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“Hey, I’m going to have to ask you to do something for me tonight.”
Ilya looks up from his cufflinks that are choosing tonight to be the most uncooperative things he’s ever held in his usually graceful fingers. Shane is leaning against the doorframe of his Montreal bedroom, looking so immaculate in his tuxedo that Ilya almost chucks his cufflinks out of the window just so he can grab his boyfriend and make them late for the very first fundraiser of their new foundation.
He loves that word, boyfriend. It sounds silly, honestly, to call them that. It’s too…small. Trivial. There’s not enough letters in the word to truly encompass what Shane is to him. And yet he still loves it, because he gets to use it about Shane. It’s a word he’s never used about anyone, a word he’d never wanted to use before he met Shane Hollander all those years ago, in that cold parking lot in Saskatchewan.
“Fuck you in this tux after the gala?” Ilya asks, grinning when Shane clicks his tongue and pushes off the doorway. He takes the cufflinks from Ilya and proceeds to fasten them for him. “No need to ask, I’ve been making plans since you showed it to me. All the bad things I want to do to you in this tux.”
“Shut up,” Shane says, blushing as he smiles up at Ilya and reaches for the other set of cufflinks on the dresser. “But yes. That too.”
“So what is other thing?”
Shane presses his lips together, concentrating on Ilya’s cuff. Only when he’s done fastening it does he look up, meeting Ilya’s eyes and looking nervous.
“I’m gonna’ need you to not look at me at all.”
“What?” Ilya frowns, stepping back as his stomach churns with an ache he isn’t prepared for. “What do you mean? I can’t look at you?”
“You look too fucking good in this tux,” Shane says with a quiet sigh, his fingers trailing over Ilya’s shoulders, down the underside of the collar and tugging gently. He smooths his hand over the black shirt underneath, straightens the black tie.
Ilya finally understands and he knuckles Shane’s chin upward until Shane’s gaze meets his.
“I’m legitimately concerned that I won’t be able to control myself,” Shane continues seriously. “And coming out is so far down the line of our plans.” He swallows, and it looks like he’s actually putting in a lot of effort in the simple act. “I feel like I can’t be near you tonight, or I’ll just keep touching you.” As if to demonstrate, his hands trail up Ilya’s chest, fingers grazing his muscled neck and coming to rest at his nape to play with the soft curls there. Carefully, so gently, so as not to mess it up.
Ilya huffs, but grins, leaning in to press his nose behind Shane’s ear and inhaling deeply. Shane doesn’t usually wear perfume, and Ilya expects to smell his usual shower gel and shampoo and Shane Hollander scent, but is met instead with the scent of his own perfume. He grips Shane’s hips tightly, relishing the soft gasp that escapes Shane’s throat.
“Then why the fuck did you wear my perfume?” he asks with a low growl. “You’re fucking killing me, Hollander.” He places soft kisses under Shane’s ear, nose still pressed behind it, as he tugs Shane closer, letting him feel how he’s starting to get hard. “You’re such a tease.”
“I’m not,” Shane protests weakly, gripping Ilya’s shoulder as their hips move against each other. “Fuck, Ilya. We can’t do this.”
“Then go take shower to get rid of this scent, and wear…fuck, I don’t know. You look good in everything.”
Shane pulls his head away, only to grab Ilya’s face and bring their mouths together. They kiss almost frantically, Ilya’s hand gripping the back of Shane’s jacket as he pulls him in closer, their hardening cocks rubbing against each other over the thin fabrics of their trousers.
“How will we stand on stage then,” Ilya asks when they pull apart, panting, foreheads pressed together. He looks down between them, eyeing the obvious bulges in their trousers that are still pressed against each other. “I think people will notice this.”
Shane chuckles, moving his hips back and taking deep breaths.
“Rose will be there, between us.”
And if that doesn’t soften Ilya’s dick, he doesn’t know what will. He huffs, raising his head and stepping away from Shane.
“Ilya,” Shane says, and it sounds like a warning. Ilya stares past Shane’s shoulder at the door, clenching his jaw. “I’m gay. Rose knows this, and we’re friends. You know this.”
“Then why haven’t you told her about me?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so clipped, so accusatory, but he can’t help it. The name, Rose, brings back too many awful memories, of their pictures trending on every social media app, of videos of Rose in Shane’s jersey, of Shane on his knees on the ice, smiling adoringly up at her as she blows him a kiss.
Of her hands underneath his stupid shirt, in that stupid club, where everyone got to watch.
And yet Ilya can’t even look at Shane tonight, because there will be people there. He can only touch Shane here, in the privacy of their room, hidden from the world.
He knows he’s being unreasonable, understands perfectly why they need to set boundaries, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“I haven’t told anyone,” Shane argues, cupping Ilya’s cheeks with his hands and tugging until Ilya’s eyes meet his again. “My parents and Hayden just…found out. You haven’t told anyone either.”
“Svetlana knows.” Ilya isn’t really sure about that, but he has a feeling that she’s suspected it for a long time now. When Ilya told her about moving to Ottawa, and then about starting the Irina Foundation with Shane Hollander, she’d given him this look. It’s a look Ilya’s received many times throughout their long friendship. It’s the look that says, You stupid boy, I know what you’re hiding, but I’m going to wait until you tell me anyway.
“You didn’t tell her either,” Shane points out, and Ilya can’t really argue with that. “You know why we haven’t told anyone else. We need this to go according to plan.”
“If Rose is such good friend, you can tell her,” Ilya says, and he’s definitely not pouting. “I can trust Svetlana, and I want to tell her. Soon. When she gets back from Moscow.”
“Okay,” Shane nods. “You can tell her if you want. She’s been your best friend since you were kids. I know I can trust Rose, but I…I need more time. She…gets excited. I can’t tell her tonight, not with that many people around.”
The muscle on Ilya’s jaw ticks again, and Shane presses a kiss to it.
“You have nothing to be jealous of, Ilya. Not with Rose, or anyone else.”
Ilya nods, closing his eyes when Shane presses another kiss to his lips. They keep it short and chaste this time, neither one willing to risk getting hard all over again when their cars are waiting downstairs.
“You want to go first,” Ilya asks as they walk down the stairs.
“You go,” Shane says. “I need to answer Farrah’s email anyway.” He’s already fishing his phone out of his pocket when Ilya reaches the bottom step and turns around to face him.
“Okay, I will see you…after, I guess.” He wraps an arm around Shane’s waist and gives him one last kiss, savoring the way Shane melts against him, sighing into the kiss.
He busies himself with his phone in the car, taking a selfie and posting it on his socials with the caption, Here we go. and adding the tags #IrinaFoundation, #fundraiser, #LeWindsor. He takes another picture, a bit more casual, resting his elbow on the car window and leaning his temple against his closed fist. He sends this one to Shane, along with the message, I miss you already.
Shane replies with his own picture, sitting in his own car, looking his usual beautiful self as he leans his head back against the headrest of his seat. Maybe we should have rented a room at the hotel?
Ilya smiles at this, and replies with, Already did.
Fuck, I love you.
I love you too.
He pockets his phone as the car pulls up to the front of the hotel, cameras already flashing before he’s even stepped out. He plasters a smile on his face, the one he uses in public, as he steps out and buttons his tuxedo jacket. He lets himself get dragged along by people in headsets, poses where he’s told to pose, answers questions about the foundation along a line of reporters. He’s finally ushered inside just as a fresh wave of yells and camera flashes go off at the arrival of the next car. He looks over his shoulder to check if it’s Shane already, but hears the shouts.
“Rose! Rose! Over here!”
He turns around and walks to the elevator quickly, jabbing at the button as if it will make the lift arrive faster. He steps in and presses the close button before the floor for the ballroom, but Rose reaches the elevator before the doors close. Ilya has no choice but to the hold the doors open for her.
“Thank you,” she says, smiling up at him in her perfect evening gown. “Rose Landry.”
“Ilya Rozanov.” He takes the hand she offers and shakes it, and yes, okay. He can see what Shane (and the rest of the fucking world) sees in her. She’s beautiful. Not in the same way Svetlana is beautiful, with her piercing eyes and her shock of curls. Rose Landry is beautiful in almost the same way Shane Hollander is beautiful. Soft and endearing, her eyes round and blue, pink lips pillowy soft. Ilya has to look away, shoving his hands in his pockets as he tries to banish the images of Shane kissing those lips from his mind. It makes him feel sick, despite Shane’s endless assurances.
Shane got to kiss those lips in front of other people. Those tiny, soft hands got to touch him carelessly, freely, whenever they were out together.
“It’s good to finally meet you.”
He has to force himself away from his torturous thoughts to nod and look back down at her.
“You too. I have heard many good things about you from Shane.” Not Hollander. No. Rose needs to know he’s Ilya’s Shane.
“Really?” She sounds surprised. “I wish I can say the same.” She seems to panic at what she’s just said, her eyes bulging. “Not that he’s said bad things about you. He’s just not talked about you that much. I was surprised when I found out about your foundation because I didn’t realize you guys were such good friends.”
Ilya almost laughs. If the word boyfriend has too few letters to describe what they are, friends certainly has even less.
“Rivalry is all fake,” he says instead. “League fabricated to hype up games. You know about this, yes? For your movies.”
“Yes, very much.” She nods and rolls her eyes. “Though, it’s usually the other way around. We have to pretend to like our costars, sometimes even imply there’s something going on behind the scenes.”
“You don’t like your costars?”
“Not always, no. There’s a lot of divas in Hollywood, unfortunately, but I’m lucky enough not to have to deal with that too much.”
The doors open, and Ilya motions for Rose to go ahead. There are more cameras in the foyer and it’s a bit more crowded, and Ilya ends up steering Rose through the crowd.
“You go first,” he says, gesturing to the backdrop where they’re supposed to stand and pose for even more pictures.
“No, no,” she insists, placing her hand on his back and nudging him forward. “This is your thing, I’m just a speaker.” She doesn’t let Ilya argue, so he steps out and takes his poses.
“Miss Landry, can we get some with you and Mr. Rozanov?”
Ilya keeps his smile frozen on his face as he holds his arm out to her. She steps into it, wrapping her slender arm behind Ilya’s waist just as his is wrapped around hers. They turn their heads whenever they’re called, blinking against the flashes.
“This is the worst,” Ilya mutters under his breath, unable to stop himself.
“It is,” Rose says with a laugh, completely misunderstanding him. “But you get used to it.”
When Ilya’s finally had enough, he steps away from Rose and lets the reporters take her solo shots. He’s about to step inside when he looks back over his shoulder and catches those familiar brown eyes on the other end of the carpet. Shane’s frowning at him, so Ilya diverts his gaze, remembering that he’s not supposed to look at his beautiful boyfriend tonight.
“Ilya! One more, please. With Rose and Shane!”
This time, he’s not able to stop the groan from escaping his throat, but at least the reporters are too loud for anyone to really hear him. He walks back and stands next to Rose, Shane standing on her other side, but can’t quite manage a smile this time. He wraps his arm around Rose’s shoulders because Shane’s is wrapped around her waist, and he fights the urge to grab those fingers to tug them away.
After a few minutes of this, he fakes a laugh and waves at the cameras.
“Okay, enough, enough for me. Too much beauty in these photos, the internet will not survive.”
Rose laughs, slapping his arm playfully as Shane lets out a restrained chuckle.
Ilya doesn’t watch Rose and Shane get their pictures taken, he can’t. He’s seen enough of those to last him multiple lifetimes. As soon as he’s inside the ballroom, he makes a beeline for the bar, ignoring the champagne that’s immediately put in front of him.
“Do you have vodka?”
Shane stares at Ilya’s picture as they pull up to the hotel. He takes a deep breath as he pockets his phone, eyeing the long line of reporters waiting for him outside of the car. He’s trained for this, of course, have been for most of his life even before he’d been drafted to the MLH, but he’s still nervous about tonight. So many things could go wrong, and he wants this to go smoothly. This is for his future with Ilya, and for the many people struggling the way Irina Rozanova struggled. He’s afraid it will be him who causes this night to unravel.
He usually has a lot more self-control than this. Ilya is the one who’s always getting handsy when he shouldn’t, Shane just unable to resist, but tonight? He’s always found Ilya so irresistibly hot, as evidenced by the number of years he’d tried and failed not to fall into bed with the man. Ilya in that damned all-black ensemble, though, was a whole other beast, with his hair slicked back, his shoulders just short of straining against the perfectly tailored jacket. Ilya tonight, is beyond beautiful. Almost uncannily so, that Shane still can’t believe he’s boring self managed to lock that down. He’s been spending the past hour and half since first seeing Ilya fully dressed fantasizing about getting on his knees and sucking the perfect dick he knows is hidden underneath those trousers.
He huffs, rubbing his hand over his face and fighting to rid his mind of those images. His mom and dad are waiting in that ballroom, Hayden and JJ, as well as some of the other Metros, Ilya’s teammates, old and new. Rose, reporters and other hockey players and all the rich people they’re hoping will open their checkbooks for them. This is work, and he needs to concentrate.
The car door opens, and he steps out, buttoning up his jacket and smiling his Golden Boy smile for the cameras. He’s just ushered onto the carpet when he spots Rose slipping into the hotel, having gone through the meat grinder already, and he envies her. He almost calls out to her to join him, but that would only make him look pathetic and probably start reconciliation rumors. Ilya’s already sulking and pouting about Rose even being there, and Shane does not want to add any more fuel to that seemingly unstoppable fire.
Ilya, who looks ungodly beautiful tonight, who’s probably already posted at the bar, trying to settle his nerves with a glass of vodka.
No, he has to stop thinking about Ilya leaning against that bar, looking unbothered and sexy.
Damn it.
He shakes his head, focuses on the reporter in front of him, and gives his practiced reply about why this foundation means so much to him and his good friend, Ilya Rozanov.
He’s already tired by the time he gets inside and into the elevator, and he just wants this thing to end so he and Ilya can slip into the room Ilya’s apparently booked for them.
He steps out of the elevator and hears Rose’s laughter. He smiles at that, knowing she’s no doubt charming the cameras, knowing this will be good optics for their foundation, when he spots her standing with Ilya in front of the cameras. She turns her head towards Ilya, who leans his head closer to hear whatever it is she’s whispering to him, and Shane is…irrationally annoyed.
They look so good together, with their arms around each other’s waist, talking so casually, you’d think they’d known each other for years. His gaze darts down to where Ilya’s fingers curl around Rose’s tiny waist, resting on the small patch of skin that peeks out of her skintight gown. Shane is gay, but Ilya is most definitely not, and it’s this thought that makes his brow furrow as he watches Ilya walk away from her. He doesn’t miss the way Rose watches him leave, and when he catches Ilya’s gaze, he exhales irritably. Ilya quickly looks away, as if caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.
He doesn’t realize he’s caught the attention of the reporters until they’re calling for him to join Rose, and then for Ilya to join them for one last set of photos. It’s stupid, that he quickly wraps his arm around Rose’s waist just so Ilya can’t.
“Okay, you didn’t tell me how gorgeous that man is in person,” Rose whispers when it’s just them in front of the cameras. “Insane bone structure.”
Shane hums, nodding his head and fighting to keep his smile on his face. “There’s a reason he’s the league’s resident playboy,” he mutters, hating himself for even thinking it.
Because Ilya hasn’t been that playboy for a while now, and he knows it. Knows that Ilya stopped his womanizing ways for him. He reminds himself of this as Rose continues to gush about him, until she finally waves to the cameras and lets Shane have his solo pictures taken.
He spots them by the bar as soon as he enters the ballroom, Ilya holding his glass of vodka, one elbow propped on the bar as he faces Rose, who drums her fingers as she says something to him. Ilya nods, then taps the bar lightly to call the bartender’s attention.
“There you are.” He tears his gaze away from them to find Yuna approaching, smiling at him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Not a bad turn out, huh?”
They survey the large, elegantly-styled ballroom that’s slowly filling up with guests. He spots Cliff Marlow, his arm around the waist of a tall, beautiful woman, talking to Scott Hunter and his partner, Kip Grady around a tall table laden with their drinks. On the table next to them, Michal and Renata Hornstein are locked in light conversation with Isabelle Marcoux and one of the younger members of the Desmarais clan. Sitting at a low table a few steps back, are a mishmash of Montreal’s young influencers and permanent fixtures in the art and music scenes.
“No, not bad at all,” Shane admits. “Great job, mom.”
“I didn’t really have to do much, a lot of people expressed their interest once they found out what The Irina Foundation is all about. I think a lot of them were surprised that two young hockey players are choosing to advocate for such an important, sometimes overlooked cause.”
Shane chuckles at that, looking down at his mom.
“I’m not a reporter, mom, you don’t need to give me the spiel.”
“Is Ilya here yet?” Yuna asks, craning her neck.
“Yes, he arrived before I did. He’s over at the bar with Rose.”
Yuna raises her eyebrows at that, then turns and looks over at the bar. “Let’s go say hi.”
“Can’t,” Shane says, not bothering to look. “We promised not to get too close tonight.”
“Why?” Yuna asks, looking up at him in concern.
“Because, mom, just…look at him. I’ve been fighting for my life for hours now.”
Yuna laughs, squeezing Shane’s shoulder. “Well, I’m going to go say hi. You go and mingle.”
Which is what Shane does. He grabs a flute of champagne from a passing server, because there’s no way he’s going to make it through the night sober, and starts chatting up the guests until the program starts. He heads for his table and takes the seat next to his dad. Yuna had the foresight to sit Shane with them instead of Ilya, who’s assigned the seat across the table from them, because she knows the struggle her boys go through trying not to constantly be touching each other.
Shane’s just gotten settled in when Ilya and Rose arrive, and he has to watch his boyfriend pull a chair out for his ex girlfriend, who smiles up at him as she takes her seat. Ilya, for his part, does as Shane has asked him to and keeps his eyes away from him. This just means that he’s turned his body to the side, facing Rose’s chair, instead of ahead where Shane is seated directly opposite of him. Their hands clutch their drinks on the table, right next to each other, and Rose leans in to continue whatever conversation they’d been having by the bar.
Shane downs his champagne and sets it down onto the table a little too hard.
“You okay, son?” David asks, leaning in and nudging Shane with his shoulder.
“Yes,” Shane answers, forcing a smile onto his face as he flags down a server for another drink.
The program soon starts, and Rose is called for her short speech that would lead to Shane and Ilya’s introduction. Ilya gets up and pulls her chair out for her, and Rose places her hand on his arm as she thanks him before walking over to the stage.
Shane balls his fists under the table, glaring across it at Ilya, who is still being his ever obedient boyfriend and watching Rose walk up the stage. He doesn’t really pay attention to any of Rose’s speech, something about being longtime friends with Shane Hollander, about knowing his kindness and his focus on whatever he sets his mind to. He starts to feel a little guilty for being annoyed at her, until she starts talking about getting to know Ilya Rozanov in the past hour, and how she’s gotten to see the man behind the facade, and understands now why this cause is so important to him.
The thought of Ilya opening up to Rose so quickly grates at Shane’s nerves, and he has to fight the scowl from forming on his face as he gets up from his seat at the same time as Ilya. Ilya, who keeps his hands in his pockets as he walks behind Shane, who all but glides onto the stage like a fucking beautiful gazelle, unbothered by the lights and all the important people whose attention they now hold. Shane knows that despite all appearances, Ilya gets nervous under such scrutiny, but he always manages to hide all of that behind his cocky demeanor, and it’s no different tonight. He’s so annoyingly sexy that Shane wants to scream.
Rose smiles up at him as he bends down to press their cheeks together, then she turns to Ilya, who does the same. It’s a bit more awkward with them, not having done this before, and she ends up smearing a bit of her lipstick onto his cheek, which she hastily tries to wipe away with her thumb before stepping back to give them the spotlight.
As they’d agreed, Shane does most of the talking, Ilya just adding a bit of flair with his playful banter to lighten the mood. They’d practiced this, and Shane has memorized it all, but he stumbles through it because he can still see the faint smear of lipstick on Ilya’s cheek through his periphery. He grips his hands together in front of him to keep from reaching out and wiping it off with his entire palm.
They finally get through it and Shane makes sure to offer Rose his arm to help her down the stage before she latches onto Ilya’s. It’s stupid, though, because she only ends up breaking away from him to walk over to the other side of the table with Ilya anyway.
The food is great, apparently, everyone says so, but Shane barely tastes any of it. He pokes at every dish laid in front of him, taking small bites, while Ilya all but wolfs down his own food. He and Rose have each ordered another round of their drinks and are now talking animatedly about God knows what. Probably about Rose’s new puppy, because Ilya is far too interested, and she’s soon pulling her phone out and showing him pictures.
It’s an agony of his own making, and Shane can only sit there and simmer in it.
It finally boils over when, some time towards the latter half of the gala, when people have gotten out of their seats and danced, and mingled, and Rose is still happily chatting away with Ilya. Shane is talking with Hayden, JJ, Troy Barrett and Marlow, when Marlow snorts next to him.
“What?” Hayden asks, and Marlow just nods over at Rose and Ilya. They all watch as she cups her hand over her mouth to whisper into his ear, Ilya leaning down with his hand on her back. He raises his eyebrows and chuckles, then nods.
“Didn’t realize you’re that good of friends,” Marlow says, nudging Shane with his elbow. “You give him the green light to go for your ex?”
Shane feels Hayden’s eyes on him, knows his best friend is probably thinking I told you so, but he ignores him, because Ilya’s just looked over at him, looking a bit apprehensive, before following Rose towards one of the French doors that lead out to the balcony.
“Excuse me,” he says, pushing past Troy to follow them out.
“Oh shit,” Marlow mutters, chuckling with JJ.
Shane doesn’t know exactly what he’ll find out there, knows in the deepest part of his gut that Ilya would never, not with Rose, not with anyone. And yet his hand still shakes as he reaches for the door handle, practically yanking it open and stepping out into the cold night. It’s dark out in the balcony, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust, but he still doesn’t spot them. Instead, he hears Rose’s giggle, and he makes a beeline towards the direction of the sound.
“Oh, I’m very careful,” he hears her say quietly. “Public image and all that.”
He finds them tucked behind the shadow of a pillar, hunched close together against the biting wind, their heads far too close for Shane’s liking. He stalks over, hands balled into fists, and almost trips on his feet as he hears that all too familiar sound of a lighter clicking.
He stops and watches as Rose straightens her back, taking a long drag from the cigarette between her fingers and blowing out a strip of smoke. Ilya lights his own stick before pocketing the lighter and turning around to lean against the edge of the balcony. His eyes widen when he spots Shane standing there, glaring at them, and he blows his smoke away from Shane’s direction.
“Shane,” Ilya says, sounding guilty.
“You’re smoking,” Shane answers, scowling at him.
“Is one stick,” Ilya argues as Shane stomps towards them. Rose is watching them with a curious look on her face, eyes darting from Shane’s angry face, to Ilya’s guilty one.
Instead of grabbing the cigarette from Ilya’s hand like he wants to, Shane slots himself right in front of him, tucking his arms between them and pressing his body against Ilya’s until he’s practically bent backward over the balcony’s edge. Ilya’s arms automatically wrap around him, hands rubbing up and down his back, mistaking Shane’s trembling for a need for warmth.
“What are you doing out here?” Ilya asks quietly, stubbing his barely smoked cigarette out on the pillar before pocketing it. He kisses Shane’s temple as Shane wraps his arms around his waist. “It’s cold.”
“Ohhhh,” Rose says suddenly, covering her mouth with her free hand and laughing. “Oh my God, Shane! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Shane turns his head, keeping his cheek pressed against Ilya’s chest to look at her.
“I was going to, eventually,” he says, feeling sheepish now that he knows they only came out here to smoke.
“God, and I was wondering where the supposed playboy was hiding when he wouldn’t respond to any of my flirting.”
Shane stiffens at that, hands fisting the back of Ilya’s jacket possessively and making Ilya chuckle.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Rose says, swatting her dainty hand at Shane’s arm. “I tell you he’s gorgeous and you answer with, he’s the league’s resident playboy, and you expect me not to take that as you being a good wingman for your friend?”
Shane grumbles under his breath when Ilya starts shaking with laughter, his arms tightening around Shane’s back as he presses another kiss onto the top of his head.
“He has lots of good ideas tonight,” Ilya says conversationally, like Shane isn’t dying of embarrassment in his arms right now. “He’s forbidden me to even look at him tonight, too.”
“And here I thought you only had eyes for me,” Rose says teasingly, and Shane bristles.
“Stop flirting with my boyfriend, Rose!”
Rose and Ilya burst out laughing at that, Ilya rocking Shane from side to side as Rose takes a drag from her cigarette.
They stay out there for a bit, Shane refusing to let go of Ilya because he’s been dying to get his hands on him all night, while Rose and Ilya continue their conversation about the puppy. Shane’s pretty sure she’s convinced Ilya to adopt one soon, and he doesn’t have it in his heart to point out how hard that would be with their schedules. Ilya’s been wanting his own dog ever since he met Chiron, the Centaurs’ new team puppy.
“Alright, I’m going to head in,” Rose says, stubbing her cigarette out, which Ilya takes from her and pockets as well. “I’m going to stand guard by those doors and give you a few minutes of alone time, because I’m a good friend.”
She pats Shane’s back as she walks past them, chuckling and shaking her head at them. Ilya starts quietly laughing too, and Shane groans as he presses his face against Ilya neck.
“Shut up,” he mumbles, which only makes Ilya laugh even more.
“What did you think, Shane? You think I was sneaking out here with your ex girlfriend and, what? Hmm?” He nudges Shane back, cupping his chin and tilting his face up until Shane’s eyes finally meet his. “You think I will make out with Rose Landry? You think I will make out with anyone else but you?”
Despite his light tone, Shane can see the hurt behind Ilya’s eyes, and he hates himself for it.
“No,” he says with a sigh. “I didn’t really think you would do anything like that, but Rose…she was the one who made the first move with me when we first met, and I was seeing all the same signs tonight. Directed at you. If she’d been like that with JJ or Troy, or anyone else, I’d have just laughed about it and egged her on.”
“Shane, moya lyubov, an entire line of Victoria’s Secret models can stand naked in front of me, and I’d never so much as touch any of them.”
He leans in and kisses Shane softly. Shane sighs into the kiss, his toes curling in his leather shoes when Ilya starts nibbling at his bottom lip.
“You have ruined me for anyone else, you know this. I only have eyes for you, even if you forbid me to point them at you.”
Ilya reaches into his breast pocket and produces a key card.
“So why don’t you take this, and say your goodbyes, and meet me in our room, in say…15 minutes?”
“10.”
Ilya flashes him that devilish grin that sends a shiver down Shane’s spine, an unspoken promise of all the bad things Ilya’s been planning to do with him tonight.