” Shane grumbled. He pulled at Ilya’s tank until Ilya lifted his arms, and Shane stripped it off. He wiped Ilya’s stomach with it, then kissed Ilya’s forehead, his mouth, his chin, and laid his cheek against Ilya’s shoulder. He threw the shirt somewhere to the floor, a move that felt very un-Shane, and snuggled into Ilya’s side.

Christ. This was more, wasn’t it? Or was Ilya reading it wrong again?

“So…You missed me.” Ilya couldn’t help but tease him in the quiet. He needed to hear it.

“Yeah, you dick. Didn’t you?”

“Why would I? I see me every day.”

Shane laughed, but his hand curled around Ilya’s side. “You’re the worst.”

“Yes, a troll, but I think you like it. Cliff dated a book girl once who read, um…monster fucking, I think is called. That is you. What does your dildo look like? Tentacle, maybe?”

“Jesus,” Shane muttered. “I liked it better when you were speaking Russian, and I didn’t have a clue what you were saying. I know it’s the same shit but at least it sounded sweeter.”

“There is beauty in being honest yet unknowable,” Ilya confessed in Russian, running his fingers along Shane’s jaw. “You could use French this way. Why do you not? No matter how well I know you, I always want to know more.”

“See?” Shane asked. “Almost sounds like you’re not being an asshole.”

Ilya smiled and shook his head at the ceiling, wrapping a cautious arm around Shane’s back. When Shane didn’t squirm away, Ilya let his arm lay a little heavier. It was nice like this, nearly—okay, definitely—cuddled together. “If you did not like that I tease you, we would not be here right now. You like me too much, remember?”

Shane’s cheeks flushed a little darker. “I’m going to regret telling you that, aren’t I?”

“Tell me something else, then.” Ilya’s mind drifted back to the magic of the All-Star game. “Has it ever been like that for you before? On the ice?”

Shane didn’t ask for clarification. “No. Not right away, at least. When I was drafted, it took a while to click with the team. Even when Riley traded to Montreal two years ago, it took time to get our passes down. And ours today were still better than Riley’s and mine are now.”

“Yes, I think the same for me,” Ilya admitted.

Shane puffed a breath of warm air against Ilya’s chest. “All this time pitting us against each other. They could’ve put us on the same team and we would have five cups by now.”

Ilya was proud and sad all at the same time. “Yes, which is why our teams will never trade us. We are too good. And the league would never allow us to sign on one team, even if they could afford us both. Now they really know how good we are together. Other teams would have no chance. One team winning everything is bad for league money.”

Shane sighed. “Yeah, I know. Not profitable.”

Ilya didn’t want to think about all that, or how the most incredible hockey of his life just cemented that he and Shane would never play together outside of All-Stars. “Favorite goal today?”

Shane’s lips twitched up at the corner, and his fingers played lightly over Ilya’s hip. “The one you slipped right past Fitzy to me. That was awesome. I thought for sure you had an opening and were going to take the shot. How did you even know I was there?”

Ilya wasn’t about to tell him about the magnetic field that made Ilya aware of Shane every minute they were near each other. True, Ilya could’ve taken the shot, maybe even faked out the goalie and lit up the lamp, but dropping the pass back to Shane felt even better than if Ilya had sunk it into the net himself. “See what happens when you play with a wing that can keep up?”

Shane squeezed Ilya’s hip. “Fuck off. Hayden is good.”

“Hayden is ordinary. I don’t even play wing and I am better.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“And?” Ilya scoffed, but his hand slid up to curl in Shane’s hair. “Cliff is my best friend. I can like him and say he is only smart on the ice, and that is okay, too.”

Shane rolled toward him until they were face to face, knee to knee. Any bluster Shane was trying to summon was completely ruined by the way his cheek pushed up adorably where it pressed against Ilya’s arm. 

They’d never laid like this before. Relaxed and intimate, great sex behind them and great sex on the horizon. Ilya could get used to this. In fact, now that he’d had it, Ilya worried he would never stop craving it.

“Hayden is on a professional team,” Shane insisted. “We’ve won the cup twice! He’s a good player. I don’t understand why you dislike him so much.”

There were a lot of reasons, but they would all give away how possibly not detached Ilya was to his new agreement with Shane, so Ilya kept his mouth shut. “Mmm. Okay. A player you would trade from your team?”

“Not Hayden.” Shane’s response was immediate. “Wilson, though, easily. Guy’s a fucking asshole.”

Ilya frowned. “You also think I am an asshole.”

“No. I mean, yes.” Shane laughed. “I mean, you are, but not really. Not like that. He’s—just—”

“I am a good asshole?” Ilya clarified, and Shane laughed again and burrowed his face against Ilya’s arm. “So, what? What kind of asshole is Wilson? Homophobic?”

Shane shrugged. “Something like that. A part of it, anyway. I don’t want to talk about it. Yours?”

“He has hurt you?”

“No, nothing like that. Just runs his mouth. Who would you trade?” Shane asked.

Ilya learned very young that the right words can hurt more than a fist to the face. He would find a reason to punch Wilson the next time they played—for Shane—but Ilya wasn’t ready to argue now. He didn’t want to ruin this honesty between them. “Sebbin. Nice guy, but always in the wrong place. Favorite current player?”

Shane’s cheeks flushed. “Um. Next.”

Ilya frowned. “What? Is easy question.”

Shane swallowed, and his eyes flicked up to Ilya’s. “Then… I’m looking at him. He’s been my favorite player since I was seventeen.”

Ilya tried not to broadcast the warmth that filled his bones from the inside out with Shane’s words. He was sure he melted into the bed with it. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I meant not us.”

“Oh.” Shane’s cheeks flushed darker. “Next.”

“What? So boring, Hollander.” Realization dawned shortly after. “Oh. Oh. Is Scott Hunter?”

“No! Fuck off.”

“It is!” Ilya whisper-shouted, delighted. “Dinosaur is your favorite animal.”

Shane tried to hide his grin against Ilya’s arm. “Fuck you. Who’s yours?”

Ilya thought for a moment. “Eric Bennett maybe. Good goalie. Calm. Long career. Still very good at reading the game.”

“Well, he’s also a dinosaur,” Shane snarked.

Ilya’s lips twitched up. “We are like—what is the people who think dinosaur bones and old footprints are sexy?”

“Paleontologists?”

“Yes. That is us. Ugh, disgusting.” Ilya groaned. “Hollander, your boring is rubbing on me. Get off.” 

“Me? How is this my fault?” Shane asked. Ilya poked at Shane’s shoulder, and Shane started to roll away, but Ilya pulled him even closer. Shane laughed again, so free, and Ilya loved the sound. “Maybe you’re just getting old. Like Hunter.”

“I am not old or boring. I am younger than you,” Ilya growled, pinning Shane to the bed. “Take it back.”

Shane’s eyes crinkled and sparkled. “Younger by a month. I said it and I meant it. Worried you’re slowing down, Rozanov?”

“Me? I am fastest skater—”

“Behind me,” Shane argued right back. “And yeah, you were close behind, two seasons ago. Now, though…”

Shane’s smile grew and Ilya’s stomach flipped and fluttered inside of him. This kind of exchange was new. This was—Oh. 

Oh. This was Shane being completely comfortable. Not second guessing. Not thinking and rethinking. Ilya drank in Shane’s face with renewed fascination. 

“This mouth,” Ilya demanded. “Where has this mouth been?”

“Right here. What are you going to do about it?” Shane challenged. 

This was Shane pulling up his protective ribs and letting Ilya see into the heart of him. It made Ilya want to do the same. He stroked Shane’s cheek. “If I say your mouth is beautiful, will you call me troll again?”

Shane’s eyes went soft. “Not if you say it like that.” 

So earnest. So honest. So quick to respond. Was this what it was to truly know Shane Hollander? Ilya was drunk off it. Ilya was—Oh, fuck. Fucking fuck. 

Ilya was falling. Fast and hard.

But there was nothing he could do to stop it now. He’d have to deal with it tomorrow.

“Are you actually speechless?” Shane asked, his eyebrows lifting. “I’ve never seen that before. I was kidding earlier, but maybe you do like dinosaurs because—”

Ilya cut Shane’s terrible chirp short, pressing their lips together with a fresh hunger, a fluttering belly, and fingers that were starved for touch. His hands moved on their own whims, filling their grasp with Shane. With skin, hair, muscle, and freckle.

But what if I quit hockey? Ilya wanted to ask. Would you let us have this all the time? 

The answer, Ilya already knew, was no. Shane had made it clear: no relationships that would interfere with hockey. Coming out, whether Ilya still played or not, would ruin Shane’s career. So Ilya would take these moments, and for now they would have to be enough. 

Ilya let his lips and fingers be greedy. He took and took and Shane gave and gave, and then took from Ilya too, with roaming hands. Shane kissed him with a desperation that had Ilya thinking about a Vegas rooftop, but it didn’t taste like fear or rejection this time. 

How could it, when Ilya had glimpsed more? Had let it fill the empty spaces inside him? He wanted to capture it again now, to swallow it, to cradle it inside him so no one could ever take it away.

“I want to fuck you,” Ilya murmured between kisses down Shane’s neck.

“Can you? Already?” Shane asked.

“Yes. Does not take me long. Need to get lube,” he muttered, but couldn’t pull himself away. He kissed every part of Shane he could reach.

“Yes, but—” Shane swallowed hard.

“But what?”

Shane blurted it out in a rush. “I prepped earlier today, and I’ve been sort of preparing all week. I don’t want a long warm up. I want you to fuck me. Now.”

“Preparing?” Ilya asked, eyebrows raised. Shane nodded. “You thought we would fuck here?”

He looked faintly embarrassed. “I’d hoped.”

Ilya fought a little shiver. The whole week that Ilya had dreaded seeing Shane—dreaded the moment Shane would confirm that their hookups were definitely over—and Shane had been slowly working himself open for Ilya’s cock. “You wore that suit earlier for me?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Fuck you.”

It wasn’t a no. Ilya grinned. “You wanted to be hot for me. You came to Florida to seduce me, Hollander?” Shane’s face flared a bright, glowing red in response. It was maybe the most beautiful he’d ever looked. 

Ilya’s heart raced as Shane stumbled over his words. “Can you just—you don’t want to fuck me, or what? Why are we even talking about this?”

Good point. “You came earlier today, before coming to me?”

“No. The last time was four days ago. But I did get myself ready before I came here. In the shower. I just didn’t come.”

“You what?” Ilya was sure this was a record number of times Shane had shocked him in one day. “Shane Hollander brought a toy on a plane?”

Shane’s eyes widened as he shook his head. “Fuck no. Just used my fingers.”

A vision flashed—burned really—across Ilya’s brain. Shane naked, wet, and panting as he played with his ass, opening himself up, imagining how well Ilya would sink inside him. Ilya’s cock swelled and throbbed more insistently. “Oh my god, Hollander.”

“Boring again?” Shane asked with a hint of a smile.

“No. Yes.” Ilya couldn’t think. Couldn’t find words in English or Russian. His mind was stuck on Shane’s blunt fingers probing his hole. “No. Not now, but yes, all the time. How many?”

Shane’s smile was the most mischievous Ilya had ever seen. “Three.”

It sucked the air from Ilya’s lungs. “Fuck. You can’t tell me that. Fuck.” He pressed his forehead to Shane’s, and Shane cupped the back of Ilya’s neck. Everything felt reversed, like Ilya was on the verge of collapse and Shane held all the cards.

“Remember to breathe,” Shane said softly.

“Who gives a fuck about breathing?” Ilya retorted. “Tell me everything.”

Shane laughed. “Everything?”

“Everything. Always everything.”

Shane’s fingers pushed up along Ilya’s scalp near his nape, and it felt so good that Ilya moaned before he had the chance to hold it back. Shane smiled. “Well, I got back to the hotel room, took off my clothes and made sure that my body wash was in the shower already. I had to find the lube because I—”

“Stop, stop. Such a tease, Hollander.” Ilya laughed as he broke away to swipe the lube from the bedside table. He threw it next to Shane on the bed. “Tell me nothing. Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me how you opened yourself for me.”

Shane shook his head. “That wasn’t the point. The point was no warm up. The point was for you to fuck me as quick as possible—”

“Ah.” Ilya grinned. “But you got sidetracked with all the blowjobs.”

Shane laughed again. God, had they ever laughed so much together before? Now that they had, Ilya would never be satisfied with less.  “Yeah, a bit. Fuck me, Ilya. I want it.”

His name on Shane’s lips was heaven.

Ilya wasn’t going to argue. He ripped open a condom wrapper and expertly rolled it on, slicking himself up with lube. “How do you want it?”

“However you do. Hard. Deep.”

Ilya hummed as he propped himself over Shane and kissed his throat. “Five goals tonight, Hollander. Do you think you deserve a reward?”

Shane swallowed hard. “Only if you think I do.”

“Oh, so eager,” Ilya murmured in Russian. His teeth grazed Shane’s earlobe, and Shane shuddered. “Prove it to me. On your stomach, so I can get nice and deep.”

“I… Could we start like this first?” Shane pleaded quietly. “I need you. Your mouth. On mine.”

Oh, Shane. Ilya’s heart wasn’t guarded enough for this—for all the ways Shane snuck in and altered Ilya’s core being. That Shane felt safe in asking for what he needed meant everything. Ilya nodded and leaned down to brush his lips over Shane’s in a preview of the kiss Shane was brave enough to ask for.

“Yes. But I should at least check first,” Ilya said quietly as he kissed down Shane’s chest and stomach. He mouthed quickly across Shane’s cock, his sac, not enough to stimulate more than a microsecond of wet heat, and he lifted Shane’s leg to drape up and over Ilya’s back. His tongue fluttered against Shane’s hole, and Ilya groaned at the easy give under soft pressure. “So ready.”

“I told you. That’s why I came so fast earlier. Accidentally edged myself in the shower,” Shane gasped out, his fingers buried in Ilya’s hair. “I know I said no warm up, but—”

“I know. You love my mouth.” 

“Yeah.” It was barely a whisper. “I do. Feels so good.”

Ilya put his tongue to good use, hitting all of Shane’s pleasure spots until Shane melted into a puddle. His whole body pooled against the bed, his fingertips massaging little circles across Ilya’s scalp. Shane went quiet, just gasps and moans and near silent, “Oh, fucks,” that were Ilya’s favorite.

“Okay, okay—” Shane gasped. “Enough, Ilya. Now.”

Ilya smiled and crawled up Shane’s body to kiss him. Shane’s hands pulled Ilya’s face down for a longer, harder, desperate kiss. Ilya wanted to see him, too. He pulled back just enough, and fit his cock to Shane’s entrance. “Tell me again.”

“Ilya, stop playing,” Shane demanded. The fire in his eyes, need in his voice, and Ilya’s name on his lips lit Ilya up. “Fuck me right now—”

“Yes, Captain,” Ilya said. He moaned as Shane’s body welcomed him in and squeezed around Ilya, until he thought he might come just like that. He kept his focus on Shane as he fought it off. The ripple of pleasure through Shane’s body, the shock and awe and yes across Shane’s face, stole Ilya’s breath. 

“Oh fuck. Oh my fucking god,” Shane gasped out. Shane’s cock pulsed between them, and Shane’s fingers dug into Ilya’s shoulders. “Holy shit. Wait, wait, wait, don’t. I don’t want to—”

Ilya reached between them and gripped Shane’s balls with enough force to bring Shane off the edge. “So, then, I shouldn’t call you Cap—”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Rozanov,” Shane growled. Ilya grinned, leaned down, and took Shane’s mouth in an easy glide. He brushed their lips together until Shane whimpered and cupped Ilya’s face, holding Ilya to him. 

When it seemed like Shane wasn’t a half-second from coming anymore, Ilya released his balls and settled in on his elbows to kiss Shane into oblivion. Their bodies pressed firmly together, gravity doing most of the work, as Ilya ground his hips against Shane. Each kiss was rough and gentle and sweet and needy. Ilya was grateful he’d already gotten off once, because this was nearly enough to undo him.

“Feels so good, Ilya,” Shane mumbled against Ilya’s lips. “Oh, fuck, so perfect.”

The words were kerosene to their lives, to Ilya’s willpower, to any hope Ilya might have had of leaving this encounter unscathed.

“We’re perfect,” Ilya murmured. The Russian plosives detonated against Shane’s lips and set fire to everything Ilya knew. He had to find a way to get closer to Shane. Not just here, with their bodies plastered together, but a way to keep their secret hookups going beyond this season. And he would figure out a solution, right after he fucked Shane boneless.

“Is okay to move more?” Ilya asked.

Shane nodded. “Yeah. Stay like this for a minute, though?”

“Okay.” Ilya’s lips turned up against Shane’s, and he pulled his hips back. Shane was so fucking ready, and Ilya savored the slick grip as he fucked his way back in. Shane’s cock slid across Ilya’s stomach, hard and insistent, sliding through the sheen of sweat that was already building between them. Shane moaned, his head thrown back, breathing sharply between gasps. His large hands wrapped around Ilya’s back, his hips, gripping his ass, as Shane went hazy, pliable, and completely unguarded.

Shane was a fucking show, an experience, a miracle, a divine apparition. Ilya watched in awe as Shane’s pleasure seeped from him in a slow, intoxicating wave of blistering heat that washed over Ilya and coated him with it until he burned too. He pushed deeper, angled just there to graze the right spot over and over, fucking moans and whimpers out of Shane. He breathed against Shane’s open mouth and surrendered to Shane’s fingers in his hair.

Ilya dropped his last guards, and let himself be soft.

“I have never wanted like I want you,” he murmured, grazing the skin below Shane’s ear with every word. It felt much more naked in English.

“Never,” Shane agreed softly, a little slurred, but his hands held Ilya more firmly. I’m with you, the pressure of Shane’s grip said. Even when I can’t think, when I can’t speak, I’m with you. 

And Ilya’s heart squeezed, and rioted, and went completely bananas in his chest.

Shane knew the first time he’d fucked Ilya Rozanov that it was better than any sex he’d ever had—maybe ever could have. But Ilya smashed through even Shane’s wildest dreams. Shane didn’t know he could be fucked in so many ways in one night. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into Ilya, but it made him throw Shane around like a ragdoll instead of a muscular, heavy, professional athlete. 

Even as they panted into each other’s open mouths, Shane was already wondering how he could get Ilya to do it all again. 

Shane wasn’t sure which part had been his favorite: Ilya fucking him deep while torturing Shane’s cock with each slow grind of his abs, Ilya flipping him onto his stomach so Shane could claw at the sheets and bite the pillow to stay quiet as Ilya slammed into him, Ilya hauling Shane up by his shoulders and wrapping his arms around Shane’s chest as Shane bounced back on his cock, Ilya pulling him off the bed to press him against the wall, or Ilya yanking off the condom and flipping Shane around to fist their cocks together in both of their hands until they both spurted and leaked down their linked fingers.

“Holy shit, Ilya,” Shane murmured as he slumped against the wall, tugging Ilya with him by the shoulder until their lips touched together once more. He and Ilya were still linked together, holding their dicks in a way that was more comforting now than sensual.

How the fuck was any other sex going to measure up?

Knowing Ilya, he’d find a way. In fact, if Shane hadn’t been gasping for air and jelly-legged like he’d just completed a bag skate, he would’ve suggested getting the corner chair involved, so Ilya could sit back and relax as Shane fucked the hell out of him in return. As it was, Shane couldn’t keep his eyes open. 

Ilya pressed into him, laughing against Shane’s neck, holding Shane up against the wall with the heavy pressure of his body. “Yes. Holy shit, Shane,” Ilya said. Shane was glad Ilya’s head was tucked against Shane’s shoulder so Ilya wouldn’t see the smile that spread across Shane’s face. “My brain is…”

“Mush?” Shane guessed after a few moments of silence.

“Okay,” Ilya agreed easily. “English is hard.”

Shane laughed quietly, jostling Ilya where they were pressed together. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

Ilya hummed. “Come.” 

Ilya guided Shane down to sit near the head of the bed. He pressed the water bottle from earlier into Shane’s hand. Shane sipped at it while Ilya walked away, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach for Ilya. He wanted to throw Ilya to the bed and cover Ilya’s body with his so that Ilya was forced to stay. Water ran in the bathroom, and when Ilya returned, it was with a wet stomach and a warm towel that he stroked over Shane’s skin.

Shane felt drunk. He was swaying as he handed the bottle to Ilya. “Drink,” Shane whispered. He didn’t mean to, but his voice was hoarse from groaning through his words, straining and holding back so they wouldn’t be heard. He wasn’t sure he’d done a great job of staying quiet. “You need to hydrate, too.”

Ilya smiled, then drained the bottle and grabbed another from the fridge. He held it to Shane’s mouth, and Shane sucked down a few greedy gulps of the refreshingly cold water. When he pulled back, Ilya drank a bit more and set everything on the nightstand. “Move please. My legs are like a baby horse.”

Shane smiled and rolled lazily to the other side of the bed so Ilya could climb in behind him. “I can’t fall asleep here,” Shane warned as Ilya’s arm landed across his hip, warm and heavy. Even so, Shane’s eyes closed, trying to commit the moment to memory. The quiet hum of the air conditioner, the soft bed under him, Ilya’s warmth at his back, Ilya’s breath on the nape of his neck. He’d wanted this for so long—had missed it—ever since he’d woken up this way in Boston.

“We are not sleeping,” Ilya argued, yawning. “We are talking.”

“About…what?” Shane asked. But he didn’t hear Ilya’s answer.

Shane’s eyes opened again sometime later. It was still dark beneath the curtains, the bedside lamp the only light in the room. Ilya was wrapped tighter around him, his arm curled over Shane’s chest, his legs pressed to Shane’s, his breathing slow and deep against Shane’s back. Shane smiled as he let himself match Ilya’s breaths.

Eventually, he let out a quiet sigh and tried to slip out from Ilya’s grasp.

“No,” Ilya grumbled, pulling Shane tighter against him. “Was only a few minutes.”

“I should go,” Shane whispered. He didn’t want to, but that was the reality of their secret. They couldn’t wreck everything now. Not if keeping them a secret meant Shane could have this over and over again. 

Shane would do anything to protect it now.

“Is what time?” Ilya asked, and Shane felt him move around. “Not two yet. Everyone will be coming back soon.”

“Back?” Shane asked. “Oh. Clubbing.”

“Yes, Shane.” Shane could hear the smile in Ilya’s voice. “How most All-Stars have fun when they are not fucking their teammates.”

Shane’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

Ilya hummed. “What? You think we are only ones? There has to be more.”

“Queer players? Sure. But fucking other players?” Shane asked.

Ilya shrugged as his hand idly swept over Shane’s stomach. The casual touch melted Shane into goo. “Road trips are long,” Ilya offered. “Maybe not like…”

Shane filled in the blanks. Maybe not like fucking your arch rival over the course of several years. Maybe just fucking out of convenience. “Do…” Shane took a deep breath, unsure if he actually wanted an answer. “Do you do that?”

“No,” Ilya said quietly. “Maybe in some ways, we are definitely the only ones.”

Shane couldn’t explain why he liked that so much—why it felt special—and so he didn’t try.

“Would be easier in women’s hockey,” Ilya continued quietly. “More out players on that side.”

“Yeah, because being gay and Asian isn’t difficult enough,” Shane mumbled. “Let’s add woman in there, too. Check one more box for me.”

“Didn’t mean like that. I am sorry,” Ilya said, and placed a tender kiss against the back of Shane’s neck. His hand on Shane’s stomach paused its motion. “Wait. Is Wilson an asshole because of your parents?”

“I think me not being white has a lot to do with it, yeah. He’s shitty to JJ, too. But it’s the same fucked up things I’ve heard my whole life.”

“I will kill him.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “We kind of need him to win a cup. I don’t like it, and I hate him, but this is our third season together. I’ve got it under control. If I couldn’t handle being on a team with anyone who said something racist or homophobic, I wouldn’t have a fucking team. Period. It’s messed up, but it’s reality.” Ilya hummed noncommittally, like he was too busy contemplating murdering Wilson during their next game. “Hey, I mean it. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Don’t worry. Is not stupid.”

Shane huffed. “That didn’t sound like an agreement.”

Ilya kissed Shane’s neck again, and it felt so good that Shane let his eyes drift shut. “Tell me something,” Ilya said, placing more kisses down the curve of Shane’s neck.

“Okay,” Shane agreed, but then Ilya hummed instead of asking his question. “What? You mean, tell you something random?”

Ilya’s warm breath puffed a silent laugh beneath Shane’s ear. “Yes, sure.”

“Calgary’s new coach played exactly one MLH game.”

Ilya laughed again. “Of course you are back to hockey. Something else. What would you do if not hockey?”

Shane frowned. “Hockey is my life. I would—I couldn’t—” His brain short circuited.

“Okay, okay, relax. Never mind. New question. Favorite Fast and Furious movie?”

It was such an abrupt change that it left Shane blinking in the soft, yellow glow of the room. “Um… That was so specific. I’m guessing there is a wrong answer.”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me what it is?”

Ilya grinned against Shane’s spine. “No.”

“Fuck you,” Shane said, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “Ask a better question.”

Ilya pinched Shane’s hip and then smothered his nape in kisses. It was so different, experiencing this side of Ilya. 

Shane wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this much himself outside of time with his parents. Plus, they didn’t know about the being gay thing, so maybe this was the most Shane had ever felt himself with anyone. And the constant touching, the warm weight of Ilya’s body next to and over his own, made everything a thousand times better.

Shane was maybe—a little bit, possibly—besotted with Ilya. 

Which was fine, because he was hopeful that maybe Ilya was halfway there, too. Halfway would be enough. Shane would take it as a win, just as he took these moments for all he could.

He shouldn’t have run in Boston, but he was never making that mistake again.

“Is your dildo a tentacle?” Ilya asked.

Shane rolled his eyes. “No. It’s perfectly fucking normal. Average.”

Ilya snorted. “Liar. Nothing about you is normal, or average. You would not want average.” Shane didn’t know why, but it felt like praise. “Even sucking cock, you want to be the best.”

“Better follow that fucking sentence with a compliment if you ever want me to do it again,” Shane warned. When Ilya laughed again, Shane was sure his chest was glowing.

“You are the best,” Ilya said unconvincingly.

Shane turned in Ilya’s arms and poked his chest. “Fuck you—” He looked up to find Ilya grinning, his eyes sparkling. “You are truly the world’s biggest asshole. I don’t even know why I keep—”

“Because we fuck so good you forget how to walk,” Ilya said, still grinning. “Because I am the best.”

“Oh fuck off.” Shane grinned and rolled Ilya onto his back, pinning him down to the bed, enjoying the way Ilya laughed as he struggled under Shane’s weight. Shane cuffed Ilya’s wrists to hold him down, but Ilya bucked his hips and rolled them. Shane gave as good as he got, pillows flopping to the floor, sheets pulling off the corner of the bed, the two of them laughing too loudly for the middle of the night. Neither of them cared about a goddamn thing.

Even when heavy footsteps plodded down the corridor outside, Ilya and Shane just covered each other’s mouths, laughing against fingers and palms until it seemed safe enough to tackle each other once more.

Shane gave in eventually, going limp, and Ilya draped himself over Shane’s body. He stretched out between Shane’s thighs and sighed against Shane’s chest. Shane loved that Ilya’s smile stayed put even as his eyes gently drifted, and stayed, closed.

Shane watched Ilya breathe, so full of joy and satisfaction that Shane felt heavy with it, as though he’d been stuffed with a hearty meal after years of surviving off scraps. 

Shane had never felt a keen absence of friends in his life. As a child, he’d learned they were hard to find and harder to keep. But he’d never liked any of them as much as he’d liked hanging out with his parents, so he didn’t mind that he’d never really clicked with any friends outside the rink. Hayden had been a pleasant surprise, and then Jackie and JJ both squirmed their way into Shane’s life and became people he wanted to see more often than he didn’t. 

This was so much better, and Shane ached for more. As great as the sex with Ilya was—and it was fucking incredible—it had routinely left him in shambles as often as it had left him satisfied. In some ways, Shane had walked away from each encounter feeling even worse than before. 

It had never been like this. Like they were best friends. Easy. Playful. Honest. Fun. And he and Ilya had never cuddled like this either—unreserved and blissfully happy. 

Shane should have rolled Ilya off him, gathered his clothes, and snuck back to his room. 

But he really didn’t want to. 

Shane ran his hands through Ilya’s disordered curls, fluffed out from all the kissing and gripping and clutching. Shane liked it—liked seeing his mark on Ilya—as if it made their night together more real. Ilya sighed again at Shane’s touch, growing heavier atop Shane’s body. Shane’s fingers roamed farther, tracing Ilya’s features, and he swore he felt the tension in Ilya’s face drain away. He even looked different. Softer. Less chiseled cheeks and jaw, more innocent and round. It made the crooked bridge of Ilya’s nose stand out more than it usually did. 

Shane stroked the length of his nose, wondering if maybe this would be the touch that was too intimate, and would make Ilya pull away. It wasn’t. So Shane kept going, smoothing over Ilya’s cheeks, lips, and jaw. He soaked in every moment.

Like maybe, just maybe, if Shane stroked Ilya’s temples twenty-four times, he could replay that exact feeling between now and their next game in Boston in two weeks. Like maybe it could live inside him. Like he could lay in his own bed, move his fingers through the air, and still feel Ilya’s soft skin and the spring of his curls and the brush of his eyelashes. Maybe twenty-three times wasn’t enough, but if Shane did it one more time, it would stay. 

Ilya’s breathing was slow as Shane counted each stroke. Twenty-four wasn’t enough, so Shane kept counting to forty-eight, and then seventy-two. Shane hoped he wasn’t annoying Ilya, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Ilya probably wasn’t annoyed, though, because his hand had splayed over Shane’s shoulder thirty-two strokes ago, and his breathing was deep and even. 

It was possibly the only quiet sound to ever come out of Ilya Rozanov’s mouth. 

Shane smiled and let his hand drop to wrap an arm over Ilya’s shoulders.

“No. Don’t stop,” Ilya protested. His voice was thick with sleep, his accent heavy. “Am not sleep.”

Shane’s smile grew as he stroked the length of Ilya’s spine. Ilya was dotted with small moles, some raised and some flat. Shane wondered if in some other world he could have this often enough that he could read Ilya’s body like braille. If he would memorize all the words written on his skin. If he could know Ilya like that.

 God, it was ridiculous how much Shane wanted to know Ilya better than anyone else in the world.

“Yeah?” Shane asked. “Could’ve fooled me, Mr. Drools a Lot.”

Ilya’s eyelids flickered but stayed shut, as though they were too heavy to open. “Not drool. Sexy sleeper.”

Shane struggled not to laugh. He would shake Ilya if he did. “Mhmm. Very.”

“‘S good pillow,” Ilya slurred, shifting higher up Shane’s body. “Too heavy?”

“No.” Shane caught Ilya before he could roll away, and held him close. Sure, Shane’s hips twinged a little from being held open for so long, but whatever. It was worth it. He didn’t have a game for two more days, so it didn’t matter anyway. 

While Shane used his weight as an extension of his strength, Ilya used his weight like a blanket. Another thing he offered effortlessly to dampen the harsh reality of the world around them. Shane wished they could stay like this forever.

“I’m going to fall asleep here,” Shane noted.

“Is so bad?” Ilya asked.

In another place, another time, it would have been perfect. “It’s too risky. What if someone came looking for me?”

Ilya lifted his head just enough to crack his eyes open and shoot Shane an annoyed look. “Who is looking for you now?”

Maybe it was unreasonable, but Ilya’s logic didn’t calm Shane at all. “What if there was a fire?”

Ilya groaned and dropped his head back to Shane’s chest. “Oh my god, Hollander.”

Despite the use of Shane’s last name, or maybe because of it, his heart pounded harder. Was this…what it felt like to have a boyfriend? It was so much softer than their times before, but in a good way. It was almost like what he’d tried to force with Rose, but easier. Better. Conversation had flowed effortlessly with Rose too, but touching that had never felt right. 

But Shane never wanted to leave Ilya’s side.

Had Shane accidentally lied earlier, when he said he wanted things to stay the same? Because now that he’d experienced it, he desperately wanted this, whatever the fuck this was. 

Shane blinked himself back to reality. He couldn’t stay. Too much could go wrong. “What if I overslept my alarm, and had to sneak out while everyone is waking up and getting breakfast? We’d get caught for sure.”

“Okay, fine, out,” Ilya joked, then placed a series of kisses along the underside of Shane’s jaw. “I bet I can make you stop talking—stop thinking about it—in two minutes.”

Shane snorted. “I’m not an idiot. Bet not taken.”

“Yes, because you would lose,” Ilya taunted. It almost worked. If they hadn’t fucked for god knows how long earlier, Shane’s dick would already be eager for another round. As it was, he only had a minute before it would inevitably give him away. 

“Rozanov,” Shane argued. “Let me up, before we fuck this up for both of us.”

“Ughhhhhh,” Ilya groaned. He still didn’t move. “Fine.”

Shane used their proximity as an advantage. He cupped Ilya’s face in his hands and tilted Ilya’s head back, kissing him softly. He felt Ilya melt even more, sinking heavy-limbed onto Shane and pressing him deeper into the bed. 

Ilya’s quiet, boneless surrender was new. It felt better than winning the Stanley Cup. 

“Two weeks to Boston,” Shane murmured against Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya groaned again and snuggled back into the space between Shane’s shoulder and neck. It was absolutely fucking adorable. “Seems long.”

Who was this man? Where had Ilya been hiding this side of himself? Was this an Ilya that only existed at three or four in the morning? How many more Ilyas were there? How could Shane ever get enough time with Ilya to discover them all?

Shane laughed and poked Ilya’s shoulder. “We’ve gone a whole lot longer.”

“True. Fine.” Ilya grumbled as he pushed up onto his elbows and crawled off of Shane. Shane’s legs tingled as the blood flowed back in. “Put on your boring stylist clothes and go back to your boring hotel room and—”

Shane laughed as he wiggled his toes through the tingling pain to wake them up. “Fuck you.” He leaned over to kiss Ilya’s mouth once more. 

One for the road, or whatever the saying was.

Ilya grinned when Shane pulled away to stand. “And I will see you in Boston,” Ilya said. “Do I rent a hotel there, or are you done freaking out about coming to my house?”

“Wow, every time I think you can’t be a bigger dick...” Shane trailed off, hiding his smile. But, god, he loved it. Like by joking about it, Ilya had combatted all of Shane’s silent fears. They were over it, they’d moved on, and they were good. Everything was finally good. Shane grinned as he found his pants crumpled all the way across the room, and his shirt hanging from the corner of the television. “I’ll come to your house. Just text me.”

Ilya nodded, but then his eyes went distant and unfocused. His smile dropped, just a fraction, and unease churned in Shane’s stomach. 

“Hey. Where’d you go?”

“What?” Ilya asked, the tension returning to his jaw, carving his face out of marble again. Shane wished they had time to crawl back into bed so Shane could stroke Ilya’s forehead until the tension melted away and stayed gone.

“Your face. You—what’s up?”

Ilya scoffed, and in a split second, his serious face was replaced with a teasing one. “Why are you so slow? Getting dressed, getting naked. What, you’re like a turtle? Only fast on water, slow as fuck on land?”

“I hate you.”

Ilya winked. “You wish.”

“Sometimes.”

Ilya pulled the clothes from Shane’s fist. “You don’t want to shower here?”

“You’re just trying to keep me longer.”

Ilya leaned closer, his eyes bright and beckoning. “Come shower. I will suck your dick again.”

Shane swallowed. No one could say no to that. Not even after the multiple orgasms and the fucking of his life. And Ilya knew it, judging by the way he smirked—smug as fuck. Ilya threw Shane’s clothes on the bed, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the bathroom.

Shane didn’t put up much of a fight.

Later, after they’d both gotten off again, Ilya had dried them off carefully between kisses. He forced Shane to drink more water before finally allowing Shane to pull on his pants. Thank god Ilya had put on underwear, or Shane might’ve let Ilya drag him back to bed one more time. Which reminded him…

“Hey, no more dick pics, okay? I can’t have that on my phone.”

Ilya damn near pouted. “You won’t send me one?”

“Uh, no.”

“But your dick is so pretty.”

Shane’s face went hot. “Fuck you.”

Ilya frowned. “No, I am being serious. Is prettier than mine. I would like a photo.”

That wasn’t happening. Forget getting caught in the hallway. Shane’s dick getting leaked to the tabloids would ruin his life faster than a hundred rumours. “Keep dreaming, Rozanov.”

Ilya shrugged. “Fine. No dick pics. But if I win in Boston—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No fucking way,” Shane said with a laugh. “Think of a different bet. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“For you, I will.” Ilya got up and pulled Shane in for a kiss that was softer and sweeter than Shane had anticipated. He went limp in Ilya’s arms, which was really becoming a problem, but Ilya was smiling when he pulled away. He took Shane’s shirt from him, unbuttoned every button, and held it out.

“I’ve got it,” Shane protested, but slid his arm through the sleeve.

“I want to feel you. Let me,” Ilya said quietly. Shane pressed his lips shut and threaded his other arm through the sleeve. Ilya buttoned each hole with methodical care and attention, his fingers sliding along Shane’s chest and stomach as he worked his way down. “I was rough here. Not careful enough.”

Shane looked down to the bruise already blooming on Shane’s hip. “I liked it, though. I’ll be careful dressing for my next game. It’ll be okay.” 

Ilya’s lips pursed as he trailed a gentle fingertip over two smudges that overlapped. It almost looked like a heart. 

“I’m kind of jealous, actually,” Shane admitted. “Wish I’d bruised you up a little, too. Like something to take with you.”

“You have bruised me plenty,” Ilya said, so softly that Shane could barely make out the words. Shane’s heart felt more like a hummingbird’s: fast, loud, and possibly about to burst from the pace. Ilya tapped his chest. “This one stays open. Is very sexy.”

Shane’s cheeks grew hot. “I have to go.”

“Do you? Stay,” Ilya said, lacing their fingers together. “No one will notice.”

Oh, god, he wanted to. “I can’t.”

Ilya nodded, and pulled Shane close to kiss him again. It was soft, deep, lazy, powerful. Things that shouldn’t coexist, except that Ilya had always been able to make the impossible possible.

“Go away,” Shane mumbled against Ilya’s mouth, pushing gently at his shoulders. “I can’t think when you do this.”

“Yes.” Ilya’s laugh was a puff of air against his lips that Shane swallowed like a gift. “That is the point.”

Shane laughed and pushed harder until Ilya fell back onto the bed. Shane gathered his shoes and slipped them on. By the time he looked up, Ilya was laying like some sort of god against the pillows. If Shane was better with words, he would have written a poem about how fucking hot Ilya looked all sexed up, happy, and relaxed. In reality, Shane couldn’t so much as name a hockey move after the man without exposing their secret.

Shane stepped toward the door, hating that he couldn’t stay—loving that Ilya had asked him to anyway—sated and sore and yet still insatiable for more. He wanted more time, more touches, more laughter. 

Shane grabbed the door handle and looked back, one last quip at the ready. It faded on Shane’s lips. He couldn’t read Ilya’s face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ilya said. 

The way he said it implied maybe a whole lot of something that Shane couldn’t pinpoint. Ilya’s voice wrapped around Shane like a weighted blanket. Soft, heavy, comforting. Why couldn’t Shane stay again? He couldn’t seem to remember the reasons. 

“Goodnight, Shane.”

It was partially a joke and partially a test—a reminder and chance to redo it all in one—and it made Shane smile. He wasn’t running this time.

Ilya’s lips twitched, like he knew he was about to get his way. Like he could see Shane’s fingers tense and release around the handle. Like he could see Shane’s legs straining to turn and climb back onto the bed with Ilya to lay with him until the sun rose. 

What a dick. My dick, though. Maybe. Just a little. 

It was terrible how much Shane loved that thought. Shane laughed, his chest warm. “Goodnight, Ilya.”

He peeked into the hall to make sure it was empty, then headed out and back to his own room. He grinned the whole way.

It was only two weeks to Boston, then they would play in Montreal a few weeks after that. Shane could make it up to Ilya there—make things perfect for them, just like Ilya had in his home. Shane could even ask Ilya to visit over the summer. They could go to his cottage for privacy and have more time together. A few days—maybe even a week—where he could find out who Ilya was at five in the morning or two in the afternoon.

Shane’s stomach warmed at the idea of sharing a space with Ilya—showing off the view of the lake, the small conveniences Shane had thought to build in, soaking in the hot tub together, on the deck under bright starlight. Ilya would look breathtaking in the silver light of the moon reflecting off the lake, or the warm orange light of the firepit at midnight.

And though Shane had only just thought of it, the ache that flared inside him was as deep and starving as if it had been his lifelong dream. Could he really ask Ilya to visit? Were they at that stage of friendship? Would Ilya even want to spend time with Shane outside the bed?

Yes, of course, Shane interrupted himself. They were definitely… Well. Shane didn’t know what they were exactly. He’d begged Ilya to go back to the way things had been before, but everything about tonight felt like…more.

Which settled it. Shane would ask him to visit this summer. Shane unlocked the door to his room, changed into clean sweats, and brushed his teeth as he considered all the things Ilya Rozanov loved, and how to best make Ilya feel at home.

And when he drifted into sleep, warm and smiling and still feeling the faint impression of Ilya’s body on top of his, Shane knew that he’d keep renegotiating their secret contract—would tenderly hold onto their secret friendship—for as long as fucking possible.

He dreamed of Ilya’s laughter, his glinting eyes, his teasing smile, his kisses that always came in clusters. He woke up bathed in morning light, his lips still curled up even as he blearily turned off his alarm. 

He wrapped an arm around himself in a pale imitation of the way Ilya held him. He curled his fingers over the fresh bruise at his hip, pressing it until it twinged as a reminder that last night had really happened. 

He didn’t want to, but he had to catch his flight to Columbus and leave this weekend behind. He rolled over and unlocked his phone, pulling up his texts with Ilya. He typed and deleted. 

Typed. 

Deleted some more.

Shane: What is your favorite thing to do in Columbus?

Lily: Nothing. Columbus is boring as fuck.

Lily: Win.

Shane: Obviously. Aiming for that. Not losing our top spot because of Columbus of all teams. Enjoy Canada!

Lily: I won’t.

Lily: The only boring Canadian I bother talking to is not there.

Shane’s heart did a weird backflip thing in his chest.

Shane: Two weeks.

Lily: Yes. I am counting.

Shane shut the phone screen off and clutched it to his sternum like maybe it would restart his heart that had definitely stopped or melted or turned into mush.

Yes, Shane thought. I am, too.