totheverge
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Summary
One side of his brain is going: this is insane, don't do this, just stay in this room, what can he do? Whether you like it or not, he's hurt you, and chances are you've hurt him too, because you can't read a situation for shit, so what are we trying to do here? Get some fucking sleep instead.
The other side of his brain is going: He's hurt you, and you've probably hurt him too, and what if this is your only chance to talk about it? What if Paris makes the difference?
Five months after Sochi, Shane's set to play a charity hockey game in Paris. So is Ilya.
They run into each other in the lobby of their hotel the night before. Twelve hours stretch out in front of them, and Ilya suggests something different: no phones, no expectations, no past, no hockey. Just the city, and whatever they can be when nobody else is watching.
It's obviously a terrible idea, but Shane says yes, anyway.
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"So this is it?" Ilya spits out eventually. "You want to fuck me in the fucking woods? What if I don't want that?"
The stranger hums again and moves back. Easily, swiftly, he reaches out and gropes at Ilya's crotch. Easily, swiftly, he finds what he wanted to find. "Seems like you're willing."
Ilya gulps. "And after? What happens after?"
"I don't know," the man says.
or: Not all is as it seems.
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For a moment, Rozanov is not stuck in Boston.
He's right there, dick in hand, wrist twisting on the upstroke. Saying, "Not enough, more," until Shane can fuck both fingers in with ease and tease a third.
Saying, "Stop."
Saying, "Spread yourself open for me, Hollander, let me see you."
"Fuck," Shane breathes out.
When Hayden invites Shane over for dinner on their unexpected night off due to two feet of snow, Shane declines. Instead, he goes to his Montreal apartment, alone, disappointed and desperate.
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"You like this," Ilya says with wonder. He hangs it somewhere in the space between a question and a fact.
The blade runs down Shane's sternum and dips into the space of his ribcage. He breathes out until his stomach caves in, spelling out an invitation for the dagger to trace the valley around his belly button. Even though the metal has warmed, the soft sound of it against skin still makes Shane groan and his dick twitch.
"Yes," Shane whispers. Hangs it somewhere in the space between an affirmation and a plea.
the one where Ilya sees a screenshot he wasn't supposed to see and turns it into an unexpected birthday surprise.
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Summary
They'll think, I'd take a bite. They'll think, Give me ten minutes with him.
Ilya's jaw is clenched when he finally replies.
Lily: You are not really wearing this, Hollander
Jane: I am. My stylist thinks it's good for my public image. I thought I looked okay
Lily: You look more than okay.
or: Shane looks too good for the NHL Awards. Maybe he needs to be reminded that there is only one person he's going home with, and who can take him apart like this.