Chapter Text
Having to take an art history class as a business major was fucking stupid. In what situation was knowledge about some painting from 500 years ago going to be useful to his life? Shane huffed out a breath as he adjusted the backwards hat on his head, then the backpack hanging off one shoulder.
College was mostly fun. Mostly. But if Shane was being honest, he couldn't wait to be done with it all and playing hockey full time. He didn't really need the added distraction of classes and grades and professors that tried to pretend he wouldn't get any special treatment for being the school's star athlete.
College was also just so damn loud.
Sometimes, he wasn't sure if it was lucky or unlucky that popularity seemed to find him so easily. He was well liked; admired, even. He was recognized all over campus. Invited to every big party at every frat house. He had no shortage of friends.
What he did have a shortage of was a social battery, which proved to be exceptionally challenging, considering his status. Somehow, not many people seemed to notice it. He supposed that was because most of his close friends were bone-headed jocks who noticed very little outside of beer and tits.
Not that Shane wasn't also sort of a bone-headed jock. He would like to think he was at least a bit smarter than his friends. He also didn't really care for beer or tits. He tolerated beer. Tits were something he pretty much gave up on in the spring after his third failed relationship ended with his girlfriend very gently suggesting he explore his sexuality. He hadn't quite gone that far yet, but, maybe one day.
So, College had been fine so far, he guessed. He was the captain of his team, and everyone loved him, and he wasn't even going to use this stupid degree until he retired from the NHL 15 years from now. Which brought him back to the door leading him into his stupid fucking art history class.
He arrived with only about a minute to spare; the lecture hall mostly filled. He wanted to strategically place himself as far back as possible where maybe the professor couldn't see him napping, which is how he ended up scanning the back row until his eyes landed on someone he had never seen around campus before.
The guy's absurdly long legs stretched out into the space in front of him; his large body looking cramped into the narrow seat. His broad shoulders were slumped forward, and his head was pointed down. All Shane could see was a mop of curls the color of honey.
He could also see that the seat next to this guy was tucked in the furthest corner, so he shrugged his bag over his shoulder and quickly snagged up the chair before anyone else could have the same idea.
When the chair groaned beneath his weight, the guy next to him snapped his head up, and fuck. Okay. Wow.
Shane was hit full force with cool blue eyes and a face that actually looked like it belonged to art history itself. Dude looked like a fucking Greek god; with his perfect cheekbones, scattered beauty marks, sharp jaw, and plush lips that had such a pronounced cupid's bow that they looked heart shaped. Combined with the thick head of curls, he literally looked mythological. And hot. Really fucking hot.
Maybe he needed to start heeding his ex-girlfriend's advice more quickly than anticipated.
Shane realized he was probably staring, so he let his mouth form a casual smile. “Hey. What's up.”
The other man's eyes tracked his face before he offered Shane the slightest of nods and turned his head back to face the front of the room.
Fuck. His side profile was hot, too. Maybe he wouldn't be napping in this class after all.
Once the professor started talking, Shane did not pay one lick of attention to whatever the fuck was happening. He only really remembered where he was when he felt a large hand nudge at his forearm, and looked up to see his beautiful next-seat neighbor looking at him expectantly with the attendance sheet in his hand.
“Oh, my bad.” Shane straightened up as he took the sheet from between long fingers. His eyes settled on the name that had been written last on the sheet, scrawled in painfully perfect penmanship.
Ilya Rozanov.
Shane committed that to memory as he aimlessly dug around his bag for a pen. From the corner of his eye, he could see those blue eyes track over him again.
Ilya's face was set into something stoic. He leaned down and pulled a pen from his own backpack, holding it out to Shane between his fingers.
“Thanks.” Shane grinned at him, and it was not reciprocated. God, this guy was so serious.
He quickly scribbled his name on the sheet and passed the paper off to the next person, before leaning back over with the pen in hand.
“No. You keep.”
The surprisingly deep and heavily accented voice made Shane raise his eyebrows slightly. Russian.
“You sure? You don't have-”
“You keep. Is fine.”
Ilya didn't even turn to look at Shane, just stared at the front of the classroom with the cap from his own pen dangling between his teeth. Shane wondered if the pen currently in his hand had ever been inside that mouth.
What the fuck, dude. Get a grip.
By the time class ended, he barely even remembered what class it was. Just stood and stretched, tucking his new pen behind his ear.
When he turned to thank Ilya again, his brain shorted out. Because Ilya was now standing, and Christ, he was huge.
He had to be at least 3 or 4 inches taller than Shane, and his chest and shoulders were so broad that they looked like they were fighting his shirt.
He lifted a large hand to run through his messy curls, then lifted his brows questioningly at Shane.
Oh. Right. He was standing in the way like an idiot.
“Sorry, dude. I'm all over the place today.”
Ilya let out a non-committal noise; a deep, low hum that rattled straight through him. Shane stepped to the side, and Ilya moved past him, leaving his scent in his wake. Woodsy and minty with the sharp tang of cigarettes.
Just like his name, Shane committed that scent to memory. He was utterly and confusingly fascinated.
Campus on a Friday evening felt like its own miniature downtown; people lining every walkway, seas of bodies migrating toward whatever houses were throwing the biggest parties, or whatever bars would serve them the cheapest alcohol possible.
Practice left Shane sore and sweaty as he made his way back toward the townhouse he shared with several teammates. Hayden was at his elbow, yapping away about some TV show, their hockey bags bumping together every other step. JJ was at his other side, nose buried into his phone.
As they cut through an alley that ran behind the row of townhouses, Shane felt himself stumble to a stop at the sight of dark gold curls hunched over a book.
Ilya was perched on a hip-height brick wall with a cigarette between his lips; cheeks hollowed as he took a long drag. He had one leg bent up with a book sat across his knee that poked through ripped jeans. His white t-shirt seemed obscenely tight, especially around the curve of his bicep as he absently flicked ashes into the alleyway.
Hayden scrunched his brows up when Shane came to a halt, then followed his gaze.
“Oh. Hey. I sat next to that dude in Econ last semester. Never spoke a word to anyone, like not even when we had a group project. You remember, JJ? Total fucking weirdo.”
JJ looked up then. “Shit, I remember that. I ran into him in the library once, too. I asked him if he wanted to play basketball with us. I figured, you know. Tall guy. Whatever. He just looked at me like I was from another planet and walked away without saying anything.” JJ and Hayden both snorted at this.
Shane felt a sudden sharpness in his chest. A pang of something that he couldn't quite place. An urge to stick up for this guy that he didn't even know.
“Maybe he just thought you guys were annoying.”
Hayden scoffed. “I said he didn't talk to anyone. Not just us.”
Shane shrugged. “Talked to me. Gave me a pen, too.”
“Okay, whatever, prince charming.” Hayden rolled his eyes.
Shane shrugged. “I'm way more charming than you, that's for sure.”
Hayden and JJ started to continue on, but Shane found himself stuck in place. He felt stupidly giddy that the mysterious Russian had willingly spoken 4 words to him, when he apparently chose not to interact with anyone.
“Shane. You coming?”
“I'll catch up.” He waved them away, then hitched his bag up further on his shoulder as he walked across the alley.
“Hey. Ilya, right?”
Blue eyes dragged over him slowly; those plush lips parted lazily with a stream of smoke pouring from between them. He didn't respond; just looked at Shane with an unreadable expression.
“Uh. Shane. Hollander. I sat next to you in art history earlier this week?”
Another drag from the cigarette. Another once over.
“Yes.” The deep, gruff voice finally gave a very delayed response.
“You live over here?”
Ilya nodded toward the small apartment building that sat directly behind the alley from their townhouse.
“Ah. Nice. I'm right over there.” Shane jerked his thumb in the other direction, but Ilya just looked back down at his book.
Shane should just leave the poor guy alone, but he couldn't stop himself.
“We're having a big house party tonight. You should come by.”
The corner of Ilya's mouth twisted up into the slightest hint of a crooked grin, and Shane forgot how to breathe for a second.
“Mm. Do not really party with frat boys.”
It was the most Shane had heard him speak. His R's rolled and his T's were sharp and he was so god damn nonchalant in the way that he didn't even pick up his head.
“I'm not. In a fraternity, I mean.” Like that mattered. He knew what he meant. Shane and his buddies fit the bill for your stereotypical frat bros regardless.
Ilya looked up at him this time. “Hm.”
Shane could swear he saw a flicker of amusement cross his face before he turned back to his book.
“You really gonna spend your night reading? Cmon, dude. It's Friday.”
“Then you better go before you miss big party.” Ilya took one final drag of his cigarette, then stubbed it out against the brick, smoke pouring from his nostrils. “Shane Hollander.”
If Shane thought he was in danger before, he was now entering a goddamn war zone. He felt his mouth drop open slightly; watching as Ilya casually stood up, book clutched in one hand. He strode off without giving Shane another look.
Shane was not used to this. If anything, he was usually the one warding off unwanted attention. He could probably go walk into any party on campus tonight and get the undivided attention of pretty much anyone he wanted.
The problem was that he inexplicably wanted attention from this horribly serious Russian who apparently didn't speak to anyone.
Well, he spoke to Shane. At least two full sentences. He was more excited about that than he would ever admit.
As far as beer went, whatever this was that Cliff brought was bottom of the barrel for what Shane could tolerate. But he liked the way it left him feeling loose and a little buzzy, so he choked it down all the same.
Usually, being tipsy would get him to jawing off about hockey until someone shut him up. But tonight, his brain couldn't stop supplying images of a massive Russian who looked like he could probably pick Shane up and-
Relax. Control it.
He tipped his head back and swallowed down the dregs of his beer, meandering over to where Hayden and Cliff were sharing a joint on the cramped back deck.
He hoisted himself up onto the railing, legs swinging a bit as his eyes drifted across the alley toward the apartment building that Ilya disappeared into.
“So.” Shane cleared his throat. “That Ilya guy. You said he was in your class last year?”
“What?” Hayden coughed out smoke, a fist banging against his own chest dramatically. “Who's that?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “The guy we saw earlier. You said he was in your Econ class before.”
“Oh. Him. Why?”
Shane shrugged. “Just, uh. Never seen him before now.”
“Okay?” Hayden gave him a strange look. “You probably have. There's like, a million people at this school.”
“I would definitely remember seeing him.” It was far too quick and matter of fact and not at all casual like he intended it to be.
Hayden and Cliff glanced sideways at each other. Cliff's face turned up into a slow grin.
“What?” Shane crossed his arms.
“Hollzy.” Cliff’s grin only grew.
“Fuck off, Marly.”
“Am I missing something?” Hayden crossed his arms now, too.
Cliff barked out a laugh. “Our boy finally has a gay crush.”
Shane put a hand over his face.
“What?!” Hayden sputtered. “On the school shooter?”
Shane didn't even register that he shoved Hayden until he was staring up at him from the ground in shock.
“What the fuck, Shane?” Hayden gaped, pulling himself back to his feet.
“Fuck off, Hayden. That isn't funny, dude. Don't say that shit about people.”
“He means don't say that shit about his boyfriend.” Cliff smirked.
God. Shane was never going to hear the end of this. “Fuck you both. Literally all I said was that I would remember seeing him before. You both are delusional as fuck.”
“Shut the fuck up, Hollzy.” Cliff said fondly, a big hand clapping Shane on the shoulder. “Who is this guy, anyway?”
“Some big brooding dude.” Hayden snatched the joint from Cliff's hand.
“Big, huh? What, like 8 inches?”
Shane and Hayden both sputtered at the same time, incredulous.
Cliff looked between them. “What? I'm not letting our captain settle. He's been in the closet long enough, he deserves some big dick.”
“Oh my fucking god.” Shane groaned into his hands, his face heating up like a radiator. He was deeply regretting telling his friends that he was most likely gay. This was worse than torture.
“Ugh. Please stop, I don't want to picture any of that.” Hayden shivered.
“Homophobic.” Cliff muttered through an exaggerated cough.
Shane snickered from behind his hand. Marlow was such an idiot, but a loveable one.
“Don't worry, Hollzy. I'll be your wing man.” He pulled Shane into a headlock, ruffling his hair. “We'll get you dicked down in no time.”
“Fucking Christ, Marly.” Shane shoved at him, trying to break free.
From across the alley, he caught a glimpse of the glowing end of a cigarette, barely visible in the darkness. He felt his stomach swoop.
He couldn't believe he was having his first ever massive crush at 21 years old, but, here he was. Better late than never.
The early September sun was oppressive against Shane's arms as he moved to lean on the chain link cage that surrounded the basketball court. He pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face; reacting just in time to bat an errant ball away as it bounced toward him.
“Come on, cap, best 2 out of 3!” JJ was calling from across the court.
“Yeah, yeah. Give me a second. It's like, a million degrees out here, dude.”
Shane loved their Sunday morning pickup games, but he also loved being able to see without sweat dripping into his eyes.
It was great cardio, and even better team bonding. He only wished basketball could be played on the ice like hockey so he wasn't facing heat exhaustion.
He turned his head out toward the running path that surrounded the court, and caught sight of a large figure sauntering into the shade.
Shane felt his mouth go dry.
Ilya was standing with his hands on his hips, open mouth panting, with a sheen of sweat glistening over golden skin.
He was wearing running shorts and a t-shirt that had the sleeves cut off so deeply that the sides of his pecs were just barely showing. Shane honestly couldn't figure out where to let his eyes settle.
His huge, toned arms? The hint of his pecs swelling beneath his shirt? His muscular thighs where those shorts were riding up?
Basketball could wait. This was an emergency.
As casually as possible, Shane strolled off the court, water bottle in hand, as if he were going toward the water fountain that was at least 20 feet from where Ilya was standing.
“Oh. Hey, man. What's up?” Shane sidled up to him, pushing damp hair from his own forehead.
Ilya cocked his head ever so slightly as his eyes dragged a slow path from Shane's Dunks all the way up to his eyes.
“You, uh, run out here often?” God, what a fucking cliche. Flirting with girls had always been pretty easy for him, because they tended to smile and laugh easily at basically anything he said. But this was new territory, and he felt like a moron.
“Sometimes.”
“Ah. Okay. Nice.” Shane toed at the dirt beneath his shoe. “Hey, we're shooting hoops over there, we could use another person. Especially on center to combat Marlow.” He gestured toward the court where Cliff was towering over everyone else at 6 foot 5.
“Mm. You are point guard?”
Shane grinned. “Yeah. How'd you guess?”
“You seem bossy.”
Shane let out a surprised scoff. What an asshole. “Fuck you.” He laughed. Ilya simply shrugged.
“I mean, I am their captain. Well- not for basketball. We're on the hockey team.” Shane rubbed at the back of his neck to try and stop himself from rambling.
“I know.”
Shane perked up at that. “Yeah?”
Another shrug. “Everyone knows Shane Hollander.”
Even in the oppressive heat, Shane could feel his cheeks grow impossibly hotter. He knew that assessment was pretty spot on, but hearing it from Ilya made his stomach do something embarrassing.
“Well. Uh. You up to play?” He jerked his head back toward the court, eyes stuck on a bead of sweat that was dripping down the column of Ilya's throat.
“Ah, no. I have time in studio reserved soon.”
“Studio?”
“Da. Yes. For painting.”
Painting? Was he-
“You're an art major?” He felt himself gape. Art students were supposed to be lanky losers with man buns in weird patterned sweaters. Not a fucking Russian underwear model.
He saw the corners of Ilya's lips curve up ever so slightly in that infuriating, tiny hint of a smile. “Goodbye, Shane Hollander.”
Shane could only ogle as Ilya walked away. Fuck. His ass was fat. This was so bad.
Shane Hollander, star athlete, D1 hockey team captain, campus heartthrob, was being completely undone by a brooding Slavic art major that he would probably crawl on his fucking knees and bark for.
Not probably. Absolutely.
With the season not yet underway, the days seemed to blur and bleed meaninglessly in a way that left Shane bored enough to agree to do something as lame as go to the library.
At the very least, the library wasn't how it appeared in movies. People were allowed to make noise. No one would shush you for talking above a whisper. At least no one ever scolded Shane's posse, who rolled in at least 10 people deep.
A mix of his teammates and a few girls they liked to party with all flocked together with Shane at the helm, a pen hanging from his mouth as he recounted something that happened in class earlier today that made his whole group laugh.
They started to make their way to one of the large study tables that flanked the rows of bookshelves. One of the girls, Shane was fairly certain her name was Addie, was now hanging off Shane's arm, clinging on his bicep as she continued to laugh at his story. Judging by the way her fingers gripped at him, he supposed she hadn't yet gotten the memo about his official retirement from girls.
Shane's eyes snagged on the next table over. Ilya glanced up at him briefly, his hair tousled like he'd been running his hands through it, then looked back down. Shane immediately extracted himself from Addie's grasp.
“Oooooh.” Cliff teased, jostling Shane by the shoulders.
It had been a few weeks now that he had been eying up the mysterious Russian, and all his close friends knew it at this point.
“Shhh. Don't.” Shane hissed, elbowing him away. “Don't fucking embarrass me, you asshole. I swear to god I will end you. Does my hair look stupid?”
Shane fussed with the dark strands of hair spilling out from beneath his backwards hat.
Gil Comeau slid up beside them. “Hey, that's the Russian asshole in my ancient civilizations class. I asked him for a pen and he didn't even respond. He just looked at me like I was insane for even talking to him.”
Shane couldn't stop the smirk on his lips as he twirled the very pen that Ilya had willingly gifted him between his fingers.
“Probably because your breath smells like shit.” Shane shot back, and Comeau let out an indignant scoff.
Whatever. He had never really liked the guy, anyway.
But as time went on, he realized that Ilya truly didn't seem to speak to anyone. He did speak to Shane, albeit, only a few words before he stalked off like a stray cat. But it was something.
Shane shot a warning look at Cliff to behave normally as he closed the distance.
“Hey. ‘Sup.” He slid into the seat across from Ilya, leaning his elbows on the table.
Ilya looked up slowly from the book he was staring at, pulling one ear bud out. “Shane Hollander.” He pronounced carefully before looking back down.
“You studying?” Shane drank in his face; so serious and tense. He was so good looking and Shane felt that horrible swoop tug low in his belly.
Ilya only hummed in response. Shane glanced around the table before his eyes settled on what looked like a sketchbook at Ilya's elbow. Ilya seemed to catch where his gaze landed.
“You are not sitting with your friends.”
“They're loud.” Shane shrugged, eyes still lingering on the closed sketchbook.
Ilya sighed, then slid it across the table to him.
Shane felt a smile split his face in half as he grabbed at it greedily. Something sparked inside his chest, bright and warm. He gingerly opened the cover, and his lips parted in wonder.
“Wow. Ilya, holy shit, dude.” He started to card through the pages of gorgeous sketches. Faces and forms and plants and miniature landscapes. “This is…fuck. Wow.”
Shane glanced up and caught the way a soft pink color had spread across the tops of Ilya's cheeks.
“Is just sketches.” Ilya reached for the sketchbook, but Shane's reflexes were quicker. He kept flipping through the pages as Ilya glared at him.
“Well. If this is just sketches, I wanna see what your finished stuff looks like. Cause this is insane.”
He gently shut the book and slid it back across to Ilya, whose cheeks were still lightly flushed. Shane wanted to lick them.
When Ilya stayed quiet, Shane leaned forward a bit. “Will you show me sometime?”
Behind them, the table full of Shane's friends started to fill the space with raucous laughter. Someone was slapping the table. Someone else was choking on their drink through their laughs.
Shane was sure whatever was happening was very funny, but he didn't even turn to look. His world was reduced to sparkling blue eyes and a sharp jaw and beautiful, thick curls.
“Maybe.”
For as elusive as this guy was, this might as well have been a love confession. Shane felt like he could punch a hole through a brick wall right now. He didn't even try to mask his smile.
Ilya shut the book he was reading and slid the sketchbook into his bag as he stood. Shane resigned himself to the fact that this was as far as his mild flirting efforts would get him today, until Ilya was suddenly leaning down into his space, and Shane could smell his mint gum and see the flecks of color bright in his eyes.
“Come to arts building tonight. 8 o'clock. Studio is on top floor, end of hallway to the left.”
Shane felt his breath stop in his throat, and now his own cheeks felt warm. Even if he were capable of formulating a response in that moment, it wouldn't have mattered, because Ilya was already slinking off like he hadn't just handed Shane a fucking treasure map.
When he turned around, Marlow was grinning wide, smacking Hayden hard on the shoulder. “I fucking told you, bro. Hollzy has mad game.”
Shane wasn't sure he'd quite take it that far, but he did feel an embarrassing amount of pride in himself. He couldn't even pretend like he was going to study now. He had to go back home and sit in his room and smile at his ceiling until his heart jackhammered out of his chest.
Dusk had bathed the campus in a hazy purple by the time Shane finally found the fine arts building, which he was certain he previously had never even laid eyes on.
He was painfully aware of the slow once over Ilya had given him that day by the basketball court, so he decided to dress like he had just been working out, even though he definitely hadn't been. High inseam shorts that showed off his thick thighs and a cut off shirt that showed off his toned biceps. He kept his hair tucked back in his hat like usual; the long strands pushed back and tucked behind his ears. Girls always seemed to like him with the hat on.
The building was deathly quiet when he pushed his way through the heavy doors. He could only hear his own footsteps echoing off the floors and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. Having a crush was so unnerving. It almost made him glad that he had been so confused about his sexuality for so long, because he had generally avoided this feeling. But now it was hitting him full force; a goon checking him straight into the boards and off his skates.
The muffled sound of music started to grow closer as Shane approached the door to the studio. He gently pushed it open, poking his head in first, and was greeted by a sight that he wished he could somehow record with his eyeballs and save for later.
Ilya, clad in a backwards hat of his own and a paint splattered t-shirt that looked worn and soft. There were flecks and strokes of paint on his hands and forearms and one on his cheek. He was staring in intense concentration at a canvas propped up on an easel as he absent mindedly sang along to the song that was playing. The sound of his voice made a flock of birds flutter in Shane's stomach.
He was sort of frozen in the doorway; not wanting to scare the shit out of Ilya or break his concentration. But just as he was about to do something cliche like clear his throat-
“Shane Hollander.” Ilya's deep voice intonated over the music. He didn't even look up. Just cocked his head at the canvas and popped the handle of his paintbrush into his mouth as he inspected something.
Shane shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, feeling that awkward shyness that he had spent his entire life trying to push past creeping back up on him. Be normal, Shane.
Ilya looked up at him then, and Shane could swear he saw something soften momentarily in his expression. “You can come in. Is okay. I will not bite.”
Oh. He could not be fucking normal about this. Because all his brain could play on a loop was an image of Ilya leaning down and sinking those sharp looking canines right into his neck. Into the jut of his hip bone. Into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. Be normal, Shane. He chided internally. Control it.
He stepped forward as Ilya turned the music down slightly on his phone, then stepped back in front of the canvas, arms crossed over his chest.
“Can I?” Shane gestured at the easel from behind it. Ilya nodded, taking a step back to make room for Shane.
Shane moved to step in front of it, and his breath caught. A beautiful vignette filled the canvas; an animal skull lit by candle light and surrounded by small, detailed items. A gold cross necklace. Dried flowers. A worn looking book. A draped piece of fabric. It was beautiful.
“Ilya. You made this? Like…from scratch? With your hands?”
“Mm. Well, with one hand. I am not ambidextrous.”
Shane snorted at that, shaking his head. “Dude. This is fucking incredible.”
Ilya shrugged and dipped his head, scratching at the side of his nose. “Is fine.”
Shane elbowed him, and the contact immediately felt like he ignited a brush fire inside his own body. He tried to ignore that.
“I can barely even manage a stick figure, so.”
Ilya's mouth curved into a small smile, and Shane's heart was going to implode.
“Well. Is finally done, I think. So.” He shrugged again.
“Sooo. That's awesome, dude. You should celebrate.” Shane pushed himself up onto the large table, shoes scuffing at the floor. “We're having a party at the house tonight. Last one before the season starts next week. You should come.”
“I have work to do.”
“Dude. Ilya. It's Friday night. Do you ever like…I don't know. Have any fun?” Shane threw his hands up. Maybe fun was illegal in Russia. He'd never met anyone so serious before.
“I am here on scholarship. Not one for playing hockey. I need to be…focused.” Ilya started to pack up his paintbrushes with deft fingers.
Shane sighed at that. “One night won't kill you. It's literally, like, 20 steps across the alley. Come on.”
Ilya turned to him. “Why do you want me to come?”
Well, it was Shane's turn to bring a little bit of mystery into this equation. He cocked his head to the side and looked up at Ilya through his lashes, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Does it matter?”
Ilya's eyes roved over his face in a slow path. Shane could feel himself blushing, but he refused to look away.
“I do not like talking to people.” Ilya's jaw tensed and flexed and Shane had to stop himself from reaching out to touch.
“You talk to me.”
Ilya hummed. “You will be busy with your hundred friends.”
“You're one of those hundred friends.”
Heartbreakingly, Ilya looked surprised at that. It made him wonder if he had any friends here at all.
Shane did consider him a friend. Or he wanted him to be one, anyway. He wasn't completely depraved. Yes, he wanted Ilya to throw him down and fuck him through his mattress. But he also just simply liked him.
When Ilya didn't respond, Shane pressed on.
“Well. At least walk home with me and think about it on the way?”
Ilya threw his bag over his shoulder, giving Shane a devastating once over. “Fine.”
Shane was 2 seconds away from high-fiving himself.
Shane was 3 beers deep and halfway to a contact high when Cliff came barreling through the backdoor with all the grace of a buffalo.
He pushed a few people out of his path to get to where Shane was sprawled out in a chair with a random girl perched on the arm, trying to talk to him about his NHL prospects.
“Hollzy!” Cliff barked out, startling the girl to her feet.
“Jesus Christ, dude. What?” Shane took another sip of his beer, brows furrowed.
“Your boy.” He urged.
Shane bolted upright so quickly that beer splashed out of his cup and onto his lap. “He's here?”
“Outside. He just walked over from the alley.” Cliff bounced his brows suggestively.
“Fuck.” Shane huffed, jumping to his feet. “Do not follow me, Marlow. I swear to fucking god if you ruin this for me I'll kill you with my bare hands.”
Cliff put his hands up defensively. Shane turned to walk toward the backdoor, but stopped dead in his tracks when Ilya ducked in through the doorway.
Shane's heart was going to fly out of his throat. Ilya was in a tight tank top and jeans that fit way too well and he had a cigarette tucked behind one ear and Shane was actually going to pass out.
His shoulders were so big, and the curve of his pecs were poking out from the sides, and his waist was perfectly tapered. Shane felt like his tongue was about to unfurl down to the floor. He felt alarmed as he was starting to unwillingly imagine all the unspeakable, debauched things he would do for this man when a sound lurched him back to reality.
“Shane! There you are.” Hayden was calling from the bottom of the steps, half jogging toward him.
“Not now, Pike. Cap is eye-fucking his crush.” Cliff started to push Hayden back.
Shane was going to murder them both. He whipped his head around and gave them a death glare that he hoped conveyed the message.
When he turned back around, Ilya was close enough that Shane could smell his cologne and see the veins running down his ample arms. He didn't speak. Just stared down at Shane with curious focus.
“You came.” Shane pulled his hat off to run a hand through his hair before settling it back on his head. Ilya kept that intent gaze on him.
“Yes.”
Cliff and Hayden were suddenly flanking him. “Hey man. Good to see you. You want a beer?” Cliff clapped Ilya on the bare shoulder. Shane's jaw clenched so hard he was scared his teeth would crack.
Ilya silently shot Cliff a look that was somewhere between annoyed and confused.
“He's talking to you, bro.” Hayden moved forward a step. This was a fucking nightmare.
“Okay, chill. Both of you. Just…go fucking find somewhere else to be, please.” Shane's tone was dripping in frustration. He grabbed Ilya by the forearm and lead him back outside, where there were luckily not many people.
He looked up at Ilya, who looked down at where Shane's hand was still wrapped around his forearm. He slowly extracted his hand and busied himself with reaching down into the cooler by his feet and pulling out a bottle of beer that he shoved into Ilya's hand.
Ilya twisted the cap off and took a long sip. Shane watched the column of his throat work around the swallow and felt like he might need to climb inside the cooler himself.
“Can I ask you something?” Shane leaned back against the deck railing, trying to keep his posture as casual as possible.
“Go ahead.”
“Why do you talk to me but I never see you talking to anyone else?”
Ilya took another long sip, then looked down at him like Shane was a problem he was trying to solve.
“Potomu chto ty samyy krasivyy v etom kampuse." (Because you are the prettiest one on this campus.)
The sound of Russian rolling off his tongue made Shane's heart tick up. Dear god, he was in so much fucking trouble. “What's that mean?”
Ilya shrugged and pulled a lighter from his pocket, then moved the cigarette from behind his ear to between his lips. “Learn Russian.” The lighter clicked to life with a spark and the flame illuminated Ilya's perfect face for a fleeting moment.
It reminded Shane of the painting; the scene bathed in candlelight. He was so talented and it was making a competency kink flare up inside of him like a blaring alarm.
He wished he knew how to just ask the fucking guy out on a date. But he didn't even really know if Ilya was even into guys, and he didn't want to scare him away after all the progress he'd already made. It took weeks of yearning to get him here. He couldn't fumble it now.
“Our first game is next week. You should come. If you like hockey.”
“Hm. And what, sit amongst your fan girls?” Ilya took a long drag, then tipped his head back to exhale the cloud of smoke.
“I don't-” Well, that wasn't true. Shane did have a pretty noticeable section of fan girls at every home game. He huffed out a small laugh. “You can sit wherever you want, asshole.”
Ilya leaned back and Shane couldn't stop his eyes from roaming. He imagined sinking his teeth into those perfect pecs. He imagined those big hands wrapped around his hips. Those long fingers-
“You are staring.” Ilya flicked his ashes into the grass.
“Well. You're right in front of me and you're huge.”
And then a miracle happened. Ilya laughed, and it was a deep and delicious sound that was coupled with a flash of teeth that seemed to brighten his whole face. The grin stayed there for a moment; the tip of his tongue coming up to run along the edge of a canine tooth.
“So I have been told.”
Oh. Oh. Shane kept his gaze steady on Ilya's, not daring to let his eyes wander where they very badly wanted to go.
And then Ilya winked.
Here lies Shane Hollander; a very inexperienced gay who happened upon the hottest man on the planet far too early in his journey and perished before he could even taste a dick.
No. He resolved to live. He could do this. He was Shane fucking Hollander.
“Are you flirting with me, Rozanov?” Shane gave him a half grin and hoped it was too dark outside to see how red his cheeks had gone.
Ilya dropped his cigarette butt into the neck of the empty beer bottle with a little smirk. “Goodnight, Shane Hollander.”
Shane's head lolled to the side, a grin on his mouth as he watched Ilya turn and disappear across the alley.
“Ah, there he is. Looking like a lovesick puppy.” JJ came up from behind him and squeezed at his shoulders. “You good, cap?”
“No. He's not. In fact, I've never seen someone so down bad in my life.” Hayden appeared beside him, leaning on the railing with a solo cup in hand. Cliff came from the other side, huffing out a laugh.
“Okay. Well. He's hot as fuck. What do you expect, dude?” Shane grabbed another beer from the cooler, eyes stuck on the direction Ilya walked off in.
“Ehhh.” Hayden scrunched up his face.
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Hayden. You don't have to act like the straight dude of all time. You know he's hot.”
“He is a stud, Hollander.” JJ bumped shoulders with him playfully.
“Fuck it, I'd hit that.” Cliff shrugged, taking a drag from a joint.
“Please don't put that image in my mind.” Hayden shivered.
“No, don't put that image in my mind.” Shane grumbled. He did not want to think about Ilya with anyone else. It was embarrassing and pathetic, but what could he do?
“So, are you really trying to like, date this guy? Like, you're gonna come out for real?” Hayden turned to him, sipping at his drink.
“I mean, yeah. I'd like to date him. And I don't plan on like, making an announcement or anything. I'm cool with people knowing. I'm not trying to hide it. I just don't want to make a big deal out of it.” He shrugged.
The prospect of being out as gay had absolutely terrified him at first. He was an athlete. He was going pro. There was no one like him in the hockey world. And then over the summer, Scott fucking Hunter of all people kissed a man in the middle of celebrating a Stanley Cup win. He opened a door that most people didn't even realize existed at all, and Shane was going to walk through it. It wasn't going to be easy. But Shane had never balked at a difficult task before, and he wasn't going to start now.
There was something freeing about finally understanding what it was that he wanted. He spent too long feeling broken. Too long wondering why he didn't want in the same ways other people did. And then he stopped being stupid, and started being honest with himself, and what he wanted materialized right in front of him on the first day of classes like some kind of divine intervention.
So now, he did know what he wanted. Cool blue eyes that assessed him carefully and a toothy grin that seemed to be reserved only for rare instances. A deep voice that slowly pronounced his name in that beautiful accent. A fucking enigma of a man that Shane too desperately wanted to understand.
He wondered if the school offered a course on cracking the code for overly guarded Russian baddies.
The sound of the ice beneath his skates and the cold air biting at his face and a hockey stick in his hands made Shane feel superhuman. They were still only warming up, but the thrill of their first game was creeping into the edges of his brain, leaving him tingling with anticipation.
His hair flowed behind him as he approached the bench with his helmet in hand, reaching over the boards to grab his water bottle.
“Is that…?” Hayden's voice came from beside him. Shane turned to follow Hayden's confused expression, and the water he was about to swallow almost spilled out of his mouth.
Sitting in the stands was Ilya; hood pulled up, curls poking out, one hoodie string in his mouth, and his sketchbook laid across his knees. The pencil in his hand was moving across the page in practiced ease. He was sitting close enough that Shane could see the way his jaw worked as he chewed at the string absently.
Of course he would bring work to do. He wondered if this guy's brain ever shut off. He thought back to the way Ilya's face transformed when he laughed. How the seriousness melted away into something so incandescent that it nearly punched Shane's breath straight out of him. He wanted to see that again. He wanted to feel that smile against his own mouth.
Shane was turning into a sappy romantic in real time and he wanted to throw up.
There was just something so captivating about that cold Slavic exterior that made Shane want to burn straight through it and find what was hiding beneath.
His pathetic yearning was cut off by Hayden bumping his shoulder. “Dude. Snap out of it. What the hell has gotten into you?”
Not a big Russian dick, sadly.
“Nothing.” He vaulted himself over the boards. “You act like you didn't follow Jackie around with your tongue hanging out of your mouth for an entire semester.”
“Okay. But that was Jackie.”
“And?” Shane scoffed. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“That dude has probably said all of 10 fucking words to you. For all you know, he's straight and you're just wasting your energy. But you probably never will know, because he's a fucking mute.” Hayden squeezed his water bottle into his mouth, and Shane had to sit on his hand to stop himself from smacking it out of his grasp.
“You're so fucking annoying, dude.” Shane rolled his eyes. “Just don't worry about it.”
He honestly couldn't imagine a wingman worse than Hayden. He loved Hayden, truly. But he was like Shane's annoying brother who he sometimes just wanted to strangle.
Shane looked over his shoulder into the stands, and felt warmth spread in his belly when he locked eyes with Ilya. He flicked his head up in acknowledgement, and Ilya gave him a small nod in return.
By the time the game started, Shane couldn't shake Ilya Rozanov out of his head. He kept glancing into the stands to find that handsome, unreadable face. He wondered if Ilya even gave a shit about hockey. The stands were filled with people who cheered for Shane with elation, but all he wanted was the attention of a singular person. A person who was like an equation that Shane just couldn't figure out how to solve, but he would figure it out.
Shane was the captain of every team he'd ever played for. He got his choice of college with a full ride scholarship. He had his pick of any girl he wanted since the day he walked onto this campus, though that part turned out to be useless. The point was, Shane was used to being the best.
That's what he reminded himself of when scored his third goal of the night.
You are Shane fucking Hollander, and you always win in the end.
“Ay! Cap!”
The sound of JJ's voice, paired with the heavy-handed thudding against his bedroom door, yanked Shane unceremoniously from sleep.
He had, quite frankly, passed the fuck out the moment his head hit the pillow last night. All the built up adrenaline from the game had been spent and he had barely been able to drag his body up the steps after half the team insisted on staying up to play a drinking game until god knows when.
Shane groaned into his pillow. “Dude. Fuck off.”
“Fine.” JJ yelled through the door. “Guess you don't want what Ilya left at the door.”
Shane bolted straight up, knocking his pillow and his phone to the floor in the process.
“What? What do you-”
JJ opened the door and peeked his head in, a smug grin on his face. He waved a manilla envelope in front of him that had Shane's name written across the front in bold letters.
“I thought I heard someone at the door. When I opened it, this was there and someone with curly hair smoking a cigarette was walking away.”
JJ's fingers pried the envelope open, and Shane practically flew across the room.
“Don't!” He snatched it up, jaw tensed hard. JJ was laughing wildly.
“Bro. You are so fucking gone.”
“We've established this. Now fuck off.” He shoved JJ back through the door and slammed it shut in his face. If Shane didn't open the envelope in the next 3 seconds, he was going to pass out.
He pulled out a loose page and felt his heart and brain stall out in short succession. The paper was adorned with various sketches in dark ink. All of Shane.
One of his back as he sat on the bench, name stretched across his jersey. One of him mid stride on the ice. A closer view of his face, hair flowing behind him, his cheeks and nose dotted accurately with freckles. Possibly the most arresting of all was the side profile. It seemed to capture Shane in perfect detail in a way that felt too masterful to be scrawled on a sketchbook page. He could tell by the hat that Ilya must have sketched this sometime before the game. He guessed it was while they sat side by side in art history.
He couldn't stop staring at the page. He couldn't stop the way his heart was thudding so hard and so fast that he was seriously concerned he was having some sort of medical episode.
Shane realized then that there was another paper shoved deep into the envelope. He slid it out and was met with neat handwriting that he was honestly a bit jealous of.
Good game. Beautiful stickhandling. Very impressive forecheck. But you are moving too quickly for your winger to keep up with your drop pass. Will be okay to not be fastest skater on the ice for 1 second.
-IR
Shane's jaw dropped. Then he scoffed. Then he barked out one short, hysterical laugh. Then he slapped a hand over his mouth. His body didn't know what to do.
Ilya was speaking hockey and kind of being an asshole and dear god, Shane was getting hard.
He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Ilya did not say this to him in person, because he probably would have dropped to his knees immediately. The situation was becoming dire. This man was actually making him feel insane.
Shane let himself admire the sketches for a few more minutes before he laid the paper carefully on top of his dresser. He made quick work of getting himself ready for the day; brushing his teeth twice just in case because he's delusional, and slipping into his favorite hoodie that was soft and worn and helped him be less on edge.
He was cursing himself for not yet snagging Ilya's number as he set off to wander around campus, hoping to run into him somehow. Though he was hard for Shane to miss. He was sure he could spot those broad shoulders and that beautiful head of curly hair in the middle of a mosh pit with a blindfold over his eyes. Not that Shane had ever been in a mosh pit. It was just the principle.
He snaked his way around his usual morning path toward the smoothie shop, and was rewarded with the sight of one Ilya Rozanov manspreading on a bench, clad in a leather jacket perfectly fitting jeans.
Shane used to be disgusted at the way his friends would talk about girls; the vulgar ways in which they would provide detailed descriptions of what they wanted to do with them. But now here he was, short of breath at the way Ilya's muscular thighs were splayed out and how his knees were spread in invitation. Staring at his lap and thinking about how badly he wanted to be bouncing on it.
Shane's thoughts had never been so out of control in his entire life.
He ducked into the smoothie shop, deciding it would only be right to bring one to Ilya after his painfully sweet gesture of gifting Shane those sketches. He could also pretend that both of them sipping smoothies together counted as a date.
Luckily, Ilya was still in full sight through the glass doors as he waited, because he was convinced that he would dematerialize from the bench the moment Shane turned his eyes away. He tapped his foot impatiently, hands tugging down in the pocket of his hoodie, palms starting to sweat. He could play in an arena filled with people, every single pair of eyes on him, and not flinch. But talking to Ilya always made him feel like he was failing a stress test.
As he elbowed his way out of the door, a smoothie in each hand, he set a determined path back toward Ilya, mind racing over sketches and hockey plays and perfectly bowed lips.
“Shaney!”
The sound made him physically cringe. Shane snapped his head up to see the girl who tried to kiss him at a party last month. She was one of the girls in the general puck bunny gang that crashed all their parties and sat in the adoring fan girls section at every game. She was pretty. Very aggressively flirty. And very much ruining his casual approach toward the man he was actively trying to woo.
“Shaney.” She repeated, eyes bright as she flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Is one of those for me?”
Shane looked down at the smoothies in his hand, then back up to her beaming face, and forced a tight smile. Fuck, what was her name again? Whatever.
“Uh, nope. I gotta go, though. So. See you around.”
He could hear her scoff slightly as he quickly turned a heel, shaking his head. He kept his head down this time as he crossed the walking path, hoping he wouldn't get recognized again, and only picked it up when he heard that deep, gravely voice.
“Shaney.”
Shane's stomach nearly dropped out of his ass. Oh god. He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or giddy by that name coming out of Ilya's mouth.
He plopped down on the bench next to him. “Shut up. I come bearing gifts.” He held the smoothie out towards Ilya, who cocked an eyebrow.
“This is gift? Is green.” His face twisted up into disgust.
“Oh my god. Shut up. It's good. It's my favorite. Just take it.”
Ilya studied him for a moment before taking it from his hand. Their fingers brushed as he pulled back, and Shane felt it rocket through his nerve endings like an engine revving to life.
Ilya's obscenely pink lips wrapped around the straw; cheeks hollowed as he took a sip. “Hm.”
Shane rolled his eyes, snorting softly. “Whatever, dude.”
“No, no. Is good. Is…interesting. Thank you.”
Shane couldn't help but smile. “You're welcome. Now.” He turned his body toward him a bit. “Two things. Number one. Those drawings. I don't even…”
He felt himself start to blush at the thought. Ilya, studying every detail of his face, using those skilled fingers to sketch him into the paper over and over again. His heartbeat was in his throat.
Ilya's cheeks went slightly pink as he waved a hand dismissively. “Ah. Is not anything.”
“Dude.” Shane shook his head. “You're fucking talented, okay? And thank you. For giving that to me. That was…it was really nice.”
Ilya took another sip of his smoothie, then shoved a hand into the pocket of his leather jacket. “You are welcome.” A pause. “Shaney.”
Shane shoved him again, throwing his head back with a laugh. “Oh my god, fuck off. You're an asshole. Which brings me to my next point.”
Shane set his smoothie down on the ground, turning his body completely to Ilya now. “Were you not gonna tell me how much you know about hockey?”
Ilya shrugged. “Is boring topic.”
“Oh is it? So boring that you came to my game and gave me notes on my performance?”
“Was very good performance.” Ilya chewed at the end of his straw. “Until drop pass. You almost had turnover, you know.”
Shane scoffed. “No I didn't.”
“Eh. You did. You will see in tape review. Your winger had to slide to reach your pass. Was sloppy.”
Shane shook his head, but couldn't help the grin on his face. “So. You a big hockey fan or something?”
Ilya hummed. “Or something.”
Shane narrowed his eyes. “Did you…you played, didn't you?”
Ilya didn't answer, just kept chewing his straw into a flattened strip of plastic.
“You're shitting me. Are you serious? What, like in high school?”
Ilya stood up, tongue wrapping around the straw in a way that made Shane feel like a blushing maiden, then inclined his head in a gesture for Shane to follow.
Like he was attached to a phantom leash, Shane hopped to his feet and fell in line at Ilya's side, as if Ilya had said ‘heel, boy.’ He was thankful for the cool October breeze that helped to bring down the temperature in his face.
They strolled down the walking path, through the dapples of light that spilled over the trees, and Shane had to shove his free hand into his hoodie pocket to stop himself from reaching out for Ilya's.
“I know you probably have very exciting frat boy party, but. If you would rather have quiet, I will be in the studio for a few hours Friday night.” He kept his gaze away from Shane. “You can come. If you want.”
Shane felt as though stars and hearts were exploding out of his eyes like a cartoon. He took a steadying breath. “I would like that.”
Ilya held a large hand out between them. “Your phone. I give you my number.”
Oh my god, this was actually happening. Shane had been sitting out a bowl of food every single night for the elusive stray cat that is Ilya Rozanov, and he was finally about to let Shane pat him on the head.
Shane pulled his phone from the pocket of his joggers and placed it into Ilya's calloused palm. Ilya's thumbs flew across the keyboard before he passed the phone back to Shane, and his fingers brushed against Shane's wrist, and Shane had to swallow back the embarrassing sound he was about to make.
“I have class now.” Ilya started to walk backwards, still facing Shane. “I will see you. Shaney.”
And then he was walking away, with that perfectly round ass straining against his denim jeans, and Shane was biting his own lip hard enough to hurt as he tried to hide his smile.
He stared down at his phone, the new contact name burning through his eyes like a beacon:
Ilya 🖤