Work Text:
Shane Hollander wished he was not so bad at hockey. He wished his backhand was as good as Ilya Rozanov’s. He practiced very hard every day but still he was not very good. That is why he had decided to hire Ilya to teach him his tricks. Right now, he was waiting for Ilya at a rink in Montreal after it had closed for the night. Hopefully, after tonight, he will be able to play as good as Ilya. He wondered what Ilya would want as a payment. He was rich man, possibly richer than Shane. Shane knew Ilya had many sports cars in many different colours. Maybe he could pay him in sex stuff. After all, Ilya was the sexiest man in all of...
“Ilya! Come here this instant.” Shane Hollander yelled at his boyfriend. He could not believe what he was reading. He could hear Ilya moving around in the living room, probably stretching after his run.
“One second!” Ilya yelled back. Shane tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Ilya to finish whatever he was doing and join him in the bedroom.
“What is it?” Ilya asked, walking into the room. Normally, Shane would be marvelling at his handsome boyfriend, who was currently lifting a side of his black t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, giving Shane a glimpse of his abs. Normally, Shane would go to him and kiss him. Right now, though, he was more than a little annoyed at Ilya.
“What is this?” Shane asked, waving at the open laptop on the desk.
“What is what?” Ilya asked, walking up to the desk. He crouched a little to look at the screen, and as his eyes moved over the words on the screen, he blushed. Or maybe he was just red from his run. Shane didn’t know for sure, but Ilya was looking very guilty as he stood back up and turned to look at him.
“It’s nothing, I was just trying to write some, ah, what is it called?” He said, snapping his fingers rapidly, trying to find the right word. “Ah, fanfiction”.
“Fanfiction?” Shane asked, incredulous. “We are real people, Ilya. And I do not have a weak backhand! And why would I pay you in sex stuff to teach me?”
“Okay, first of all, I could teach you a thing or two and second of all, people write fanfiction about real people all the time!” Ilya said, waving a hand dismissively.
“I read many about that show, in fact, the one you made me watch- Outlander.” Ilya said. “From there, I searched for my name and found a bunch of stories about us. Some people actually think we might be together.” He said nervously.
Shane was sure he looked like one of those cartoons with eyes bugging out of their heads. “People think we are together? What are they saying?” He asked.
“Oh, they are just fan theories, on why I moved to Ottawa and what we might be doing together. I don’t take them too seriously.” Ilya replied and then a frown appeared on his face. “Why were you being so snoopy around my laptop?"
“My laptop needed to be charged, and I had to respond to some emails, so I thought I would borrow yours,” Shane replied. “It wasn’t hard to unlock it. ShaneHollanderFreckles1234. Really?” He asked drily.
Ilya did the blushing thing again. “I wasn’t planning to post it or anything. I was bored, and you were busy doing camp things. Besides, I am always supportive of your hobbies. Like Yoga”
Shane calmed down a little and laughed at that. Ilya was very supportive of his yoga. He would often follow him into the gym and then lie on a mat while Shane went through his routine. “Fine, write what you want, just don’t post them, ok? “
“Fine,” Ilya grumbled.
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Ilya had hoped that Shane would have forgotten about the fanfiction, but of course, he hadn’t. He brought it up now, as they jogged along their usual path around the lake, a few days after Ilya had caught Shane snooping.
“So, I was thinking about what you said, about fanfiction.”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“I actually made an account and read some.”
That stopped Ilya in his tracks.
“You read fanfiction? About us?” He asked incredulously as he started moving again.
“Not about us. I can’t read that stuff.” Shane said once Ilya had caught up with him.
Ilya breathed a sigh of relief. There were things written about them that made Ilya almost blush, and Russians did not often blush.
“I read the stories about Outlander,” Shane said. “Makes it easier to wait for the next season.”
“Yes. Yes, that is true.” Ilya replied, trying to keep a straight face.
“Some of those stories are spicy.”
Ilya nodded at that, wondering where Shane was going with this.
“Are the stories about us spicy?”
Ilya couldn’t help but laugh a little at that.
“Some of them.” He said honestly. “But nothing comes close to reality, moy pomidor.” He said, smiling at Shane because he had gone red. “Why, you want to try some of the things people write?” He teased.
“No, definitely not,” Shane replied quickly, shaking his head.
They jogged together in silence for a few minutes. Ilya knew all of Shane’s quiets, and he knew this one meant that he was thinking. He knew Shane was working up the courage to say or ask something, and Ilya would wait patiently until he found the right words.
As they rounded the curve that would take them back to the cottage, Shane finally spoke. “What was your story about? I couldn’t read it entirely because I got a little angry.”
“A little angry?” Ilya teased.
When Ilya had walked into their bedroom that day, Shane had been fully in his angry kitten mode. His cute nose had been scrunched, and he had been tapping his feet impatiently. Ilya had felt a little hurt that Shane hadn’t been immediately supportive of his little hobby, but then he knew how Shane felt about the possibility of them being outed before they were ready. He had decided to close out his account (an account named “HollandersForever” was probably not a good idea) and keep his little fics on his laptop forever.
“I’m sorry,” Shane said as he slowed down. “I just panicked when I saw that, and I shouldn’t have.”
“Shane, it’s ok -” Ilya began as he slowed down too. They were almost at the cottage.
“No, it’s not. You have been trying so hard to work on your mental health. If this helps, you shouldn’t have to stop. Not because of me.” Shane said, running a hand through his hair.
“It is silly hobby, but it does help.” Ilya agreed as he looked at the rock that faced the lake. He liked to sit there sometimes. In the mornings, when everything was quiet and the breeze ruffled his hair, he would pretend that his mother was saying hello. “I mostly write silly things, like the story you saw, but sometimes I write about my mother. I just pretend that she moved to Canada with me, and I visit her on off days. I write about how she would greet me at the door and then feed me all my favourite dishes. I write about you meeting her and how she would love you just like I do, and would always take your side when we fight.”
Ilya hadn’t meant to say all that, but now he couldn’t stop. “I write about how she would stay with us for a week in the cottage and how she would lie in the hammock and read. It just... makes me feel closer to her.”
“Ilya, I really am so sorry. You should continue writing, and I would love to read them.” Shane said. “Only, if you want me to, of course.” He amended quickly.
“I would love for you to read them. I would love for you to know her, too.” Ilya replied as he sneakily wiped the corners of his eyes. Shane of course, caught it and wrapped an arm around Ilya’s waist and squeezed.
“I also write about us sometimes. About how we tell the whole world that we love each other, and everyone celebrates. And then Ottawa signs you on also, and we win the Stanley Cup every year for the next twenty years.”
“Twenty?” Shane laughed.
“Da. And I shoot all the game-winning goals. New record.” Ilya said, relieved to be back on lighter ground.
Shane squeezed his side again. “We’ll see about that.”
Once they were back inside, they cooled down and made coffee and breakfast side by side. Ilya could hear the pendulum of the living room clock ticking away merrily, and the early morning sun filtered through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. This was the kind of quiet Ilya craved during the season. The quiet that existed because there were no more secrets hidden away. He often struggled to tell Shane how he really felt or what he was thinking because he did not want Shane to worry. But now Shane knew something, and he had encouraged him to write more. Ilya was not ready to see a therapist, but, in the meantime, writing little stories about the things he wished for helped. They were hardly well written, and his favourite authors would probably scoff at him, but it allowed him to lay down the weight he often felt he was carrying, just for a little while.
Ilya watched Shane as he carefully measured his cottage cheese (yuck) and added it to a bowl. He loved him so much. He walked up to Shane and hugged him from behind.
“Thank you”, Ilya said, “For listening to me today.”
“Of course,” Shane said, mixing something that probably tasted terrible into the cottage cheese.
“Now, about some of the sex stuff I am supposed to pay you with, want to tell me about them?”