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Ilya couldn’t keep the smirk off his face when he saw the other boy hanging his head while using the bike machine. It was evident he did his best to save face throughout the night, but Ilya could see right through him. Hollander wanted that number one draft, and it was driving him crazy that it went to Ilya instead.
A better person would have left the gym. Would have let Hollander sit on that bike like the pitiful puppy he is and let him mope in peace. But Ilya was not the better person. So there was no hesitation in him at all as he walked past the empty bike machines until he reached the one right next to Hollander and settled in for a late night work out.
Hollander didn’t seem to notice him at first, going at what could only be described as a leisurely pace. It took no effort at all for Ilya to match that pace. It took even less effort to set a faster one. When Hollander finally noticed his presence, he sped up to try to outpace him himself. Ilya would just go even faster, relishing the flash of annoyance on Hollander’s face each time. Ilya could feel the air thickening with tension as they continued their workout. Hollander’s breaths were loud and heavy, giving away his fatigue, though Ilya was sure Hollander was unaware of the fact due to the headphones he had stuck in his ears. Ilya could feel his legs burning, his muscles screaming at him to stop, but stopping wasn’t an option. Not until he proved to Hollander that everything played out exactly as it should be. With Ilya on top and Hollander beneath him.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Hollander let go, slowing into a cool down pace. Ilya let out a victorious breath as he rested his hands behind his head while joining Hollander in his cool down cycle. Ilya couldn’t even count the number of hockey games he’d won throughout his life. But he could certainly count the number of times he’s beaten Hollander. First, it was on the ice. Then it was in the draft. Ilya wondered if Hollander might have thought third time would be the charm, and he let the smugness settle over him as he continued to celebrate his third victory over the boy cycling quietly next to him.
Ilya watched as Hollander fell gracelessly to the ground, his chest heaving up and down with his heavy breaths. Grabbing his water bottle, Ilya sat in front of the other boy, his skin tingling with exhilaration over the events of the last few minutes. Hollander had his legs curled into himself, and Ilya took advantage of the extra space to stretch his legs out in front of him. He took a quick sip from his water bottle, keeping his eyes on Hollander the whole time, watching as his breaths became a bit more even as his body recovered from the work out.
“Today was good yes? Everything you dreamed of?” Ilya asked, not caring that he already knew the answer.
“Not quite,” Hollander answered begrudgingly.
“Mmm,” Ilya responded while tilting his head apologetically. At least he tried to anyway. Except the “sorry,” that followed made it clear that he really wasn’t sorry at all. Hollander’s narrowed eyes made it apparent that he got the message loud and clear.
Ilya took another swig from his bottle. Hollander’s eyes zeroed on on the bottle, but Ilya’s zeroed onto Hollander’s. Ilya felt his skin begin to vibrate when he watched Hollanders eyes go from narrow contempt to wide wonderment. Ilya stared at the boy in front of him, trying to figure out what might be going through his head now that the haze of their silly little competition was started to wear off.
“Montreal is nice, yes?” Ilya asked.
“Yeah, it’s great.”
“And Boston?”
“It’s nice. I’ve heard people like it there.”
“And we’ll be seeing more of each other?”
Ilya watched Hollander’s breath hitch as he turned his head down. He couldn’t help but think about how this night was going much differently than he originally thought it would when he first set foot into the gym. He expected anger, maybe some shit talking. But what he got was this instead. A boy with something to prove and a desire to actually prove it. It must be disappointing for him that Ilya keeps getting in the way.
“Um, yeah,” Hollander stuttered, “Montreal and Boston play each other pretty often.”
Ilya took yet another drink from his water bottle. When he set it to the ground, he watched as Hollander’s eyes followed the movement, and then hovered where the bottle was resting. Suddenly, Ilya felt silly. They just had a very intense workout. Of course the other boy was thirsty. What seemed like possible lingering glances was nothing more than a biological need to hydrate. Ilya thinks it’s a bit silly Hollander came to the gym without his own water, and while he may be an asshole, he’s not a dick. The least he can do is offer the guy a drink.
When Hollander waved his hand in refusal, it was Ilya’s turn to look at him with narrowed eyes. Clearly, Hollander was thirsty. It made no sense that he would refuse the bottle. Ilya picked it up and shook it in front of his face, the water making a loud sloshing noise inside all the empty space.
“Take it,” Ilya said, his Russian voice sounding incredibly stern around the English words. Hollander’s eyes took on that same wide wonderment from before, and it was enough to make Ilya think maybe he wasn’t seeing things earlier after all. Maybe there really was more to Hollander than he originally thought.
Hollander leaned forward to grab the bottle. Ilya shimmied his hand so that their fingers would brush against each other as he passed it over. Hollander paused once he had the bottle in his hand, staring at Ilya like a deer in the headlights. Ilya nodded his head towards the bottle and finally, Hollander took some sips.
Ilya watched Hollander as he drank from the bottle. He watched the way his throat bobbed with each swallow and he couldn’t stop his mind from wondering what Hollander might look like while swallowing something else. Ilya could feel his pulse jump and swallowed the saliva that started pooling in his mouth. This time, there was no denying what Hollander’s eyes locked on. Without the water bottle in his hand, the only thing Hollander could have possibly been looking at was Ilya’s throat, the same way he was looking at Hollander’s.
Hollander’s hand started to droop, the water bottle almost forgotten as the two stared at each other.
“More,” Ilya whispered quietly, just to see what would happen.
Immediately, Hollander lifted the bottle back to his lips and took a few more sips. Ilya had to bite his tongue to keep the praise from flying out of his mouth.
Ilya swallowed again as Hollander lowered the bottle once more. Hollander stared at him intently, almost like he was waiting for his next command, and Ilya had to stop the gasp that almost escaped him at the realization. Hollander may be a bit rough around the edges, but Ilya knew a good boy when he saw one. And it had been made abundantly clear that Hollander is the kind of guy that thrived on being a good boy. When Ilya made no indication that he would demand another drink, Hollander handed the bottle back over to him.
Ilya grabbed from where Hollander’s hand was, being more deliberate with the finger brushing than he was the first time. Hollander’s shoulders drooped in relaxation, and Ilya knew his message had been received exactly like the reward it was.
Ilya took the last few sips of water that was left, watching as Hollander watched him. He sent a wink Hollander’s way, to which Hollander responded with a shy hum. And Ilya could feel himself burning from the inside out. He wanted to reach across and wipe away the sweat that has pooled near Hollander’s lips. He wanted Hollander’s lips on his. He wanted to hear the sounds Hollander would make as he touched every inch of skin he could get his hands on. Most of all he wanted to reward this good boy for his good behavior. He wants, he wants, he wants. But he can’t. So Ilya stands silently and heads towards the door of the gym, and he doesn’t look back at the boy he’s leaving behind even though he’s sure those puppy eyes are following his every step. He wants. But he can't.