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“Ilyaaaa!” A familiar voice startles Ilya.
He turns around and there is Shane Hollander. Shane Hollander is standing in front of Ilya in a club in Boston.
He watches his boyfriend’s eyes flit from Svetlana, who is standing next to him, to Ilya and back to Svetlana again.
“Excuse me, who are you?”
Ilya has to keep his jaw from dropping at the tone of Shane’s voice. Shane Hollander, who is always incredibly polite to everyone, has just snapped at Svetlana. That’s when Ilya notices the slight glaze over his eyes, the flush that covers his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and the half empty beer glass in his hand.
“Hollander, what are you doing here?” Ilya asks, pulling his boyfriend’s eyes back to him.
“I’m at a club, Rozanov. Obviously I’m doing what you usually do at a club. Drinking and having fun.”
Ilya doesn’t know whether to be offended with Shane’s sarcastic tone or laugh, because this Shane Hollander is a sight to behold. He is standing in front of him, sarcastic and bratty, with a smirk taking over his face now–proud of his answer.
“Alright, alright” Ilya says. “So you’re the asshole now?”
“Nope.” Shane pops the ‘p’. “You’re still the asshole.”
“Who are you here with?” Ilya asks, his eyes trying to find some familiar faces in the crowd.
He suspects Shane has come here with some of the Montreal players and he assumes they are also the ones drinking with their captain. Their captain who only needs a few beers to get to the stage of being tipsy.
So it begs the question, why are they not keeping an eye out for him?
Shane huffs and moves closer to Ilya, who is watching the man intently. He swallows hard when he feels the fingertips of Shane’s free hand trailing the bare skin of his front arm, before moving underneath his sleeve, all while keeping his eyes on Svetlana.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Shane remarks. “Who are you?”
A grin breaks out over Svetlana’s face now, her eyes flicking from Shane’s hand, now inside of Ilya’s sleeve and holding onto Ilya’s upper arm, back to Shane’s face.
“I’m a good friend of Ilya,” she says, tilting her head to the side in a playful way. “I have known him since we were kids, back in Russia. I come to visit here a few times a year.”
“Hmm.” Shane’s head turns in the same way, but there’s no playfulness in there. He’s probably piecing together that this is the Svetlana Ilya told him about, the Svetlana he used to fuck on occasion.
With a start Ilya realises that this thing that is making Shane hold onto him, while asking who the woman that Ilya is with, is not Shane just trying to make conversation. He is jealous.
Shane Hollander is drunk and jealous.
“So,” Sveta says and her eyes look Shane over once. “Who are you?”
Ilya bites on the inside of his cheek to try to keep himself from smiling. Svetlana knows damn well who Shane Hollander is. She had been there when Ilya watched that documentary on Shane’s cottage and she had said how beautiful he is.
She had also been the one that said the odds of Shane Hollander winning ‘Rookie of the Year’, back in their first season, were the highest out of the three players. Of course, she had been right. She loves to tease Ilya, endlessly, about the fact that she likes Shane’s way of playing hockey the most out of any other player in the NHL.
Something changes in Shane’s face. His scowl drops and he looks slightly apologetic for not introducing himself properly. After a beat, he holds out his hand to Svetlana.
“I’m Shane Hollander.”
Svetlana shakes his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Shane Hollander. Can I get you–”
“I don’t think Hollander needs another drink,” Ilya interrupts his friend.
Shane’s fingers dig into his upper arm as he turns to Ilya, indignancy written all over his face. He looks like he wants to protest, instead he hiccups.
Ilya narrows his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”
He plucks his boyfriend’s glass out of his hand and downs the drink in one gulp. He pulls a gross face at the poor taste of beer.
“Hey!” Shane calls out indignantly and he eyes the empty glass with sad eyes. “That was mine, someone bought me that.”
“Who bought you a drink?” Ilya asks and his voice comes out snappier than he intended it to be.
Svetlana snorts out a laugh next to him and mumbles, in Russian. “Smooth, neither of you seem jealous at all.”
“Shut up,” he whispers in Russian, before turning back to Shane–who is still looking at his glass as if he is mourning the loss of a family pet. He sighs. “I will get you a new drink if you tell me who bought you that drink.”
When Shane looks back up, there’s a renewed spark inside of his eyes at the promise of a new drink. He quickly scans the crowd while his hand travels up and down Ilya’s arm almost unconsciously.
“It wassssss–” He lets the ‘s’ drag on until he recognises someone and points them out. “–that guy! He brought it up to me!”
Ilya clenches his jaw. “And do you know that guy?”
Shane shakes his head as their eyes meet again. The goddamn innocence on his face makes Ilya want to gauche his own eyes out, while simultaneously shaking Shane by his shoulders for taking a drink from someone that he doesn’t know.
“You took a drink from someone that you don’t know?” Ilya asks incredulously.
“Yes and then you finished it, what if it was laced?” Shane asks, daring to sound infuriated with Ilya.
Svetlana’s laughter breaks the moment between the two of them and their eyes flit towards her.
“This is crazy,” she says, shaking her head in amusement and taking the empty beer glass from Shane. “I’m going to get a drink and find someone to dance with. It was nice to meet you, Jane.”
Shane doesn’t notice the subtle way she said “Jane”. For anyone else that doesn’t know his best friend it would have sounded like “Shane”, but not to Ilya. He swallows hard as she winks at him, not a flirty wink but one that is reserved just for him–her best friend for years now.
He wonders how long she has known that Jane is actually Shane, but his mind gets taken away from those thoughts when he feels a warm hand slip underneath his shirt, onto the bare skin of his back. Shane’s breath warms his neck.
“So now that she’s finally gone,” Shane whispers and his lips brush against Ilya’s neck. It’s not a real kiss, but a featherlight touch that draws goosebumps all over Ilya’s body.
“I can’t believe that the Shane Hollander is jealous,” Ilya says. He sounds breathless when he finally gets the words out, a little undone by the proximity of his boyfriend.
Shane scoffs. “I’m not jealous!” But the pitch in his voice is too high for it to be the truth and it draws out a smirk on Ilya’s face.
“Then, if you don’t mind–” Ilya’s eyes scan the crowd and his smirk doesn’t falter. “–I will go find someone to dance with. I’m sure the woman looking my way would love to do so.”
From the corner of his eyes he watches Shane look up and find the woman that is, indeed, looking Ilya’s way. A low and guttural sound leaves Shane’s throat and it awakens something in Ilya that he’d rather not address while they are in public.
He feels Shane’s nails dig into his waist. Ilya suspects Shane must have shot the woman a murderous glare because she averts her eyes and disappears into the crowd of people.
Ilya pouts and forces Shane’s arm away. “Stop doing that. You’re going to scare off all the people that have been eyeing me the entire night.”
“Good,” Shane says and his gaze is intense when Ilya meets his eyes. He lets Shane push him further into a darker corner of the club. “I’m not going to let you dance with anyone else.”
Ilya’s breath catches in his throat at the tone of Shane’s voice, but he manages to recover when his back bumps into a wall. He lets a sly smile form on his lips as he tilts his head to the side, letting his face do the talking.
Shane bites down on the inside of his cheeks and narrows his eyes at Ilya–not willing to admit that maybe he is jealous out loud. Ilya can’t help it, laughter bursts out of him in loud waves at the look on Shane’s face. It’s genuine laughter–something that doesn’t happen often, but has been happening more and more in the presence of Shane Hollander.
Shane’s eyes flit to Ilya’s lips and for a moment he thinks Hollander is going to kiss him right there and then, in public, in a club in Boston. A club in Boston where some of Ilya’s teammates, Shane’s teammates and loads of other people are around.
“Hollander,” Ilya’s voice comes out as barely a whisper, drowned out by the loud music around them, but it seems to shake Shane awake a little.
They both swallow hard, eyes flitting around the room to see if anyone is looking. Shane sways a little and Ilya steadies him with hands on his waist.
Shane breaks the silence between them. “You still owe me a drink.”
Ilya’s eyebrows tick up. “I still stand by that I think you’ve already had enough, Vesnushki.”
Shane pouts and Ilya groans at the adorableness of it and how weak it makes him–his heart ready to give into anything that Shane Hollander asks of him.
“Fine.” Ilya gives in and Shane’s smile is bright. “But first you are telling me who you came here with.”
Shane sighs, but Ilya’s gaze is relentless. “J.J., Hayden and Comeau.”
“So they came here with you, ordered you beers–”
“Maybe I wanted a beer!” Shane protests, but Ilya shushes him by pressing two fingers to his lips.
“Ordered you multiple beers, instead of your ginger ale. They did not stop you from taking that drink from a complete stranger and let you wander off all by yourself?”
Shane presses a kiss to Ilya’s fingers.
“Where are they now?”
Shane shrugs. He opens his mouth and the tip of his tongue presses against the pads of Ilya’s fingers. Ilya’s eyes lock onto it, entrancing him and completely rendering him numb when Shane sucks the fingers inside of his mouth.
“Shane!” a voice startles them both.
Ilya drops his hand and turns away from the source of the voice, needing a moment to collect his bearings. There’s no doubt his cheeks are flushed, his breathing has grown erratic and, above all of that, his slacks are growing increasingly tighter.
“There you are.”
Shane lets out a soft groan. “Hayden.”
Ilya takes a deep breath, trying to control his temper from flaring, when Hayden Pike joins them. He squeezes Shane’s shoulder.
“We lost you there for a second, but it seems you’ve made a friend.”
Ilya looks up and delights in the way Hayden’s smile drops from his face. His expression turns a special kind of sour–one that is reserved for Ilya Rozanov only.
“Rozanov.” It’s his way of greeting. His head only dips the slightest inch, while his glare never leaves Ilya’s face and his hand remains on Shane’s shoulder in a protective manner.
“Pike.”
“What are you doing here with Shane in a dark corner of the club?”
“Who says Shane didn’t lead me to this dark corner?” Ilya asks and he tilts his head to the side.
Shane’s giggles leave goosebumps all over Ilya’s arms and Hayden’s eyes cut from Shane’s flushed face back to Ilya.
“Are you trying to take advantage of him because he’s drunk?” Hayden asks.
Heat rises within Ilya at those words. Sure he was an asshole on and off the ice, but he has never been the kind of guy that will take advantage of anyone. He always makes sure to get at least double consent from the person that he is with, before he even makes a move towards them.
He hadn’t done anything to take advantage of Shane, had he?
Shane’s giggles fade away. His face contorts in utter shock, as he stares at his best friend before meeting Ilya’s eyes again. He shakes his head, as if to answer the slight doubt that manages to slip through the cracks of Ilya’s mind.
Shane’s voice is steady when he speaks. “Ilya didn’t do anything wrong.”
Hayden doesn’t respond to Shane’s words, he keeps glaring at Ilya instead.
“Why did you let Shane drink all those beers, only to then lose him out of your sight?” Ilya spits out and Hayden’s expression falters when Ilya steps closer to him. “If you had been keeping an eye on your friend, then you would have noticed that someone came up to him and gave him a drink.”
Hayden turns to his best friend then. “Is that true?”
Shane’s face turns a bright shade of red underneath Hayden’s gaze. “It wasn’t laced, or Ilya and I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
Shane left with Hayden, but it didn't take long for him to find his way back to Ilya.
Ilya is talking to a man that had come up to him–he introduced himself as Grant–when their conversation is interrupted by Shane handing Ilya a drink and draping his arm around his shoulders.
Grant is awkwardly looking from Ilya to Shane, probably trying to make sense of their dynamics–trying to make sense of why Shane Hollander has his arm wrapped around Ilya Rozanov right now.
Shane glares at Grant. “Excuse me.”
That’s when Grant extends his hand towards Shane. “Hi, I’m–”
“I don’t really care,” Shane cuts him off and Ilya freezes.
Grant’s lips open in a silent ‘o’ and his hand hangs awkwardly in the air. It’s clear to Ilya that Shane isn’t going to make a move to shake the hand.
“Hollander.”
Ilya’s tone is a warning and his boyfriend’s eyes cut from Grant to Ilya.
Ilya smiles–apologetically–at Grant. “Will you excuse me and my colleague for a moment?”
“I’ll leave you two to it for a bit,” Grant says and his hand, that he had extended to Shane, brushes Ilya’s upper arm.
Shane’s eyes follow the movement and for a moment Ilya thinks he’s going to bite the hand that touched Ilya. It’s very similar to the glare Ilya has been on the receiving end of, when Shane had told him off for making him stand in the hallway with Scott Hunter right next door.
Ilya can imagine that being at the end of that ‘Shane Hollander glare’ can be quite intimidating and scary. For Ilya it is a big turn on, but when he looks at Grant he doesn’t see that in his face.
Ilya wraps his arm around Shane’s waist to hold him in place, when he feels him shift towards Grant. Shane speaks before Ilya can.
“I’m sorry to crush your heart or any expectations you have, but he’s going to be occupied for the rest of the evening.”
Grant narrows his eyes at Shane, before turning around and storming off.
“Who was that?” Shane asks him as the glare turns on him now.
Ilya feels the intensity of the look in Shane’s eyes, only a few inches removed from his own face as Shane still has his arm wrapped around Ilya’s shoulders. He isn’t sure if the beat of the loud music around them is vibrating in his chest or if it's simply his heart going faster when his boyfriend looks at him like that.
Instead of answering the question, Ilya tilts his head and smirks. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not,” Shane protests, indignantly.
Shane Hollander is in a club in Boston and he is drunk and he is glaring at Ilya’s lips.
Ilya thinks the only other time that he has seen Shane Hollander drunk was when he won Rookie of the Year and Shane stumbled out of the elevator onto the rooftop where Ilya had been hiding. Only now, they are not hiding how much they want each other from the other nor from themselves.
Shane’s voice brings him back from his thoughts.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Ilya gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Was just someone that introduced himself to me, his name is Grant.”
Shane is looking at the crowd as if he is looking for him. “Grant.”
“We were just talking about hockey,” Ilya says and makes a throw away gesture with his hand. “Was nothing.”
“It didn’t seem like nothing to Grant.” He spits out the man’s name as if it’s something disgusting. “Also, ‘will you excuse my colleague’ ? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Ilya rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not.” Shane huffs when Ilya’s smirk only grows bigger. “Drink your drink, asshole.”
His arm slips off Ilya’s shoulders and, despite the fact that it’s hot in this club, he mourns the warmth of Shane’s body immediately. Ilya takes a sip of his drink while he considers the man in front of him. Shane is looking around, as if he’s a guard dog trying to find a threat. His eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are almost daring others to try and approach Ilya.
Shane is finishing the drink in his hands way too fast to Ilya’s liking and for a moment he wonders just how many drinks he already finished before this one. His cheeks are flushed, his movements are a little sluggish when he goes to lean against the wall. He completely underestimates the space to the wall and it nearly makes him spill the last bit of his drink.
“Why are you not with your friends, Vesnushki?” Ilya asks.
Shane’s eyes snap back to him. The leaning back against the wall, the hair flopping down on his forehead and the heavy-lidded gaze flitting between Ilya’s eyes and lips, is really doing it for Ilya at the moment.
Ilya bites down on his bottom lip to try to keep himself in check, but the way Shane’s eyes follow the movement and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, nearly make him collapse on the spot. He doesn’t realise just how close he has drifted to Shane until he lightly taps Shane’s foot with his own.
“Fuck, Shane.”
Ilya shakes his head and blinks rapidly to break this spell, but drunk Shane is an absolute menace. He is going to be Ilya’s downfall, because the bastard grins and pushes himself–a little clumsily–off the wall until Ilya can feel his breath ghosting over his face.
A hand comes up from Ilya’s stomach, to his chest and wraps around his neck to pull him closer. Everyone around Ilya disappears and the only thing he sees is Shane fucking Hollander.
“What’s wrong?” Shane’s voice is low and a little hoarse and Ilya’s entire skin breaks out in goosebumps.
“Shane–”
Shane’s lips brush his lightly–so agonisingly lightly–and Ilya’s knees almost buckle to get on his knees to beg his boyfriend to please kiss him. Shane tilts his head to the side and leans in, his lips now near Ilya’s ear.
“I’ve been forced to watch all these men and women look at my boyfriend all night,” he says and his hand makes its way into the ends of Ilya’s hair. “It’s driving me crazy that I can not tell them all that you’re mine and mine alone.”
Ilya had seen angry-drunk-Shane, he had seen sad-drunk-Shane and met funny-drunk-Shane only like an hour ago, but jealous-and-overly-confident-drunk-Shane was something entirely different. He knows that–as the one that is only slightly tipsy–he should be the smart and sensible one out of the two of them.
But Shane smells really good, he is warm, solid, safe and so familiar and fuck–
Someone pulls Ilya away from Shane and both of them let out loud noises of protest. Svetlana holds him tightly when Ilya tries to move back to Shane–into the bubble that the two of them had created.
“Ilya.” Her voice has a warning tone to it, that makes him freeze in place. She speaks in Russian, chastising him for his negligence in such a public space. “Clear that head of yours. There’s people around.”
He drops his head, taking in a deep breath. “I know, Sveta. I know.”
She focuses her attention on Shane. He is glaring at her and the muscle in his jaw twitches.
“Hey loverboy, your friends are looking for you.”
Surely enough, at that exact moment, J.J. comes up to Shane and throws his arm around him.
“Capitaine!” He greets him and shakes him lightly–the movement makes Shane a little sick. “We’ve got some shots waiting for you at the table, mon ami!”
Ilya opens his mouth to ask the Montreal player if he is fucking stupid and if he can’t see that Shane has already had enough. Surely, as his friend and teammate, he should know that Shane hardly ever drinks.
But Svetlana stomps on his foot and gives him a warning glare to not give Shane and him away too much, that may be exactly what will happen if Ilya will go off at J.J. It will not help Shane at all if his team will start to get suspicious of the two of them.
So he lets J.J. take away his Shane and Svetlana pulls him to the bar and orders him another drink. It’s not until they find a table a little outside of the crowd when she speaks.
“So you and NHL's superstar?” Svetlana asks, purposefully avoiding mentioning Shane’s name with so many people around. Sure, they speak in Russian to each other, but a name immediately catches people’s attention.
Ilya looks at her briefly before looking down at his drink, making the disgusting, American vodka swirl around in his glass.
His best friend laughs. “You’re blushing!”
“I am not blushing,” Ilya bites back, but he can’t help the corners of his lips from tugging upwards. “Also, NHL’s superstar?” He leveled his gaze on her. “I can’t believe you pick him over me.”
Svetlana grins and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry, my dear. You will always be my favourite.” When she leans back she crosses her arms and glares at him. “But do you know how unfair it is for the two most handsome men in the NHL to be dating each other? It’s quite selfish.”
He nudges her shoulder playfully. “Technically I was ranked 5th.”
His friend scoffs and rolls her eyes. “They don’t know what they are talking about, babe. I do.”
Their eyes travel through the crowd, almost simultaneously finding Shane Hollander on the dance floor. He is surrounded by his Montreal teammates and some other people that like to have their one minute of fame with some of the NHL’s best players.
Svetlana leans into him, their shoulders pressing into each other and she lowers her voice slightly. “So, he’s Jane.”
It’s not a question, but Ilya still nods. She lets out a deep breath.
“It’s been years,” she says when their eyes lock onto each other. “You’ve been texting and seeing each other for years.”
Ilya nods again, swallowing hard as his eyes quickly dart in Shane’s direction, before locking on Sveta’s again. It has been years of them texting and meeting up and it has been years of Ilya falling head over heels for the one person that he shouldn’t be falling in love with. He lets his forehead thump against her shoulder.
He feels her hand running through the back of his hair in that comforting way of hers. He closes his eyes and lets himself have this moment of just the two of them and finally being able to share this thing between Shane and him. It has been weighing on his heart for a long time.
“I know I kind of figured it out myself,” she says and Ilya huffs out a laugh. “But thank you for telling me.”
He leans his chin on her shoulder to meet her eyes and she smiles down at him. He truly doesn’t deserve her, but he is happy to still have her around.
She leans her forehead against this. “I want you to be happy, Ilyusha.”
Shane Hollander makes him happy. Shane Hollander, who is now talking to someone else at the edge of the dance floor, standing a little too close to each other for Ilya’s liking.
It somehow sends him back to that one night at a club in Montreal. Shane with Rose Landry. Ilya with a woman, who he embarrassingly enough doesn’t remember the name of.
Quite frankly, Ilya is done with the two of them watching each other with others when they could be–no, should be–together.
Sure, maybe Ilya had one drink too much, but Shane is his.
Ilya finds Shane sitting at the bar, another empty glass in front of him and his eyes completely avoiding any kind of contact with the man that is standing next to him. Ilya recognises him as the man that had given Shane a drink earlier that night.
To Ilya’s dismay, his boyfriend looks incredibly uncomfortable and none of the Montreal players are around to help him. What Ilya likes even less is how the guy puts another glass of beer down in front of Shane. Not given to Shane by the bartender, but coming directly from the guy, once again.
Ilya makes his way over to the bar, pushing anyone in his way aside. He watches Shane’s hand wrap around the glass and slowly bring it up to his mouth. He is now close enough to hear the man whisper encouraging words in Shane’s ear.
Shane’s lips nearly touch the glass when Ilya takes it from him.
“What–” Shane mutters in shock.
The shock on his face shifts to relief when he finds Ilya standing next to him. His hand automatically reaches out and takes hold of Ilya’s shirt.
“Did you drink anything else from him?” Ilya asks him, his voice is stern and completely focused on Shane’s flushed face.
He shakes his head. Ilya leans over the bar and pours the beer down the sink. The man lets out an indignant noise, looking at the empty glass, before settling his furious gaze on Ilya. He answers with one of his own.
“Ilya Rozanov,” the man snarls. “If it isn’t the asshole himself.”
“In the flesh.” Ilya holds his arms out, as if to present himself to the man, before letting his hand rest on Shane’s shoulder. “Since you seem to know me, you must also know not to piss me off.”
“Piss you off?” The guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “I have no idea what you mean. I was just offering Shane Hollander a beer, because he looked lonely, but–” He gestures to the empty beer glass on the counter. “–we were very rudely interrupted.”
“Now that I’m here, you can fuck off,” Ilya snaps, his hand curling around the back of Shane’s neck.
The guy’s eyes flit from Shane, to Ilya’s hand on his neck and back up to Ilya’s face.
“I thought you hated each other.”
“What I really hate is men that can not take a hint. I hate men that do not notice that the person they are talking to isn’t interested.” Ilya’s voice is a slow and feral thing as he steps up to the man–getting in between him and Shane–and grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt. “I hate men that try to win someone’s trust with a first drink, just to lace their second.”
The guy’s face pales underneath the flashing club lights and he swallows hard. Ilya follows the movement of his Adam’s apple. He tries to utter a response, probably to deny that he did any of that, but he has already given himself away.
Ilya gestures to one of the bartenders and tells him exactly what happened, not letting go of the guy’s shirt. A minute later he is being dragged out of the club by security.
He turns back around to find Shane still sitting on the bar stool. He looks very pale and like he is going to be sick any second. Ilya turns the stool around and cups his boyfriend’s face with his hands, forcing his glassy eyes to look up at Ilya.
“Are you okay?” he asks and he notices his hands are trembling when he pushes the sweaty hair away from Shane’s forehead. “How are you feeling? Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”
“Ilya, I’m okay. I didn’t drink anything else from him.” Shane’s voice is soft and his words are slurring more than the last time Ilya saw him.
“Did he touch you?” Ilya asks again, noticing that Shane hadn’t answered those questions–hoping that it’s simply because he can not focus properly. His entire body is rushing with adrenaline and he knows that as soon as Shane tells him the man touched or hurt him, he will do something that he shouldn’t.
“He did, but–”
Ilya turns around, his body already deciding that he is going to chase the man, before his mind can catch up. Shane’s hands reach out for him–barely grazing his shirt.
“Ilya!”
The panicked shout stops Ilya right in his tracks.
“Stay with me,” Shane pleads with him and, in an instant, Ilya has returned to his side. Shane’s hands twist in his shirt and his forehead rests against Ilya’s heaving chest. “Stay.”
Ilya’s hand comes up to Shane’s neck, his fingers carding through the ends of his hair, while he flags the bartender down with his other hand.
“Two glasses of water, please.”
He watches Shane drink the glasses of water, one hand wrapped around the cool glass and the other wrapped around Ilya’s wrist–as if he is terrified that Ilya will leave him if he lets him go. He won’t. Shane asked him to stay, so he will stay.
He will stay, until Shane tells him to go.
As soon as the two glasses are finished, Shane slides off the stool and tumbles right into Ilya’s arms. His head drops, his face hides in the curve where Ilya’s neck meets his shoulder and his arms fold around Ilya’s waist–completely melting into Ilya’s body.
“I’m never drinking again.”
“You need to go back to your hotel and sleep this off,” Ilya says as he looks around. “Where are you friends?”
He feels Shane’s arms tense around him, pulling Ilya impossibly closer to his own body. Ilya is extremely aware that there’s a lot of people around him, but he finds it difficult to care about it when his boyfriend is holding him like this.
“Take me home with you.” It’s not a request, it’s a plea. Ilya can hear it in his voice.
“Hollander,” Ilya says as he runs his hand over Shane’s back in soothing lines. “Pike will kill me if–”
“Hayden is not my mom, remember?”
It draws a chuckle from Ilya and he shakes his head fondly.
“Who cares what Hayden thinks?” Shane repeats Ilya’s words from a while ago back to him in a really, really bad Russian accent.
Ilya pushes Shane back and takes hold of his chin to be able to look him in the eyes. “I still think you should let your friends know that you’re leaving.”
Shane groans, wanting to let his head fall back against Ilya’s shoulder, but the hold on his chin is firm. Ilya watches the flashing lights reflect in his brown eyes, the two of them in a stare down, as dancing bodies move around them.
“Fine,” Shane mumbles eventually. “I can text him.”
Ilya’s eyes search the crowd in the club once more, finally finding Hayden Pike and the other Montreal players at a table a little closer to the door.
“I’ll go tell him that I’m taking you to the hotel,” Ilya says.
“Noooo.” Shane’s voice is whiny and his face scrunches up in annoyance. “I’m not going back to the hotel. I’m coming with you.”
“Shane–”
“Please, Ilya.” Shane’s eye cut back to Ilya’s, looking up through his eyelashes with a pout on his lips.
Ilya deflates, his shoulders hang in defeat as he casts his eyes up to the ceiling. Ilya Rozanov likes to think he is a man with an abundance of willpower and once he takes a stance, he will not differ from it, but all of that disappears when he is with Shane Hollander.
How can he say “no” when his beautiful, freckled boyfriend is looking at him like that?
“Okay,” Ilya relents. “Okay, fine. But you’re drinking at least three more glasses of water when we get home.”
“Home.” Shane’s lips smile around the word and it tugs at all of Ilya’s heartstrings.
“And you’re showering because you stink.”
Shane huffs indignantly. He tries to form a sentence, but it’s just a jumble of incoherent words that come out of his mouth. Ilya grins at him and that results in a slap to his chest.
“Let me just go talk to Pike,” Ilya says. “You can wait at the door–”
“No.” Shane’s hands clamp onto Ilya’s arm and he follows him all the way to the table where the three Montreal Voyageurs watch them approach.
Shane stumbles over his own feet and Ilya catches him, wrapping an arm around his waist for support.
Hayden Pike looks uneasy when he catches Ilya’s glare, but Shane is holding onto him and he wants to make sure he gets into bed as soon as possible, so Ilya holds back from starting a fight with him. He will make sure to beat his ass on the ice next time they meet.
“I’m taking Shane home,” Ilya says, ignoring the looks from the other two Montreal players and focusing on Pike instead.
Hayden moves away from the table and up to Shane. “Come on, Shane. I can take you back to the hotel.”
“No!” Shane whines as he pushes away the hand Hayden holds out for him with a scrunched up face. The sound of a high pitched hiccup leaves his lips before he speaks again. “Ilya is taking me home.”
Hayden’s eyes flit from J.J. and Comeau, who are intensely watching the three of them, back to Ilya.
“Do you know how this looks?” he hisses.
“Do you know how it looks to leave your drunken best friend to fend for himself in a club in Boston?” Ilya throws it right back at him, closing the space between him and Pike. “I’ll take Shane home and I will make sure that he is taken care of, because right now I don’t know if I trust you with that.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, he evens them all with a glare–the Ilya Rozanov glare they call it on the hockey news sites–and turns to Shane.
“You still sure?”
Shane nods his head, giving a little apologetic smile to Hayden and his other friends, before wrapping his arm around Ilya’s shoulder.
“Let’s pick up your jacket first,” Ilya says in Shane’s ear.
“I didn’t bring one.”
“What the fuck do you mean you didn’t bring a jacket? It’s the middle of winter.”
Shane smiles sheepishly at the floor. “The hotel is close, I didn’t think I needed one.”
Ilya rolls his eyes.
As soon as they’re outside he calls a taxi, before forcing Shane’s arms through his Boston Bears jacket. Shane hiccups and his eyes are glued on Ilya’s face as he closes the zipper for him.
“Perhaps–” Shane swallows hard and Ilya looks up at him, cautiously. “–I shouldn’t have done those vodka shots.”
“You did vodka shots?” Ilya asks incredulously.
“I wanted to know what’s so great about it, because you’re always drinking it. Then I bumped into your Marlow and he dared me to do another one with him.”
Ilya is already planning on how to punish Cliff for this during their next drills.
“You could’ve refused, Hollander.”
“I’m not–” Another hiccup. “–a chicken.”
Ilya pushes his hair back from his forehead and lets his thumb run over Shane’s freckles. “I know, I know.”
The last few drinks must have suddenly hit Shane, because he sways and Ilya steadies him again.
“Plus you like Marlow,” Shane mumbles softly. “I want him to like me.”
For a moment Ilya doesn’t know what to say. Shane wants one of Ilya’s closest friends to like him, because the two of them are together. Even though they aren’t out yet and only Hayden Pike knows about them. Ilya’s gaze must have been too intense for Shane, because he looks back down in between their bodies.
“Shane,” Ilya says softly, taking his chin in his hand and pushing his face back up to meet his eyes again. “I don’t ever want you to do things that you don’t usually do or try to be someone that you are not, because you want others to like you. People should like you for who you are and not for who you want them to see you as.”
Shane’s eyes scan Ilya’s face and his bottom lip trembles slightly. Ilya’s eyes do a quick scan of their surroundings, but the street seems quiet. His hand drifts up to Shane’s cheek and he presses his lips against his in a quick, but firm kiss.
“You are perfect the way that you are,” he whispers against Shane’s lips. “Minus the beer breath of course.”
Shane giggles at that, pushing Ilya away playfully but quickly grabbing a fistful of his shirt again when Shane is the one that nearly tumbles over.
“You’re only wearing a t-shirt,” Shane mumbles. “You’re going to get cold because you gave me your jacket.”
Ilya pulls Shane into him and his boyfriend goes completely willingly–burying his face against Ilya’s neck and clinging onto him like he is his last life line.
“Now I’m warm again,” Ilya says and Shane’s breath ghosts against the skin of his neck as he laughs softly.
He manages to get Shane to let go of him just enough so he can get him in the taxi, making sure he is all buckled in, before walking around and stepping inside the car on the other side.
Shane unbuckles his seatbelt when the driver starts driving.
“Hollander, what the fuck–”
He slides to the middle seat and fumbles with the seatbelt, resulting in Ilya leaning over to buckle it for him. He feels Shane’s lips press against the bare skin of his neck and his hand runs from Ilya’s knee up his thigh. Ilya quickly moves to close the privacy curtain to shield them from the driver.
“Shane,” Ilya says, his voice stern as he meets his eyes.
“Ilya,” Shane responds, a teasing smile on his lips as he leans into him.
His hot breath ghosts over Ilya’s lips and he feels his eyes flutter close at the proximity of Shane. He wonders if Shane knows just how much power he has over him–over his mind, his body and his soul.
Shane is like a siren from those mythological stories that his mama sometimes told him about. Ilya had been completely mesmerized with this man from the very start, from the moment that he saw him on the ice in 2008.
If Ilya was a sailor, he’d gladly be lured to his death by this beautiful siren.
He knows that if he lets Shane kiss him now, he will be completely lost and he can not afford that right now. He is here to take care of Shane.
“Shane, don’t.” Ilya’s voice comes out way softer and more desperate than he wants.
Shane holds back. When Ilya opens his eyes, he sees the confusion and sadness in those brown eyes and it breaks his heart.
“You don’t want to kiss me?” His voice is barely a whisper, but Ilya hears every single word and each one of them hits him like a gut punch.
“Of course I want to kiss you,” Ilya reassures him quickly, his hand coming up at Shane’s neck and into the ends of his hair–making Shane’s eyes flutter closed and a soft noise escape his lips. “But we are in the back of a taxi and you’re drunk.”
Shane lets his head fall against Ilya’s shoulder, melting against him as Ilya’s hand, soothingly, runs through his hair. He takes his other hand in his and presses soft kisses to each of his knuckles.
“I will drink 10 glasses of water so I won’t be drunk anymore and then you can kiss me until I die.”
It turns out that trying to get a drunken Shane Hollander undressed and in the shower is a more difficult task than winning a fucking Stanley Cup. He dodges kissing attempts, tries to ignore Shane’s whines when he does so successfully, and finds himself standing underneath the shower, still half dressed in his club outfit, because Shane refuses to get in without him.
“You’re a nightmare,” Ilya mumbles, but there’s no bite in his voice.
His boyfriend doesn’t say anything, he just hums in complete bliss as Ilya’s hands massage his scalp.
A few moments later he finds himself standing over a cleaned up Shane Hollander in his kitchen, with a second glass of water, telling him to drink it before even thinking of getting into bed.
Shane glares up at him. “You sound like my mom.”
“Your mom is great and she is usually right, so that is not an insult.”
Shane scowls as he brings the glass to his mouth, but Ilya sees the spark in his eyes–the spark of a man that is about to do something he shouldn’t. That’s when Shane forces the water from his lips in a stream that hits Ilya directly in the face.
“Shane Hollander!” Ilya calls out.
Shane’s laughter fills the entire space, echoing through the room and bouncing off the walls, and, god, it truly is the most beautiful sound ever. Ilya can’t even be angry with him as he watches the way his entire face is lit up in pure and unfiltered joy.
It’s a rare sight. This kind of unfiltered joy isn’t something he sees often on Shane’s face. Shane Hollander, who is always calculating his next move on and off the ice. Shane Hollander, who is always thinking about what is best for others. Shane Hollander, who hasn’t allowed himself to relax a day in his life–other than when he is with Ilya.
Ilya would do anything to keep this smile on his boyfriend’s face.
He quickly reaches out when Shane nearly tumbles off the chair, and he buries his face in the crook of Shane’s neck, rubbing it there to dry it–making Shane call out his name in protest and laugh even harder.
“You’re the absolute worst,” Ilya says, but his words lose all power as he starts peppering Shane’s entire face with kisses–the laughter subsiding in soft giggles.
Shane’s breath hitches–his entire body going completely still–when Ilya hovers his lips over his, so close to touching but not quite.
“Please,” Shane manages to breathe out. “Please, kiss me.”
Ilya pulls back and he watches Shane chase his lips.
“I will not kiss you. Not until you finish that glass of water.”
That does the trick and before he knows it Shane has drained the entire glass of water. He looks up at Ilya with big, pleading eyes and an expectant look on his face.
Ilya takes the empty glass from him and walks to the sink. “Alright, one glass left.”
Shane groans. “I was promised a kiss!”
Ilya hears him get up from the stool and his bare feet shuffle across the floor in his direction. Two arms wrap around his waist and Shane presses his full weight to Ilya’s back with his chin on his shoulder.
“One more glass. Come on, get back to the chair.”
Instead, Shane’s hands find their way under Ilya’s shirt. Ilya gasps softly at the warmth of his palms against the skin, sliding from his waist to his stomach. Shane’s lips brush his shoulder, up to his neck. Ilya’s treacherous body automatically leans his head to the side to give better access and Shane presses kisses on his bare skin.
“Fuck, Shane.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Shane whispers, and it’s so Shane to deliver a joke like that with such earnestness in his voice, that Ilya can’t help but laugh.
A light gasp leaves his lips when he feels Shane’s fingers at the waistband of his sweatpants. It brings him back just enough to realise what the fuck is happening and he grabs Shane’s wrists before his hands can move any further into his pants.
“You’re distracting me,” Ilya manages to breathe out.
Shane giggles softly. “I don’t know what you mean, dear.”
Ilya turns around, puts his hand on Shane’s chest and pushes him back against the kitchen counter. This time Ilya leaves Shane breathless, as he reaches down and grabs both of his thighs to push him up on the kitchen counter.
Instinctively, Shane’s legs wrap around him and Ilya pulls him flush to him with his hands on Shane’s hips. Shane’s arms come around his shoulders and his nose rubs against Ilya’s neck, breathing him in.
“One more,” Ilya whispers into his ear.
“I’m going to pee in the bed if you force me to drink another glass of water,” Shane mumbles.
Goosebumps spread all over Ilya’s skin at the feeling of Shane’s warm breath.
“You’re sleeping in the guest bedroom tonight.”
“Noooo,” Shane whines, his arms and legs tightening around Ilya’s body as if he wants to climb inside of him.
“Tomorrow morning you’ll be happy that I made you drink all those glasses of water.”
“I’ll be happy regardless of how I wake up tomorrow morning, do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I will wake up next to you.”
Shane releases his tight grip a little when he feels Ilya move back to look at him. Ilya blinks and all he can think about is how full his heart feels. He never thought this would be their lives. Not even in his wildest dreams did he dare to hope that the two of them would do this kind of domesticity. The two of them, in Ilya’s kitchen, after a night out. Shane’s arms and legs wrapped around him. Shane’s eyes completely drinking him in. He never dared to hope for the possibility of sleeping and waking up next to him.
For a moment his heart feels too big for his chest and his sight goes blurry from the tears forming in his eyes.
“Hey,” Shane whispers, his hands coming up to Ilya’s cheeks and his voice dripping in worry. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Ilya wants to reply with ‘nothing’ but that feels wrong. They worked past that. From the moment Shane left his hotel room during the All-Stars weekend, Ilya vowed to be honest with the man that had stolen his heart and captured his soul.
“I’m happy,” Ilya responds, his voice coming out all soft and gentle. “I never thought this kind of happiness would be for me, but here you are.”
Shane’s eyes go glassy and his eyebrows furrow in the middle. “I make you happy?”
His voice is so full of genuine surprise that it throws Ilya off for a moment. How can Shane not know that he is the reason that Ilya manages to get out of bed every morning? That Shane is the sunshine that brightens up even those dark days that Ilya often experiences.
“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been, Vesnushki.”
Shane’s face breaks out in a smile and Ilya feels like he is staring into literal sunshine, like he should be averting his eyes or he’ll get burned by the sight. But he can’t look away.
He lets Shane lean in and bring their lips together. He hears Shane whisper a soft ‘finally’ when Ilya reciprocates the kiss and wraps his arms around Shane’s back. Shane cradles Ilya’s face like he is the most precious thing in the entire world and he doesn’t want to break or hurt him. He kisses him so achingly slow and soft that it hurts.
It physically hurts how much Ilya is in love with Shane Hollander.
His breathing hitches when Shane presses featherlight kisses to his forehead, the tip of his nose and each of his cheeks.
“I like it when you call me Freckles,” Shane whispers when he returns to Ilya’s lips. “I used to hate them, but you made me love them.”
“Vesnushki.”
Shane kisses him again, but the two of them can’t stop smiling and Ilya wishes he can freeze time.
Ilya is so in love that he could die.
Ilya is so in love that he could die.
He yawns and opens his eyes. Next to him is the most beautiful man that he has ever laid his eyes on. Shane’s face is illuminated by the few rays of sunshine creeping through the crack in the curtains–he hadn’t closed them properly in his rush to get into bed last night. It paints his face in the most beautiful light. His eyebrows, his nose, the curves of his lips and his freckles.
He reaches his hand up and his fingertips ghost over Shane’s freckles. Shane. His Shane.
His Shane, who is now scrunching up his face and groaning softly as he wakes from his slumber. He reaches his arm out and–without opening his eyes–wraps it around Ilya and closes the distance between them.
Ilya chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to Shane’s hair.
“Good morning, princess.”
Shane hums in response and buries his face against Ilya’s chest.
“How’s your head?” Ilya asks, cradling Shane’s head gently and letting his fingers run over his scalp.
“Is fine,” Shane mumbles, his voice barely audible from his face being hidden against Ilya’s chest.
“I told you that you’d be grateful for those glasses of water that I made you drink. Proof that you should always listen to me.”
Shane pinches his back and Ilya laughs.
Their moment of blissful silence is broken when there’s multiple pings coming from a phone.
“Shane,” Ilya mumbles and he gently shakes him by the shoulder. “That’s your phone.”
Shane tightens his arm around Ilya’s waist and presses even closer to him, groaning and mumbling some unintelligible words that Ilya can’t make out. But his phone doesn’t let up and then Ilya’s phone is also going off.
Ilya reaches out to grab his phone from beside his pillow. There’s a few text messages from Svetlana and he quickly scans through them. He chuckles softly at the one where she tells Ilya that she is not going to leave Boston before she knows all the details about him and Shane.
Then he opens his text thread with Cliff Marlow. He’s asking Ilya if he is already awake and if he has seen a tweet from this morning.
He clicks the link and makes a strangled noise when it opens in his browser and there’s a picture from last night. A picture of Ilya and Shane standing outside of the club. Shane in Ilya’s Boston Bear’s jacket and holding onto Ilya.
“What?” asks Shane’s muffled voice.
He looks up, grabbing Ilya’s wrist and holding the phone so that the two of them can look at the screen.
Shane reads the caption out loud. “Ilya Rozanov helps a drunk Shane Hollander, wearing a Boston Bear jacket, after a night out. Is their rivalry getting heated?”
There’s a silence in which Shane scrolls down a little. Most people are calling the picture fake, some are saying they knew there was something going on there and others are simply saying that it’s impossible because the two of them hate each other and these must be look-a-likes.
Ilya quickly closes his phone and throws it to the end of the bed.
“It’s just a picture,” he says, keeping his voice light.
“I’m never drinking again,” Shane mumbles as he moves underneath the blanket and down Ilya’s body. Ilya feels Shane crawl on top of him–underneath his shirt.
“I’m never drinking again and I’m never going back outside,” Shane says and his face presses down on Ilya’s bare chest. “This is where I live now.”