Archive of Our Own

Convincing Farah to take Ilya as a new client does require coming out, and the second time is no less stressful than the first one was.

That the first time he’d ever uttered the words “I’m gay” was to Ilya, the man who’d not only caused the whole questioning of his sexuality, but had also solidified, over and over again, said sexuality by railing him, had been little comfort. Ilya knew, and was unlikely to judge, but it was a truth terrifying to vocalize all the same.

Farah is a different beast altogether. She’s become as much a friend as an agent, and while Shane trusts that the friend won’t have a problem with the truth of it, the agent is another matter completely. She was likely to be even more aware of the problems they were likely to face than they do.

In the end, it goes like this.

Shane meets her at her office in downtown Montreal and proceeds to exchange small talk while getting stared at.

“Shane.” Farah finally says, and he slumps in his chair. “Talk to me.”

“I have a friend who’d like to change agents, and I’d appreciate it if you could take him on.” He says hesitantly.

“Kid, you know that’s not enough to get me to say yes.” She prods him. He’s long since stopped reacting to being called ‘Kid’ by a woman who’s only a few years older than him. Farah will do what Farah wants to do.

Taking a deep breath, he fights against the desire to just blurt it out in a long, unintelligible sentence. “I’ve been seeing someone for a few years, and it’s getting serious.” He starts with. “We’d like to be able to manage both of our careers to spend more time together, and sharing an agent seems like a good way to do this.”

He knows he’s prevaricating, but those words are so damn hard to say.

Farah considers him for a moment. “I take it that someone is not only male, but also a player on another team?” She asks, barely blinking at a truth that has been terrifying Shane for years.

The words won’t come, but he manages to nod.

“I won’t agree to take him on without a long meeting with all three of us, but until we can arrange that, I need you to give me a name and the bare bones of the situation. I need to brainstorm the possible shitshow you just handed me.” She raises a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you. You’re so damn lonely, I’m glad you’ve found someone. But we both know how complicated this is going to be.”

Shane winces. She doesn’t know exactly how complicated it’s about to be. He fights the desire to turtle into himself.

“Oh boy.” She deadpans. “That bad, is it?” A quick shake of her head follows. She leans back into her chair and considers him. “You know the rule. I don’t need you to disclose your entire life to me, but you can’t lie to me if you expect me to be effective at my job.”

It’s a deal that was born during his rookie year when he tried to hide an injury. She hadn’t taken it well, and they’d had to set some ground rules.

It’s probably why she turned into such a good friend. She knows him better than most people do and, more often than not, he’s grateful for it. From time to time, it’s also a pain in the ass, but still, it’s worth it for the unflinching support.

He takes a moment to breathe, trying to center himself.

“I’ve been seeing Ilya Rozanov casually since before our rookie year.” He says.

“Of course it’s Rozanov.” She answers. “Alright. Give me some context, and what your goals are here. Then we’ll plan a meeting. Preferably at your place so we have time and privacy.”

He nods. It’s not like he’d expected anything else. “The CCM shoot is where it really started, but it’d probably been simmering since we met. It was casual until a few weeks ago.” He makes a face. “Or maybe it was more a case of pretending it was casual until then.”

“I’ll want more than that, but I’d rather get his opinion on everything too, so it can wait.”

“As for our goals, well. There’s the dream scenario where we can play hockey and be together openly. We both know that’s unlikely to happen.”

“I might still want to talk about it eventually, but agreed in the short to mid-term.”

“His citizenship is an issue. Russia isn’t friendly to people like us. Part of the reason to change agents is that he doesn’t trust his current one to have his best interests at heart if we’re accidentally outed. It could put his visa in danger, and even his ability to go back to Russia at all. We’ve discussed him applying for Canadian citizenship.”

She raises a brow. “That serious is it?”

“He doesn’t want an American one. They’re only marginally friendlier than the Russians, and in some cases, it’s all lip service.” She nods. “We’re aware it would require him to accept being traded to a Canadian team. We’re thinking about it.”

“Would you want to play for the same team?”

“In my dreams? Absolutely. In reality? Neither of us thinks we could hide our relationship if we did. Not at the moment, at least.”

“Does he have a preference?” She asks.

“Not yet. Our current criteria would be nothing that would have us farther apart than we currently are.” He hesitates a beat. “I haven’t mentioned it to him yet, but I'd be willing to move if necessary.”

“So something like him in Vancouver and you in Seattle would be possible?”

He nods. “As long as he’s in Canada so he can eventually apply for citizenship, I don’t care where I am.”

“Unless I’m wrong, he still has a few years on his current contract, so that gives us some time to plan. I don’t think Boston would trade him unless he asks or they have to because of his contract. Same thing for you in Montreal.”

He knows. They both do.

“So, a possible trade, and potential citizenship. Anything else?”

“If you can swing it without it looking shady, we’d like joint gigs. Promo, appearances, awards attendance. Anything. As things stand, we’ll only be able to see each other when our teams are competing or when our schedules miraculously align. We’re prepared to deal with it, and we have plans to maximise that time, but having to contractually appear together in public might also help explain our level of comfort as well as changing the narrative a little.”

“Probably doable. Right now, I’ve been doing the opposite, trying to keep you apart when I can, so I apologize for any cockblocking I might have been responsible for.” Farah says with a smirk.

Shane blushes.

“Any chance you’re going to want a beard?” She asks.

“We’ve talked about it a little, and we’d rather avoid it if possible. But that’s probably something he should be involved in deciding.”

“Absolutely. We’re not making any decision until we all know where we stand, and until he and I have signed some paperwork.” She relaxes. “I’m sort of excited about the challenge, actually. I still won’t say yes without meeting him, and I reserve the right to bitch you out because it’s a huge clusterfuck in the making.”

“Of course.”

“So let’s put a meeting on the books as soon as possible.”

“He’s in Russia for the summer, but he’d jump at an excuse to come back for a break. Meeting a potential new agent is certainly a good reason to fly back.”

“It won’t be suspicious?”

He hums. “Switching to someone not Russian might, but your connections are better, so he can explain it with wanting better endorsement deals. The potential increase in income should satisfy the people who would prefer he stay with local representation.”

“Like that, is it?” She asks wryly. “Well, let’s get your boy back here for a bit. You probably need to get laid anyway.”

Shane blushes bright red.

**

Ilya is impatiently waiting for the elevator to make its way to Shane’s condo. They’ve barely managed some phone calls and a single short Skype session in the last month since Vegas, and he craves seeing Shane in the flesh. The meeting with Farah, his new potential agent, is a godsend for so many reasons.

The last month has felt a little like the night in Vegas had been a mirage of sorts. A short night that easily topped the list of his favorite memories often feels like he’s dreamed it. If it wasn’t for the incessant texting, he might start to doubt himself.

He’d been scheduled to leave for Moscow a few days after the NHL awards, and without a valid reason to delay his departure, he’d had no choice but to get on the plane. The thought of months without being able to see Shane, when they’d barely confessed even wanting to turn their arrangement into an actual relationship, had been heartbreaking.

Until Shane had called, explaining that he’d spoken with Farah, and she was requesting a meeting with both of them so they could meet each other, see if they could work together, and if they did, start planning strategies.

Explaining to his father why he was considering changing agents, especially since said potential agent was a Canadian woman, had required some work. As always, the man had been near feral in his belief that anything Russian was best, and it was only the mention of Farah’s contacts and her status as Shane Hollander’s agent that had finally calmed the man down.

The rivalry between them might not be as publicly depicted, but his father believes that Ilya should take any chance he could to best the other man. The prospect of more lucrative and more numerous sponsorships sealed the deal.

With a little creativity, Ilya has managed to block off ten days plus travel time. The plan is to spend the night in Montreal and then head for Shane’s newly completed cottage for the remaining time.

Of course, flight delays mean he’s sixteen hours late by the time he texts Shane that he’s at the building.

A quick look at the clock tells him Farah is expected within the hour, so any reunion sex will likely have to wait for her to leave again.

They can, and have more than once, do a lot with nothing but a single hour in a hotel room. Ilya’s sure there will be a lot more rushed encounters, but right now, he has ten days to truly take his time taking Shane apart.

He wants to savor the experience, wants to let it linger where they’re both used to hurrying things up. He wants a marathon, not a sprint. He wants to finally start mapping out those freckles he’s been dreaming about since Regina.

He barely has time to start knocking before the door opens on one of his very favorite sights.

Bright smile, bright eyes, and a constellation of freckles across flushed cheeks. The dark hair is messy, and there’s sweat beading on Shane’s forehead.

He doesn’t have time to see more before he’s tugged into the condo, bag dropped to the ground.

Shane fits perfectly in his arms, and Ilya closes his eyes, burying his nose into soft strands of hair. He can all but feel the stress sloughing off his shoulders, tension he hasn’t wanted to acknowledge fading away.

The hug doesn’t last nearly long enough before Shane steps back. “I really want to kiss you for like the next hour, but I need to head back to the kitchen.” He apologizes before adding. “You can either give yourself a tour of the place, or wait until Farah leaves to have me do it.”

Ilya raises a brow. He not only doesn’t get a kiss, but he’s also all but dismissed so Shane can be in the kitchen. Color him intrigued.

“I go with you.” He says, looking around at the wide open space of the condo. Kitchen, living room, and dining room all flow together in a luminous space with large windows letting in light. It’s unseasonably cool and overcast for the season, but the open floor design makes it much brighter than it could be. It’s not quite showroom esthetics, but Ilya’s fairly certain Shane isn’t entirely responsible for the decor. It makes him want to look at everything just so he can find and identify every little piece of the other man hidden amongst the rest. There’s so much they don’t know about each other despite how intimate their relationship has always been. Ilya knows he’s picked up a lot of things throughout their acquaintance. He’s spent so much time analysing Shane’s game tapes that he’s bound to have learned a lot of things he’s not even aware of. The reverse is just as likely true. He’s seen, read, or listened to pretty much anything publicly available about Shane Hollander, but the man is notoriously private, so a lot of information is missing.

He wants to know everything, from childhood memories to the dreams the other man holds close. He wants the small things, favorite color and favorite brand of toothpaste, wants to borrow his way into Shane’s life to tide himself over once the season kicks off, and they have to spend months apart. He wants to switch laundry detergent, just so he can have the scent wrap around him when he’s missing Shane, wants to listen to the same music or podcast so he has an in into his brain.

The awareness that he can, that he’s allowed to learn and to ask, still takes his breath away at times.

Standing here, in the place where Shane lives, instead of a mostly empty building devoid of real personality, is beyond anything he might have dreamed of, especially during those six long months he spent denying himself even a single text.

So he looks around and takes in as much as possible.

The door leading to a smallish balcony is wide open, letting cooler air in, and now that Ilya’s taking the time to really look at Shane, the man is obviously flushed from the heat. There’s a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, his posture loose and comfortable.

Ilya steps in closer to the kitchen, stopping on the other side of the island. The counter space is meticulously clean but filled with ingredients, some raw, and some clearly already cooked. There’s a monster of a stockpot simmering gently on the burner, and Ilya takes a deep breath, filling his nose with the rich smell of whatever’s cooking.

He raises a brow and cranes his neck, trying to get a better look. He doesn’t quite recognize all the smells, but he knows that if it tastes anything close to how it smells, he’s in for a treat. “What are you doing?” He asks, earning himself a smirk.

“Playing golf, obviously.” Is Shane’s cheeky answer.

Ilya snorts. “Funny. I didn’t know you cook.”

Shane shrugs. “My grandmothers would have never let me move away from home if I couldn’t. I don’t do it often, though. Maybe once or twice a month. The team’s dietitian has me on a pretty strict diet most of the time, but I negotiated some leeway into it. I tend to make huge batches of something and freeze it for when I’m too tired to cook or even order in.” He points at the stockpot. “This is a little different. I always have some broth ready, but doing it the right way takes fucking hours, so it’s something I only do a few times a year. My grandmother will usually fill my freezer if I run out and don’t have time to do it myself.”

Ilya is sort of impressed. He’s not a bad cook by any means, but he rarely takes the trouble to make anything complicated, aside from one or two recipes his mother used to make. “What is it?” He asks.

“Proper ramen with tonkatsu broth. Farah and I usually alternate between Japanese and Lebanese restaurants when we have meetings. She’s in charge of vetting the Lebanese places, and I handle the Japanese ones. Ramen’s her favorite.” Shane explains from where he’s sliding eggs into a smaller pot. There’s the buzzing of an incoming message from Shane’s phone, and the man wipes his hand on the towel still on his shoulder before he snorts.

“That’s Farah. I knew she’d be early.” He looks up at Ilya. “I buzzed her into the building, but can you let her in? I don’t want to risk overcooking the eggs.”

The man is full of surprises today. Domestic is a very good look on Shane, and it’s a little surreal to see it, considering where they’d been a few weeks ago.

Ilya wants to sit and just watch. Wants to have the time and the opportunity to look at the way the other man is handling a knife and get a little turned on at the competency. Wants to see this version of Shane relaxed and comfortable in his own space, instead of hyper aware of their surroundings or of the clock running out on their time together.

The knock on the door interrupts his staring.

Opening the door suddenly feels like more than a small gesture. It’s the first time they’re letting someone into their bubble. Farah is the only person who’s been told the truth, and this will be the very first chance they have at being a couple in ‘public’.

Ilya takes a breath, then opens the door.

Farah Jalali is a tall woman, probably on par with Shane’s own height. She’s stunningly gorgeous, but currently dressed in a surprisingly low-key outfit of cropped pants and a flowing tunic, along with well-worn flip flops.

She looks him up and down, one brow raised. “Good, you made it.”

Ilya nods and steps aside to let her in the door. “Just came in. Flight was nightmare.”

She makes a face, kicking her sandals towards Shane’s shoe rack. “I hate overseas flights. I don’t envy you.” Farah doesn’t give him time to answer before she clearly addresses Shane. “Hello Troublemaker.”

Ilya looks over and sees Shane leaning against the counter, a wry grin on his face. “And to think I was gonna give you a fresh bottle of chili oil.”

Farah straightens up in answer and crosses the room, sidling up to Shane. He shakes his head, clearly amused, and opens his arms in a clear offer. Farah steps into the hug easily.

There’s nothing forced or put on in the action. Both of them are clearly comfortable with each other, in a way Shane rarely is with people. Ilya knows Shane has been Farah’s client since almost the beginning of his career, but this goes far beyond a professional relationship.

Interesting.

He looks on as Farah takes half a step back, peeking over Shane’s shoulder as she does it. “Is that your Obaasan’s tonkatsu?”

Shane pushes her back a little to give himself room to move. “Her recipe, my work.” He glances at Farah. “Same thing for the oil, so behave if you want that bottle.”

Farah stares. “You made tonkatsu broth and chili oil. Are you trying to bribe me into signing him as a client?”

Shane rolls his eyes, in what is obviously a long-standing habit.

Ilya raises a brow.

“I was always going to make ramen and the oil because I do know you, but the broth was a last-minute decision.”

Farah looks at him. “That recipe takes like fourteen hours to make correctly. That’s not last-minute.” She deadpans.

Ilya’s brow raises even higher. Fourteen hours?

Shane gives Farah another push, this time towards the fridge. “I’m ready to serve. Can you grab drinks? Ilya will want a Coke.” Shane says, grabbing large bowls. His flight is sixteen hours late. I had some time to kill, and if it wasn’t now, my freezer was out of broth anyway.” He starts serving, but pauses for a beat, looking up at Ilya. “Spice-wise, what’s your level of comfort?” He asks.

“I don’t know. I hate question. My mild is probably not your mild.” Ilya grumbles.

Shane flashes him a smile. “Fair point. This will have a little heat, but you can decide if you want to add more or not.” He jerks his head towards Farah. “She likes it just short of burning, so don’t follow her example.”

Ilya nods and looks on as Shane builds three massive bowls. In no time, they’re sitting at one end of the table, with a mouthwatering bowl in front of each of them. Farah is already gleefully spooning the chili oil into hers, and Ilya grins at the sight.

Deciding on caution, he takes the first taste, and flavor explodes across his taste buds.

He moans.

Shane chuckles. “Not a sound I usually hear you make in public.”

Ilya would glare, but he’s too busy chasing some noodles to bother doing it. “Is really good.” He eyes the chili oil, wondering if he dares to try it.

Shane snorts, pushing back to his feet. “Hold on.” He heads back to the kitchen and spoons some more broth into a small bowl. He hands it to Ilya. “Don’t risk overspicing, try it out first, or you’ll be miserable.”

The next few minutes are quiet as they stuff their faces. Using chopsticks on brothy noodles isn’t a skill Ilya has quite mastered yet, but he refuses to give up, especially given how at ease Shane obviously is. His boyfriend undoubtedly grew up using them, so there’s nothing surprising about his skill, but Ilya is a competitive bastard who won’t let himself be bested by his meal.

Farah breaks the silence. “I’ve taken a look at what I could find about your representation, Ilya, and if we decide we’re not suited to work together, I’ve got a list of other people for you. Your current guy is doing the bare minimum.”

Ilya nods. He’s not exactly surprised at the news. “He’s asshole.” Staying with the man hasn’t been a decision made out of anything but an attempt to buy peace with his father. He honestly can’t stand the guy, and he’s always suspected that feeling went both ways.

“A lazy one at that.” Farah adds. “I have a few ideas on possible marketing strategies, brands I could reach out to, and contacts you should probably make. That part of it isn’t an issue.”

“What is then?” Shane asks.

“The risks involved. I know neither of you wants to come out, and I’m not advocating for it, not yet. I do think we need to be proactive about it, though. I also think you both need to tell a few other people, no matter what we decide.”

Shane stiffens. “What?”

Farah reaches for Shane, lightly touching his wrist to help ground him. Ilya, for his par,t moves his feet so he can bracket Shane’s between his own, much for the same reason.

“Why?” He asks Farah.

“Several reasons, but let’s start with the disclosure part before Shane explodes.”

Shane nods and grabs his drink when Ilya pushes it toward him. “Good plan.” His voice is a little raspy with fear.

“I’m worried about the potentially high cost of keeping things completely quiet for possibly years. Lying to everyone you know on a daily basis is going to take a toll, and not making things public is going to be difficult enough on both of you without adding that weight on your shoulders. I think you also need the support, someone you can talk to and vent to whenever necessary. You can’t rely on each other for everything. You at least need people to confide in when you’re pissed at each other.”

Shane starts to speak up, but Farah cuts him off. “Wait, I’m not done. I would suggest informing at least one person each, preferably your medical proxies.”

Ilya stiffens.

“As things stand, if something happens to one of you, the other would have no access to any information, and depending on the situation, might not even be able to make it inside a hospital room.”

“Shit.” Shane breathes out, and Ilya agrees with the sentiment.

“Hopefully, nothing ever happens, but we all know how dangerous hockey is, and how at risk of concussion you both are. And that’s just work-related. Accidents happen in daily life, too. There’s no guarantee you would be in any shape to contact each other.” She looks at them both in turn. “I know Shane’s proxies are his parents, with Hayden as backup if something happens on the road. Ilya, who’s yours?”

“A friend.” Picking someone had been an ordeal. Both his father and brother had always been out of question, not only because of the physical distance between Moscow and Boston but also because he doesn’t trust them with the task. Svetlana had eventually given him a look until he’d put her name down with a sheepish smile.

Farah nods. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now, but I think you should talk it over. We’re in the off-season, and I can serve as an intermediary for the moment. I’m just unlikely to be the one with the fastest access to the information.”

Ilya glances up at Shane to find him already looking back. The bleak look in those dark eyes is a clear sign that they’re on the same page. The idea of not being able to get any news if Shane is injured, let alone not having the possibility to at least visit him in the hospital, is twisting in his gut. It’s honestly a nightmare scenario, worse than the idea of telling a few people about their relationship.

It’s still a discussion they’ll need to have, and sooner rather than later at that, but it’s one they’ll have in private.

Something must have filtered through to Farah, because Ilya can see her nodding in the corner of his eye.

“Good. Let’s talk about being proactive then.”

Shane groans, and Farah smirks in answer. “We need a solid PR strategy.” She starts. “Which means, we need a publicist in the know.”

Shane groans again. “I know what you’re going to say. Fuck. Really?”

Ilya frowns.

“Shane’s been refusing to hire a manager despite my repeated advice. There’s a specific someone I want for the job, who just also happens to have a degree in communications. She would be fantastic at the job, is absolutely loyal to Shane, trilingual-”

“Four languages,” Shane mumbles.

“Sorry, speaks four languages, has the sort of energy that is hard to resist, and just happens to be queer.”

Ilya glances from one to the other. It’s clear he’s missing something here, and he’s not a fan of the feeling. “Who?”

Shane straightens up from where he’d slumped in defeat. “One of my cousins.”

“You don’t agree with Farah?” Ilya asks, perplexed at the reaction.

Shane answers with a sigh.”I actually do agree that Cathy would be fantastic at the job. She’s just a menace who likes to bully me.”

Farah snorts. “Shane.”

“She is! She does!”

“Don’t let him fool you. She’s his favorite cousin and the one he’s closest to.” She glances at Shane. “They’re about two weeks apart, and she’s just as competitive as he is. Their ping-pong tournaments are legendary in the family, and we try to avoid letting them play basketball against each other. It gets a little too intense.” She gives a pointed look.

Shane looks up at the ceiling. “She pisses me off.”

“You’re giving your boyfriend the wrong idea about Cathy,” Farah remarks.

Shane meets Ilya’s eyes with a sigh. “Right. She’s the closest thing to a sister I have. She’s one of my favorite people on earth, but no one else can piss me off that quickly.” He seems to consider the statement. “Except you.” He groans again. “Fuck. I don’t think introducing you two is a good idea.”

Which just means she’s suddenly climbed several spots on the list of people from Shane’s life he wants to meet. Rather than commenting, he asks. “Why refuse manager?”

“I’m an adult, I can manage my own life.” The answer comes out with more than a little sulk.

“Shane’s a control freak. He thinks having a manager would mean giving over control to someone else. I’ve been trying to convince him that a manager, especially someone like Cathy, would be there to help him and take some things over so he can concentrate on his actual job. She’d be able to act as a manager, publicist, and something of a personal assistant.”

“Farah,” Shane warns.

“Nope. You need to actually listen to me. Between your job, which includes both games and training, and your endorsement deals, you’re getting overwhelmed. You’re away for weeks at a time, trying to keep things organized and hoping you don’t drop any balls. You’re also the team captain, which is another time-heavy responsibility, and now, you’re adding a secret partner who lives in a different country and has a schedule almost as insane as yours. Something has to give.”

“What would you want this Cathy to do?” Ilya asks.

“The typical things a manager would do, but with the personal, familial touch. She could handle things like booking flights and accommodations, correspondence, fucking errands when it comes to it.” She shakes her head. “Shane, you trust her. She’s already the person who comes to water the plants whenever you’re away. I know she’s done groceries for you once or twice. She’s got great style, and she could overhaul your wardrobe. I know you don’t give a fuck about clothing and you hate shopping, but she would adore taking care of it for you.”

“Sounds like good idea,” Ilya says, looking at Shane.

“Plus, it would be a fantastic career move for her.” Farah points out.

Ilya frowns. “Why?”

Shane sighs. “She’s a young, gorgeous woman of color. She’s smart and educated, but her gender and skin color will always be held against her.”

Ilya muses it over a moment, picking his chopsticks back up. He knows, or at least has a pretty good inkling, that Shane’s life is insanely busy. The revelation that he’s been doing everything himself is somehow unsurprising given that he’s aware of the man’s control issues, but it’s also highly discouraging.

“I think you should invite her to lunch.” He finally settles on saying.

Shane stares at him. “Now?”

He shrugs. “Is plenty of food, you trust her, and she should be part of planning strategy.”

The staring continues for a minute or two, and Ilya’s content to let the man process the suggestion. He has excellent food in front of him, and he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to get seconds.

Finally, Shane groans. “Fuck.” He pushes himself to his feet and grabs the cell phone he’d left abandoned on the counter.

His call is answered in seconds, but Ilya understands none of it as it’s all spoken in rapid-fire French. Mooning at the sight of his man speaking the language is incredibly tempting, but Farah catches his gaze.

“Thank you.” She says.

“Why? Is logical.”

“I’ve been trying to convince him for years. He needs to share the load before he burns out, but he’s been refusing to even discuss it. It took you five minutes to get him to agree.” She considers him. “This tells me you and I will be able to work together, so if you’re still interested, I think we can plan to sign a contract and get you better representation.” She glances back at where Shane is still speaking. “You’ll have to discuss it with her, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Cathy offers to take on some work for you, too. She’s an overachiever, and she thrives on being busy.”

Ilya nods and allows himself to ask the question that has been brewing since Farah stepped into the penthouse. “You know him very well, yes? His family, too?”

“We signed our first contract about six months after he was drafted. I was only a few years older than him, barely out of school, really, and trying to make a name for myself. I was in the same type of situation as Cathy is actually.” She smiles. “He was the first real client I took on. We sort of learned the job together. He’s my friend as much as my client, and I’ll always be grateful he took a chance on me.”

“How did that happen?” He asks, curious. He hadn’t realized the implications of the timeline.

“She came up to me after a game. I was still playing Juniors, preparing for the World Championship. She just shows up and informs me that I needed a decent agent, and that she might be young and relatively inexperienced, but she could guarantee she would work her ass off for me.” Shane comments, rejoining them at the table. “It was gutsy as fuck, and I could respect that. Mom grilled her like a fish, but we clicked almost instantly.”

“I think we all liked the idea of the two of us working together. Both of us too young, in fields where we were really atypical, both first-generation Canadians, both speaking three languages.” Farah shrugs. “The gamble worked.”

“Best business decision I’ve ever made,” Shane adds. “Now, I get to pay her to make those decisions. That’s a win.”

Farah snorts. “Bullshit. Everyone at this table knows you’re a control freak. How did the talk with Cathy go?” She changes the subject.

“Should be here soon, she was shopping nearby.”

“What did you tell her?” Ilya asks.

“Said I needed to talk shop with her, that it would mean keeping the mother of all secrets, and that I had Obaasan’s ramen ready to eat. She basically hung up without saying goodbye.” Shane shrugs. “She has a key, so she’ll let herself in.”

They chat idly while they wait, Ilya musing on a second serving of ramen all the while. It’s a matter of minutes before the door opens, and Ilya turns around, curious.

The woman who walks in is tall, if not quite as tall as Farah. She’s also a stunner, but given her resemblance to Shane, Ilya might be a bit biased on the subject. They have the exact same eyes, from the shape to the color, and even the spark of mischief he’d sometimes catch when Shane was in a good mood. The jet black hair is a curling mass of braids looped into a messy bun, and her skin is a gorgeous caramel color that marks the main physical difference between cousins.

She toes off her battered Converses and looks up, zeroing in on the three of them. She raises a brow in surprise.

“Shay, Farah, and Ilya Rozanov. One of these is not like the others.” She snarks.

Shane, for his part, squawks out. “That’s my shirt!”

Ilya bites his lip to keep from laughing. She’s wearing a Team Canada jersey over jeans that have been cut off below the knees. And unless he’s wrong, this isn’t the first time he’s seen this particular jersey.

A quick look at Shane’s glaring face has him snorting quietly.

“You mean the jersey you outgrew years ago, despite it being sized to accommodate pads? The same jersey I stole about three years ago that you never realized was missing? That’s what you’re bitching about?” She deadpans. There’s a bit of a lilt to her voice that Ilya recognizes as a French-Canadian accent, but it’s faint enough that he wouldn’t have noticed it normally, if her speech pattern didn’t echo Shane’s so closely.

Shane growls. “Ilya, meet Catherine Yukimura, jersey thief and least favorite cousin. Cat, I know you recognize this guy.”

Cathy smirks. “And they call you polite. I should call Obaasan and tell her you need a refresher on manners.”

Shane rolls his eyes.

“I want to know everything about the Rozanov of it all, as soon as I’ve got some noodles in me,” Cat says, heading to the kitchen.

Shane pushes to his feet and leans over the table to grab Ilya’s empty bowl. Ilya must make a sound because Shane smiles at him. “Relax, I’m getting you more food. You’ve been eyeing the kitchen for fifteen minutes.”

Ilya grins, intercepting Shane’s hand and pressing a kiss to his fingers. “Thanks.”

In the kitchen, Cat hums. “Interesting.”

“Shut up.” Shane’s answer is clearly an automatic one.

Farah snorts, and Ilya looks at her to find her looking back. “Yes, they’re always like that.”

As soon as Shane crosses into the kitchen, the bowl is set on the counter, and he wraps his arms around his cousin, the hug tighter than the one with Farah had been. Cat echoes the move, barely huffing when he seems to lean most of his weight on her. There’s a murmur of French that Ilya can’t catch before Shane presses an affectionate, and clearly habitual, kiss to her cheek.

He watches as the cousins work around each other, clearly used to sharing a kitchen.

It doesn’t take them long to settle at the table, Cat reaching for the chili oil, hesitating a moment. “Is the broth Obaasan spiced, or Uncle Dave?” She asks.

“Dad level.” Is Shane’s answer, and Ilya looks on as she proceeds to dump what seems to be an inordinate amount of oil into her bowl. He looks at Shane.

“Japanese dad, Haitian mom. I don’t think she has taste buds anymore.” His boyfriend comments.

Cat offers her cousin her middle finger, her other hand already busy shoveling noodles.

Ilya turns back to his own bowl, content to stuff his face while plotting how he can convince Shane to bring the rest of the broth to the cottage with them.

Once there’s only about a third of her bowl still full, Cat slows down and glances at Shane. “Talk.”

“Wow, great manners.” Shane deadpans with a smirk.

“Talk, please.” She corrects herself, a brow sarcastically raised. “Start with the big Russian elephant in the room.”

Ilya meets Shane’s gaze. “Ilya and I have been-” he hesitates a second “meeting casually since that CCM shoot back in 2010.”

Cat stares at her cousin. “You’ve been hooking up with your league-appointed archrival for four years.” She suddenly grins brightly, and Ilya’s breath catches for a second because he’s seen that exact smile before. “I’m proud of you. I’m not even going to bitch about you not telling me you’re queer when I came out to you.”

Shane whips his head around. “You never came out! You had a crush on two girls and a boy during fifth grade! Your prom date was non-binary for fuck’s sake!”

“Of course I came out! Had a whole thing with the parents, and everyone on dad’s side.” She pauses, obviously thinking something over. “Wait. That might have been while you were away.” She adds sheepishly.

“When?” Shane asks, exasperated.

It’s not unlike watching a reality show, Ilya muses.

“Right around our eighteenth, so 2009.”

Shane throws his hands up. “That’s when I was drafted, KitKat! I was a little distracted with stressing out about that guy over there!”

Ilya smirks.

“Remember that? Everyone kept reassuring me I was gonna get picked first? The journalists calling non-stop for a quote?”

“Oops? My bad?” Cat interjects. “You came back from the draft in a shit mood, and things were sorta bad with mom’s side. I might not have remembered to tell you something you already knew anyway.”

“Fuck.” Shane slumps down. “I really was in a shit mood, and I know how much things sucked with those assholes. I should have made the link between you coming out and them being homophobic jerks. In my defense, I was busy with my own sexuality crisis.”

Cat snorts, propping her head up on her palm, elbow on the edge of the table. “Tell me about it. It’s the least you owe me for never confessing your love of dick.”

“Let’s just say that we had a moment, the night of the draft.” Shane rolls his eyes, glancing at Ilya. “I’d never really looked at a guy before, not that I can really remember anyway. The fact that it was Ilya Rozanov, the player who’d not only beaten me at the championship six months before, and was just picked ahead of me, really didn’t help. Calling it a sexuality crisis might be a bit of an understatement.”

Ilya winces. He’d never bothered to put the sequence of events together. It makes their encounter a year later even more surprising than he’d always thought it was. At the time of the draft, he’d already been well aware of his own preferences, even if he’d known he had to keep it quiet and discreet while he was still in Russia. The draft itself had been an enormous stress because he’d had the weight of both his father’s and his country’s expectations on his shoulders. Even then, the cute, freckled Canadian player he’d met in Regina had never been far from his thoughts, because Shane had been just as talented as he’d been hearing for years.

He’d also been struggling with his English, which hadn’t helped his stress level, but at least he hadn’t been entirely surprised by his almost visceral reaction to Shane.

“You know my opinion about both of those second places.” Farah cuts in, and Shane nods.

“And you’re right about all of it, but eighteen-year-old me was an absolute neurotic mess who couldn’t think straight.” Shane pauses before letting out a snort. “Really couldn’t think straight.”

Cat echoes the snort. “Good one.” She offers a fist, and Shane bumps it reflexively.

“What opinions?” Ilya questions Farah. Apart from that one moment in the gym, they’ve never actually discussed the draft, so he’s curious.

Farah glances at Shan,e who nods in agreement.

“Winning the championship was always a long shot. The team hadn’t really gelled, and a lot of players didn’t have experience with the level of pressure they were faced with. I don’t think they would have made it to second place without Shane, but there are limits to how many miracles he can produce. He did everything he could, and a second place was impressive considering everything.”

Ilya nods. “And the draft?”

“That particular draft wasn’t really about either of you. You both outclassed the other hopefuls so much that no one doubted you’d be chosen.”

Ilya frowns. “What about then?”

“Boston was always going to choose you, and Montreal was always going to pick Shane. The issue was which team picked first, not which player they selected.”

Ilya mulls it over. They’ve both been honed by their respective team during the last four years, but even back then, he’d been a better fit for the culture of the Bears than the Voyageurs. He was more aggressive and known as a shit stirrer, while Shane had been a powerhouse in a much quieter way.

Shane is, and always has been, the more well-rounded player. The way he reads the ice is unmatched in the league, and he backs up that intelligence with sheer physical talent that often leaves Ilya breathless.

Ilya knows his own worth and talks a big game, but the truth is that any face-to-face match-up between them is up for grabs. Neither of them is ever guaranteed a win if it’s against the other.

It’s what makes playing against Shane so exhilarating. Ilya has to work to secure any sort of victory. He has to be the very best he can be; his skating has to be fast, and his shots accurate. It’s also a far more strategic style of play than his usual because Shane always seems to be a few steps ahead of anyone.

Playing the Voyageurs also means opportunities to check their captain against the boards and the knowledge of what’s likely to follow those games.

He’s long since accepted that those sixty minutes of gameplay serve as some form of foreplay for both of them.

It makes him curious about what it would be like, playing together rather than against one another.

A shiver runs down his spine at the mere idea, but he pushes the idea away and instead focuses on what he’s just heard.

Farah’s stance on the draft has the ring of truth to it, and it changes the way he remembers certain events of their shared past.

He really needs some privacy so he can talk it out with Shane. Instead, he meets his boyfriend’s eyes and hums softly. “Is interesting.” Instead of continuing on the subject, he glances at Cathy quickly before asking Shane. “If family is okay with Cathy, why not tell them about you?”

Shane seems to hesitate a bit. “I think my parents, and most of the rest of the family, on both sides, will be okay with me liking men.” He glances at Cathy. “I don’t know how they’ll react to liking men exclusively while being a pro hockey player. That’s different.”

“Your parents adore you.”

He deflates. “I know they’d go over the wall if it comes to that. But-”

“Shay.” Cathay pushes her cousin.

“You know how much they’ve sacrificed, how hard it’s been on all of us. Getting me to where I am now, despite my ethnicity and all the bullshit that came with it, it’s been rough.”

Ilya frowns.

“Mom’s so proud of me for being a role model for kids that look like us. We’ve been so careful with my reputation for so long, and being gay? That’s going to wreck the whole thing.”

“I don’t understand.”

Something seems to pass between cousins, and Shane gives the smallest of nods.

Cathy’s the one who explains. “Shane’s always been extremely talented, but he’s also had to work harder than anyone else. There were a lot of doubters in the early years, for no other reason than him having a Japanese mom. Kids were ugly, and I can remember at least a coach or two who refused to work with him because they didn’t believe he’d go the distance. His parents had to be creative to get him some of the training he needed. In many ways, he was a trailblazer for other Asian kids. The whole family is aware of how important it is that Shane made it to the NHL at all, never mind that he’s considered one of the best players in the last few generations.” She sighs. “Being a role-model, well, it means having an impeccable reputation, especially when people are waiting for you to fail so they can point the finger and say ‘I knew it!’”.

“‘The Golden Boy of Canada’. The media’s been calling him that for years, but it’s an image that’s been carefully crafted and maintained. He’s been put on a very high pedestal, but it wouldn’t take much to push him off of it.” Farah cuts in.

“You’ve heard the same kind of hate speech in the locker rooms as I have. You know how bad it can get, how unforgiving.” Shane adds.

“You are captain, yes? Also best player in the League.” Ilya says, aghast.

Shane quirks a smile at that last comment. “Making me captain was good optics. In fact, they couldn’t really choose anyone else without getting some serious questions, but honestly? Some of the respect has always felt conditional.”

“Shane is holding up the team by himself. He’s doing more work than the rest of the players and management put together.” Cathy says.

“KitKat-” Shane warns.

“It’s true. They depend on you for everything. You have a few other decent players, but that’s about it. They rely on you for merchandise revenue, ticket sales, and visibility, and you do more work behind the scenes than Thériault does. You know I’m right. I love having you in town, but I wish you’d been drafted by someone else.”

Ilya feels his eyebrows rise in reaction. The Voyageurs’ reliance on Shane as a player isn’t anything new; it’s not even any sort of secret. He just hadn’t realized it went that far beyond the ice. “Is true?” He asks Shane, who slumps in answer.

“It’s not all bad, but it’s not great. I don’t entirely trust them not to turn on me for something, only to blame me when the team collapses. They’ll love me as long as I’m useful and marketable. The moment there’s a serious injury or something else that takes me off the ice, I’ll be responsible for the team not doing well.” Shane shakes his head. “We were both drafted to teams in reconstruction. You won the Cup in four years because your management invested in player development, and while they do rely on you a lot, you’re not carrying the entire franchise alone.”

“When Montreal gets the cup, they’ll be happy to take all the credit, but when they fail, it’ll always be on Shane’s shoulders,” Catherine adds.

Ilya stares at Shane, wide-eyed. “How are you conscious? Fuck, you need manager. You need new team.”

Shane glances at Farah. “I told Farah I’d be willing to move if it means finding you a good Canadian team.”

Catherine yelps. “What?” She looks from one to the other. “Someone tell me what we’re talking about?”

It’s Farah who speaks up. “Shane came to me and asked me to take Ilya on as a client. He told me Ilya’s citizenship is problematic and they were considering a trade to a team where he could apply for Canadian citizenship.”

“Russia is too dangerous if we are found out.” Ilya clarifies.

“Fuck Russia,” Catherine mutters. “So what kind of criteria are we looking for?” She asks.

“Something closer than Montreal-Boston. “ Ilya starts.

“I don’t think the Prairies are a good bet, but it would be better than an American team. As I said, I’m open to a trade, so Ilya in Vancouver and me in Seattle would be possible.”

Cathy shakes her head. “I think you need to be based in the same country. Frequent border crossings might catch someone’s attention, especially on a Russian passport.”

“I agree,” Farah interjects. “We should keep it on the list of possibilities, but at the very bottom. That leaves Montreal, Quebec, Ottawa, and Toronto.”

“Not Toronto. I would kill Dallas Kent.” Ilya cuts her off. “And not Montreal. It would be bad fit, I think.”

“Do you want to be on the same team?” Catherine asks.

Shane hesitated. “At some point in the future, yeah. It’d be a dream, but not yet. I don’t think we could hide our relationship if we were spending that much time together in public.”

Ilya grimaces because he unfortunately agrees with his partner. Despite spending years policing his reactions to the man’s proximity, now that they’re on the same wavelength as far as their relationship goes, he finds himself having to fight not to touch him. He’s pretty sure there would be no easy way to hide the way they look at each other, or their familiarity with one another.

But he likes the idea of being able to be on the same team eventually. It’s something to work towards, to keep in the back of his mind when the separation would inevitably become hard to stomach.

The same team would mean the same city, and probably the same house too, even if they had to maintain separate residences for appearances' sake.

What a wonderful dream.

“Getting trades won’t be easy,” Farah warns. “Boston might not depend on Ilya as much as Montreal does on Shane, but he’s still their star attraction. Neither of your teams will be eager to let you leave, especially so early in your careers.”

Ilya exchanges a glance with Shane. “We know. Have to try.”

“That’s probably not a short-term solution. What else are you doing?” Catherine asks.

“Hiring you to be Shane’s manager and PR person,” Ilya says.

Shane grumbles.

“You need help. Catherine loves you, and Farah thinks she can do the job. Is easy solution.” Ilya points out.

Catherine makes a face. “Feel free to call me Cat or Cathy, you’re apparently going to be family.” She turns to Shane. “I’m going to put down your grumbling on being a control freak instead of taking it personally, so talk to me.”

“Thanks.” Shane deadpans. “It’s been pointed out that I need to stop doing everything by myself. I’m being encouraged to delegate the day-to-day stuff to someone, along with everything that has to do with managing my life and career that doesn’t fall into an agent’s job description.”

She considers her cousin for a long moment before she reaches for his hand. “You do need a manager. You’ve been overworking yourself for years. There isn’t a Yukimura or a Hollander who wouldn’t happily help you carry the load. We’ve all been waiting for you to ask.” She says gently, and Shane blinks at the answer. “I’d be happy to work for you. It would be a great challenge on the professional front, and I know you’d pay me well.”

“Cat.” Shane chokes out.

“I’m going to manage the fuck out of your career, and I’ll make sure you get to have an actual real life.” She glances at Ilya and Farah before switching to a long string of Japanese.

Shane answers her, and Ilya can do nothing but stare. And try to control his libido because hearing Shane using a language other than English will never not be sexy, but the Japanese is new. In fact, he’s pretty sure he wasn’t even aware of Shane’s fluency in a third language. Unless he’s very wrong, it’s not part of the man’s official profile.

The only words he can identify are his name, Farah’s, and a couple of others, though he doesn’t know the people associated with the names.

He glances at Farah, who shakes her head. “I’m not quite as fluent in French as they are, but I would understand enough that whatever they’re discussing wouldn’t be private.”

The discussion doesn’t last long, but it’s clearly intense, Cat obviously trying to make her point, and Shane just as obviously trying to placate her.

They finally seem to come to an agreement.

“Call Dad.” Cat switches back to English. “I think you’re going to need to work some frustrations out, and he’ll be more than happy to put you on the schedule regularly."

Shane shakes his head, amused. “I will. Just as soon as Ilya’s back in Russia. We don’t have much time, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

Cat makes a face. “Ewww.” Shane retaliates with a poke to the cheek, and she grins, flashing a familiar dimple. “I think we need to have another meeting before his flight leaves. I agree with Farah about having a PR strategy, but I’d like to give it some thought before we make any decision about it.”

Ilya meets Shane’s eyes. As much as he wants to hoard every available moment, he’s also not a complete idiot. “We could set up meeting day before I leave?”

“How about this? I’ll give my notice to my current boss and get with Farah to discuss the specifics to sign my employment contract. The two of us will start talking strategy, and we can either meet right before Ilya leaves, or I can drive to the cottage for a few hours, and we can discuss things over beers in a place guaranteed to have Shane calm and relaxed.”

“Hey.” Shane protests.

“I love you, Shay, but you get neurotic about publicity of any sort.” She raises a brow. “If it happens while we’re at the cottage, I can just push you into the lake to cool you down. Feels like a win.”

“If you try to push me into the lake, I’m taking you with me,” Shane warns, and Ilya bites back a smile. He’s really enjoying this version of his usually so polished partner.

“I guess you’ll just have to avoid being neurotic then.”

Shane snorts. “I have decades of experience saying you’ll take any excuse to shove me into the nearest body of water as often as possible. The entire family avoids standing between us whenever we’re at the lake.”

“Maybe because the entire family agrees that you need to drop the mask and have some fun? Riling you up is almost guaranteed to get you to forget you’re supposed to be Mr. Perfect.” She pauses for a moment. “I also really like hearing you curse me out when you hit the water. I never know which language you’ll default to. Huge fun.”

Ilya smirks. He absolutely agrees that a ruffled Shane is tons of fun, and he’ll support his cousin’s ambition to do it as often as possible.

Dark eyes focus on him. “Get my phone number and email address from Shane so we can keep in touch. Make sure he either sends me yours or drop me a text yourself. Unless you have a good reason to refuse, I’d like to discuss doing some work for you, too. I think coordinating your schedules as much as we can is the way to go, and having me in the loop should help. I promise I’ll try not to be obnoxious about it.”

“I like how she didn’t make me that promise,” Shane says wryly.

Cat ignores him.

“The Hollander-Yukimura clan is a big, joyful mess. If you’re with Shane, that makes you one of us. I understand the need to keep things quiet, so until we decide to let other people in, I’m going to do all I can to make you feel welcomed.”

Ilya swallows hard. Family is a touchy subject, and always has been. He has no experience with the sort of dynamic Cat is hinting at, and he’s at a complete loss for words. “I -”

She reaches across the table and lays her hand on his. “We’ll work on it.” She says before pushing to her feet.

The next few minutes are a blur, and Ilya can only look on as both Farah and Cat start cleaning part of the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher (with a large amount of teasing directed at Shane) and trying to very vocally convince Shane to let them have leftovers.

“Farah, you can have the chili oil. Cat, hell no.” Shane says, one eyebrow raised. “You can make your own broth, spiced enough to strip paint. If you’re too lazy to do it, do what your brother does, and ask Obaasan. My leftover broth is going straight into the freezer.”

There’s a good amount of grumbling, but it’s all good-natured. Soon enough, Ilya finds himself wrapped up in two strong hugs, right before the whirlwind suddenly calms down, as the door closes behind both women.

Before he has time to do anything but sigh, he finds himself wrapped up in a third hug. It’s a beloved one, and Ilya lets himself sink into Shane’s embrace, leaning his forehead on the other man’s shoulder.

“You’re ok?” Shane asks gently, before pressing his lips to Ilya’s temple.

“Yes.”

“I can get Cat to back off if it’s too much,” Shane suggests.

“No. Is okay.” He hesitates. “Family is difficult for me. I don’t have good history with mine, so I’m not sure how to be with yours.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, or if you’re not ready.”

Ilya shakes his head, leaning back a little. He glances at the couch and Shane must have seen it, because he moves towards it, tugging Ilya along. Shane drops himself in the corner of the large sectional, maneuvering Ilya until they can sit facing each other and somehow still manage to be as close as they physically can.

“You’ve mentioned a few things about your dad and your brother.” Shane prompts him gently.

The last few weeks have been eye-opening for Ilya in all the wrong ways. Being back in Russia was always something to go through with mixed feelings, and this trip had been even worse than the usual. If the Olympics had given him a glimpse at his father’s decreasing health, it had been mitigated by the small amount of time Ilya had actually spent with the man.

The same can’t be said for the last month.

“My father.” Ilya swallows hard and looks down, unwilling to meet Shane’s gaze. “I think he forgets things. He’s confused. He won’t admit it, or my stepmother or my brother, but I see it.”

"Alzheimer's?"

“Maybe. Or dementia. He won’t go to doctor.”

“That sucks.”

Ilya snorts. “I think I like it a little more. Easier.”

“What do you mean?”

Ilya muses it over, trying to find the words to explain. He doesn’t think it would be any easier in Russian, but Shane not only deserves to know, but Ilya also finds himself wanting to share with someone.

It might be a first. Even Svetlana has gotten nothing but generalities lately. Of course, they’ve known each other for long enough that he doesn’t need to explain things she’s been aware of for most of their lives.

“He’s a hard man. Hard father. Russian education is different from America, but he was never warm. Never kind.” The words come, slowly. “He is old, set in how he is. Was always old, I think. Was a proud soviet.” Ilya makes a face. “I love him, but I don’t like him.”

“Was he violent?” Shane prods carefully.

Ilya shakes his head. “No. Without hockey, maybe things be different, but I was too good for his image. He was mean. Difficult to please. My brother is just like him.”

Shane seems to hesitate.

“You can ask,” Ilya says a bit wryly.

“What about your mom?”

Ilya swallows. “She was good. Kind.” He pauses. “But always sad.”

“Baby.”

Closing his eyes against the threatening tears, Ilya goes on, ignoring, for the moment, the way the endearment slid across his nerves. “She died when I was young. Only twelve.” Fingers lace themselves with his, and he grips them tightly. “I found her.”

“What happened?” The question is gentle, cautious, but also without a hint of judgment.

There are a dozen things he could say, ways to prevaricate or try to make things a little better. “Pills.” Is all he can actually say.

Shane doesn’t bother with words. Ilya simply feels his hand being raised, and warm, familiar lips pressing a kiss to his palm. Ilya has to blink against the onslaught of feelings threatening to swamp him. The words Shane speaks up next only make things worse.

“I love you.”

Ilya looks up so fast, he’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. He meets dark, steady eyes, looking at him with nothing but love, warmth, and a sort of calm that somehow just washes over him.

It’s a tidal wave.

They’ve spent the last month carefully tiptoeing around the word. They’ve both made their feelings clear, but the actual words have been avoided.

So Ilya knows. Has known since that hotel room in Vegas where Shane had cornered him with an almost desperate plea to walk away before he was in too deep. Since he let his own walls down enough to give Shane a peek at his own feelings. Since Shane had seen, understood, and proceeded to turn Ilya’s world upside down.

They’ve come out to two people and are making the sort of long-term plans that would potentially change everything in their lives. Neither are the actions of two people not in love and committed to each other.

But the words themselves are still a shock to his system.

“In less than two weeks, you’ll be back in Moscow, far away from me, but with them. I need you to know, down to your bone marrow, that someone loves you with everything he has. That someone is willing to upheave his entire life, to risk his career to be with you. You being in Boston and me in Montreal is going to suck, but I think the time you have to spend in Russia is going to be worse.” Shane says. “Maybe because of Sochi and the six months of ghosting, maybe it’s because you’re so far away physically. Knowing you’ll be around people who should love you unconditionally and yet don’t, hurts.”

“Shane.” The word is a bare rasp, but Ilya doesn’t think there’s anything more he can manage to get out.

“I love you. I’ll tell you a thousand times if you need to hear it.”

Ilya somehow manages to move from sitting with his legs thrown over Shane’s lap to outright straddling him in a single smooth glide.

The words slip out in Russian, but the look on Shane’s face makes it absolutely clear that they are still understood. “I love you.”

He doesn’t know who moves first. Even later, he’ll never quite manage to remember how they came together. All he can focus on, even beyond the physical pleasure, is the way Shane holds his gaze, the way his touch feels almost reverent. They don’t even manage to get themselves out of all of their clothing, only tugging each other’s shirts off so they can press skin to skin, pants pushed down only as far as they’ll go while remaining glued to each other.

It’s explosive, in the way these encounters so often are with them, but it feels like background noise. What matters is the hitch in Shane’s breathing and the biting pain of nails digging into his hips. It’s the stuttering moan of his name and the quick bite to his lip. It’s in how easily they fall into a rhythm together.

It’s feeling everything rearrange itself in his own mind, leaving room for nothing but this man who’s been such a vital part of his life for so long.

After, with sweat cooling along with the mess between them and breathing slowing down, they cling to each other, foreheads pressed together.

Shane snorts, and they both start laughing in answer.

“We’re disgusting,” Shane says with a pout.

“Shower?” Ilya proposes, already moving back so he can get to his feet. Shane’s nod is enough for him to grab his hand and tug him up.

Shane leads the way, Ilya pausing for a moment to grab his luggage before following him deeper into the condo.

“Can we bring leftover broth to the cottage?”