Chapter Text
This can’t be happening. Simply, it can’t be real. This kind of thing doesn’t happen. There is no way Shane and Ilya are sitting down with a bunch of fucking criminals planning a… a heist? It’s just too surreal. It’s the kind of thing that would happen in one of Rose’s movies, where she’d play the main thief’s beautiful love interest who gets kidnapped midway through the film. It’s absolutely ridiculous.
And yet.
“The gala will take place in the Grande Maison, the building where the Laskins’ conduct most of their family business,” the boss, Nate, is saying, as he they projects a picture of an impressive mansion on the wall.
It’s a beautiful building, probably from the late eighteenth century, of clear neoclassic inspiration with a facade of big Doric columns and gorgeous statues on the front ceiling meant to resemble Ancient Greek art but with a very clear French air to it. Shane has seen several buildings like it in Montreal, near the oldest part of the city. They are meant to emulate French architectural trends from back then with a baroque twist. Beautiful and fake.
“So… you wanna steal from the Laskins?” Shane frowns.
Of course he knows who they are. They are one of the league’s biggest investors, very close to Commissioner Crowell. They often show up to League events or the NHL Awards and Shane is prodded by his mother and the Metros’ management to talk to them for a while. Shane hates it. They don’t strike him as people interested in hockey at all. The way they talk about it, about him, makes him feel like he’s a fancy apartment building they’ve invested on rather than a person. And they never seemed too interested in him anyway, as Russians their attention always tended more towards Ilya. Dimitri Laskin would often make comments about how Shane was so good for keeping up with Russian prowess despite their physical differences or whatever. Asshole.
It doesn’t mean Shane feels good about robbing them.
“All you need to know is that we have to get inside the private wing of the building,” Nate dismisses. “Leave the rest to us.”
“The Laskins have a state of the art security system, particularly in their private wing, and to enter you need a code that changes every day,” the black guy, who someone called Hardison earlier, says.
“True art piece,” the blonde girl, Parker, wiggles where she’s perched on a chair like a bird. “I’m gonna make it my bitch.”
Ilya huffs a laugh. Shane taps his foot against his, admonishing.
“So you need code,” Ilya guesses. “Why do you need us? Two hockey players is not really criminal material.”
“You’d be surprised,” the guy with the long hair huffs.
“What?” Shane whispers.
The guy just smiles. Shane could swear he’s seen him before, but he can’t pinpoint where.
“The gala will be filled with some of the richest and best connected people in North America,” Nate pushes on, “but the Laskins are too rich themselves to be impressed by that. However, the two new comers in the charity spheres, and the two biggest hockey stars no less, you will have the room’s attention.”
“That doesn’t seem like a good thing,” Shane says, tensing. “To… to steal things, I mean. If everybody is watching us.”
He hadn’t even thought of that in terms of, like, the event itself (he’d been too excited about them getting their first joint invite ever as partners).
“On the contrary. You won’t be stealing anything, all you need to do is get the codes and then get us a distraction so we can get in.”
“Get the codes? Like it’s so easy?” Ilya arches an eyebrow.
Nate groans and throws his head back like he is begging the sky for patience to deal with children.
“Usually, we have a grifter,” Parker says. “She’s great at these things.”
“Then use her!” Shane jumps.
“She’s busy, out of the country,” the long haired guy shrugs.
Seriously, where has Shane seen him?
“So what does she do?” Ilya narrows his eyes.
“Charm people into doing what she wants,” Nate says. “Which is where you two come in. If Canada’s golden boy asks for a tour of the facilities, he’ll get it.”
Shane makes a face. He hates being called that.
“And I suppose I am on distraction duties,” Ilya says. Too calm. Way too calm.
“You do have a reputation when it comes to making a scene, Mister Rozanov.”
Shane bristles a little at the implication on behalf of his boyfriend, but… well, okay, he can’t really refute that.
“So that’s all? I ask for a tour and Ilya makes a scene and- and you won’t out us?” He hates how his voice trembles at the last words, how visible his fear is.
“Now, hey-“ the big guy begins, like he is going to say something reassuring, but his boss cuts him off.
“Yes, that’s the deal. You get us in, you get to keep your secret.”
Shane and Ilya share a look. Despite his nerves, and his fear, and how much he hates everything about this, Shane looks at his boyfriend and tries his best to look open to discussion. This involves them both, it isn’t a choice he can make by himself, even if he would do absolutely anything —even this— to protect what they have. Ilya’s face is hard at first, set in that stone cold detachment that he shows whenever he is trying to appear in control. But then his eyes soften lightly and with that his face morphs, in a way no one but Shane would recognize.
Okay, so we are doing this.
“You’ve got a deal,” Shane says, firmly as he looks back at the group of criminals. “We’ll get you in. But that’s it.”
“Alright.”
“I have talked to Dimitri Laskin before. He knows I like architecture. I’ll ask for a tour of the entire house.”
“You sure he won’t be suspicious?” Nate checks.
Ilya laughs. “If it was anyone else, maybe. But Hollander is boring enough to ask for tour. Probably was going to ask anyway.”
“Shut up,” Shane hisses, feeling his cheeks burn.
Maybe he had thought about it. But that was before it was part of a hit or whatever.
“Okay,” Nate claps once. “Let’s steal a charity gala.”
What?
As if on cue, the group disbands and starts walking in different directions.
“Alright,” Hardison smiles, affable, walking towards them. “I’ll be watching on the cameras, but if you can get a good look at the code we’ll take it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are paranoid enough to position their surveillance with a blind spot to avoid recording their codes.”
“Yes, would be smart to hide from cameras,” Ilya says, his voice laced with an accusation as he eyes the other man. “You are hacker, yes? You are the one that got our video.”
Hardison shrugs, not looking apologetic at all.
“Did… has anyone else seen it?” Shane asks, because if he doesn’t it will eat him alive.
“Nah. These fancy hotels have too many hours of security footage but just in case something happens with their guests. They usually scrap it clean once a year. Not bad policy. But I sneak in first and take a quick look, just in case there’s anything useful.”
“Useful for blackmailing,” Ilya says darkly.
“Only when necessary. Man, if you knew the kinda shit I’ve seen-“
“Wait, you said years? You’ve had- you’ve known for years?” Shane’s voice pitches way too high, stressed.
“Hey, my lips are sealed.”
“So long as we keep our part,” Ilya is not letting this go.
Good. Neither is Shane.
Hardison looks actually conflicted for once. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” Odd thing to say while actively blackmailing them anyway. “Listen, it’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“Not like we have a choice,” Shane grumbles.
“Yeah…” he drawls, awkwardly. “Okay. Look, just- just put these on your ear about an hour before the gala,” he says, giving them each a little black velvet box.
Shane has the weirdest feeling that there’s gonna be jewelry inside it. But what he finds is actually a tiny flesh-colored earplug.
“Like being mic’ed,” Ilya grins at him.
Shane rolls his eyes. “I hate it.”
“Because you are boring. I make great entertainment.”
“Okay,” Hardison says, reminding them both of his presence. “See you in two weeks, then.”
Shane and Ilya just glare at him until he starts backing away.
They drive home in silence, to the house Shane got last year because it’s easier to be discreet without neighbors and shared parking lots and stairwells. Here, they can park in his garage and wait until the mechanic door closes before they both get out of the car safe from prying eyes. Safe, safe, safe. That’s all they’ve tried to be all this time.
Shane walks into the house and miraculously manages to take his shoes off before crashing.
“Oh, fuck,” he finally groans, squatting next to the collection of sneakers and slippers and coats. He looks at that little collection, proof of their lives mixed together despite everything. He’s so afraid of losing it.
“Shane,” Ilya says softly, kneeling next to him. “Hey, is okay.”
“Nothing about this is okay!” He shakes his head.
“Is not so bad. Really. You never snuck anyone into a party before?”
“No.”
Ilya laughs, resting a firm hand against the back of his head. The contact is immediately soothing. “Of course you didn’t, you’re too good. But I have. Is no big deal.”
“They are thieves!”
“Yes, that’s new,” Ilya concedes. “But is not our problem, yes? You just get boring tour and then I call attention for myself.”
“You love that,” Shane teases.
“What can I say? I am a natural star.”
They both laugh.
“Hey, Shane, look at me,” Ilya says softly, taking his chin in his hand and guiding his head up until their eyes meet. “We are going to be okay, yes? No matter what happens. We do it together. We are good team.”
Shane wants to believe him. He really does, but this is all so fucking overwhelming it also feels like he will drown under the weight of it.
“I’m not good at lying.”
“We are good at sneaking. We have been doing it for years, and no one knows.”
“These guys know.”
“Okay, they know but we can fix it.”
Ilya’s gaze is steady, and he is being so strong about all this. It’s not fair for him to carry it alone. Shane can do it too. For Ilya, he can carry it.
“Okay,” he sighs. “We sneak them in and that’s it. We forget about this mess.”
“Yes,” Ilya smiles. “Then I bring you home and fuck you in your tux. Great night.”
Now, there’s an idea.
“Deal,” Shane grins and finally finds the strength to stand back up. “Okay, let’s just grab something to eat and-“
Ilya’s hands find his waist and hold him in place. Before Shane can even ask, his boyfriend is burrowing his face against his crotch and making him hard by mouthing him through the fabric.
“Ilya?”
“Already on my knees,” Ilya says, opening his fly and pulling down his pants. He licks Shane’s election through his boxers. “Would be a shame to waste it.”
“Ilya…” Shane groans, trying to find support on anything and failing to reach any walls or furniture. His hands land on Ilya’s head and he grabs his curls. Ilya moans in response.
Ilya blows him right there near the entrance until Shane’s legs are shaking from his orgasm, then carries him upstairs and teases him until he’s hard again and begging for his cock. His brain is fuzzy and wonderfully blank by the time Ilya gives him what he wants. And by God does he get it. Ilya fucks him hard until they are both panting and trembling and sweating. Whenever words they are speaking, neither is doing a good job at English. They come seconds away from each other, loudly and then collapse on the bed.
After, Shane curls against Ilya’s side, sated and happy. He feels a gentle kiss to the top of his head and hums happily in response.
“We are going to be alright,” Ilya says.
This time, Shane believes him. Whatever happens in that gala, they’ll take it on together. He will make sure of it. To protect this, to protect what they have, he will commit a fucking crime if he has to. Fuck, he would commit unspeakable crimes for it.