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Shane felt like running. Maybe if he sprinted fast enough he would be able to escape Ilya’s ROZANOV’S voice in his head.
Shane.
One word. Just a breath. One breath that changed everything.
But he couldn’t be Shane. Not for him. Especially not for him.
Rozanov. Hollander. Hollander and Rozanov. That’s what they have always been.
Hollander and Rozanov was safe. The familiar and expected. It was boundaries. It reminded Shane not to wish for more. Not wanting to explore what more they can be.
Shane.
Ilya.
Shane blindly walked the streets not seeing anything around him. In front of his eyes, in his mind he was still on that couch in Ilya’s living room. He could still feel Ilya’s hands, that last joyful kiss before he scrambled away.
He still saw the determined tilt of Ilya‘s head, how his jaw set. The grave way Ilya said his name - Hollander - three times as if to convince Shane nothing was different. Nothing has changed.
But Shane saw the same fear in Ilya’s eyes as he felt.
Shane.
Ilya.
Shane and Ilya was dangerous. Unpredictable. It was everything neither of them was brave enough or ready to name. All their desires which maybe they themselves didn’t know they have manifested in those two words.
Shane. A question. An opening.
Ilya. An answer. A desire.
Shane could still feel the raw taste of Ilya’s name on his tongue. The foreign sound of his own name coloured by Ilya’s voice.
Shane.
If they weren’t Hollander and Rozanov first, being Shane and Ilya wouldn’t be so daunting. So unthinkable. It would still be new and nerve wracking no doubt but maybe Shane wouldn’t be suffocated by this feeling of impossibility.
Shane.
He froze first on the couch because of how much he wanted to stay in that moment. When he was just Shane.
He called back then. Answered.
He knew he shouldn’t acknowledge it. That he should come up with some superficial joke and call Rozanov out. He couldn’t. And it wasn’t because he was still high from his orgasm, to be honest he barely remembered anything after witnessing Ilya groaning his name during his. He had come undone in Rozanov’s arms countless times but nothing shattered him as much as hearing Ilya calling his name did.
Shane.
Shane’s answer wasn’t the strong passionate declaration as Ilya’s have been. Rather it was barely a whisper too timid to make it more. Insecure of what it might mean. Too afraid it doesn’t mean what Shane wanted it to mean. Too hopeful it did.
When he heard Ilya moan his name in that rumbling voice of his that always sent shivers down Shane's spine, the world stopped. Everything except them in Ilya’s living room ceased to exist for a moment. Shane didn’t think about hockey. His team. Friends, parents, media, none of that was important. His sole focus was on Ilya saying his name like nobody else ever had.
Until he heard and saw his name on Ilya’s lips he didn’t realize how much he wanted Ilya to say it. Not Hollander. Not the rival player who was pitted against him all the time and who stood as comparison to him in everything and everywhere. Who he needed to best because of himself and because of others. Not Hollander who was nothing but a game. How he wished they were anyone but Hollander and Rozanov. Watched and judged by everyone.
He wished that Hollander and Rozanov’s story wasn’t already written and set. That it wasn’t unimaginable that Shane and Ilya’s story could be overwritten.
He couldn’t be Shane. Not for Ilya. But what scared Shane more than anything else was how right it felt to be Shane. To be Ilya’s Shane.