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Ilya stared across the rink at Shane. He was skating back and forth on the ice during a break in play. He’d claimed that he needed to stretch his legs, keep them loose, but really he hated that he couldn’t see Shane from the bench. They hadn’t been in the same place for weeks. He couldn’t wait to wrap his arms around Shane and feel their bodies pressed together, until the ache in his chest eased and nothing else existed in Shane’s world but him. They texted and called each other all the time, talked for hours and touched themselves while staring at a screen. That would ease the longing for a brief moment, then the loneliness crashed back down.
They would get their few precious hours together tonight, but first Ilya had a game to win. While they were actually playing hockey, he knew he’d have at least some of Shane’s attention. Even when they weren’t facing off or fighting for the puck, they’d both still be engrossed in the struggle between their teams and anticipating line changes. But right now play was stopped so the audience at home could watch commercials trying to sell them on salad dressing or lawn mowers as the key to happiness.
He needed Shane’s attention on him, but Shane was giving his attention to Hayden. Fucking Hayden. Shane sat on the boards, legs dangling over the ice and a stick loosely tucked under one arm. He was looking down and to his left, smiling at his teammate on the bench. Shane had played hard and scored a goal earlier, now he was happy, relaxed and off-guard. The perfect target for some mischief.
Ilya pushed off across the ice and went in a wide arc to get out of Shane’s line of sight. Both Shane and Hayden had a large blind spot and he was sure he could stay in it. He planned his line across the ice. The quicker and smoother he did this, the better. He pushed off hard. After a few powerful strides he went into a low crouch. The theme from Jaws played in his head and he smiled. As he passed Shane, he easily pulled the stick away, slipping it down rather than pulling against Shane’s arm. He kept enough momentum that Shane would never be able to reach him before he was back in his own team’s box.
“Coach! Ref! Did you see that? What the hell?” Shane’s complaints were music to his ears.
Ilya hopped into the box and stashed Shane’s stick behind the bench, making sure the blade stuck up in the air like a flag, not hidden at all. He heard grumbling and arguing from the Voyageur’s side. The refs did skate out to consider the situation, and a surge of stress went through Ilya, but fortunately they skated away without calling a penalty. His impulsive side had gotten the better of him, but so far things were going to plan.
Finally, Shane skated over looking annoyed. Ilya grinned up at him.
“Yes, Hollander? You need something?” Ilya’s teammates laughed or groaned on either side of him. There was no way for Shane to get his stick back unless Ilya chose to give it to him. He was pretty sure at least one of them was filming this interaction.
“Can I please have my stick back?” He ground out the words. He looked like he didn’t want to be here, like a kid who’d been sent to knock on a neighbor’s door to ask for a ball back. His arms were stiff at his side.
“What stick? I don’t see a stick?” Technically this was true, Ilya was facing forward and his prize was behind him.
“Listen we’re both adults, both team captains, so I will ask you one more time, give me the stick back.” The way Shane said it, demanding and formal, just made Ilya dig in even more.
“Your stick? Did you lose it? Did you only bring the one? Hollander, we’ve got hockey to play, and you are not prepared?” Then Ilya saw it, a slight gleam in Shane’s eyes. Ilya was one of the best chirpers in the league, able to get under people’s skin with deceptively mild comments. Shane didn’t really chirp and had a disgustingly wholesome reputation, but Ilya knew that Shane wasn’t a pushover. When they were in private, Shane stood his ground surprisingly well. When they were letting off steam, not really arguing but something more than teasing, Shane sometimes got the best of him. His angry kitten had claws.
Fuck, he loves Shane so much and knows him so well, and that’s he knows deep down that he’d lost the upper hand in this situation. He just didn’t know how yet.
Shane leaned over the boards and said in a stage whisper, “Listen, I get it, growing up I collected stuff from the best players, too. You’ve got my jersey, now you’ve got one of my sticks, here, let me complete your collection.”
Shane tossed a puck at him, one that he'd kept hidden by keeping his arm against his jersey, and Ilya caught it reflexively. The black disk had a strip of white around it. He knew without checking that it was from the goal Shane had scored earlier and that he’d put tape around it, signed and dated it.
“What? No, no…” was all Ilya could get out. He was too flustered to properly deny the accusations in English, especially since he did want the puck. He couldn’t keep photos of Shane. His house was completely devoid of any sign that he was in a committed relationship with the love of his life, except for the jersey from his Halloween costume that still hung in his closet.
He knew he should toss the puck away like it’s nothing to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. This is the Shane he knows, peaking out from behind the golden aura of his media image. He felt a rush of emotion, painful and sweet.
Troy and his other friends were also getting a look at the Shane he loves, and some filming the whole thing. He couldn’t see Harris, but he knew that somehow he was recording everything. He was surrounded by familiar laughter. One of the rookies leaned in and said “Holy shit, the look on Roz’s face.”
Shane grinned at him for a moment before pushing off, robbing him of a chance to even try to give it back.
“Okay, enough filming, time to get ready to get back on the ice.” Ilya swiped at his teammates’ phones with his free hand. He wasn’t really trying to grab any of them, but he had to do something other than sit there like a lovestruck idiot, even if he was making the situation a bigger and bigger deal with every shout and flail.
And so what if he was making this a bigger deal, a bigger story? He’d started shit with Shane and Shane had ended it. His love deserved a victory lap for shutting down Ilya Rozanov.
Later, in a hotel suite far from the team’s room block, Shane crushed him against a wall. Shane had won on and off the ice, and was amped up.
“I mess with you on the ice, not the other way around, Hollander,” Ilya growled.
“Not always, Rozanov. You don’t always get your way.”
Ilya laughed and broke into a grin. He wiggled his trapped hips to get some delicious friction. “Not true, moya lyubov, somehow I do.”
Shane snorted. “You’re ridiculous, Ilya.”
“Yes, and you love me, my Shane.”
“I do, always.”