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Ilya regretted kissing Hollander only because Hollander was angry. He wouldn't say that, of course. And when Ilya asked, Hollander said he wasn't mad about anything.
Still, he texted. Sometimes he got a reply. Sometimes he didn't. There were even a few times where Ilya could see him typing and then the bubbles would disappear and nothing would ever come through. Those were the moments he almost felt successful. He wanted Hollander more than he'd ever wanted anybody. But it was also something more, too. Hollander had a little side that brought out the long dormant caregiver part of Ilya, and a taste, the first in his life, of being a caregiver was enough to make Ilya crave it. But he only wanted one little, the one trying hard to ignore him.
Hollander withstood him for almost two whole seasons.
If I win, I get to fuck you in the fall he texted Hollander.
and if I win? What do I get?
same thing 😈
And that felt like a win.
The Raiders traveled to Montreal first that next season and Ilya texted Hollander from the locker room before their game. How many times can you come in an hour?
The bubbles came, and Ilya watched them intently. They stopped. They started again a minute later. This kept going for a few minutes until the bubbles stopped and didn't start back up.
Ilya's disappointment felt heavy. He had been so sure he could convince Hollander. He set his phone down and continued getting ready, but then his phone chimed. He snatched it off the shelf.
I don't know, maybe twice.
You are so bad at sexting
Who taught you that word?
Your mother.
Fuck you.
Where are we meeting?
We're not.
😢
Maybe if you're lucky, I'll text you after the game.
Ilya grinned. Are you as hard as I am right now?
"Wow this Montreal girl really works you up, brother. You're straight up blushing," Marlow said beside him.
Ilya scowled at him. "Never in life have I blushed, Russians do not do this."
"Right," Marlow said.
"Fuck off," Ilya replied.
They lost. Barely. But when he got back to the locker room and looked at his phone, there was an address waiting for Ilya. Perfect. Perfect. Except that address led him to a very dark alley and just when he was sure he was in the wrong place, a door opened and there was Shane Hollander. Perfect, beautiful, very irritated looking Shane Hollander.
"You will murder me?"
"Maybe! Get in here," Hollander huffed, then as soon as he was in the door, Hollander shoved him. Not hard, but enough that Ilya stumbled. "What the fuck were you thinking sexting me before the game?"
Ilya grinned. "Were you hard? How long? Whole game?"
"Fuck you," Hollander said.
They raced up the stairs to the apartment. It was a beautiful place with an excellent view, and when Ilya made a comment, Hollander started to talk about owning a second one. It was endearing, but what Ilya really wanted was to kiss Hollander. So he did and Hollander kissed him back. They kissed as Hollander led him to the bedroom.
Fucking Shane Hollander was everything Ilya wanted it to be. He was so responsive. He felt so tight around Ilya, and it was great sex. Ilya felt absolutely spent as he lounged back on Hollander's bed. He rolled over and kissed up his arm to his shoulder. "Are you good if I take shower?"
Hollander looked down at him, eyes glazed over as he bent his head to catch Ilya's mouth in a kiss. "Clean towels behind the door," he murmured as he broke the kiss, his eyes falling closed.
Of course the shower was nice. Hollander had one of those rainfall shower heads and the water pressure was excellent. Ilya also liked the idea of smelling a little like him as he used his bodywash.
"You have killed me, Hollander," he said as he collapsed onto the bed in just a towel. "I am dead." Only Hollander didn't reply.
Ilya pushed himself up slightly to see if Hollander had fallen asleep, but he was awake. His eyes were wet and red, and he was biting his lip.
"Hollander? What is wrong?" Ilya asked, sitting up. "Hollander?"
"I'm sorry," Hollander squeaked, tears starting to fall.
Ilya wasn't sure what he was apologizing for when realization hit him. "You are dropping?"
Hollander squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry!"
Ilya reached out and cupped his face. "No, no, you don't apologize." He felt like an asshole. He shouldn't have left so soon after sex. It was Hollander's first time having penetrative sex with a man, Ilya knew that. He should have remembered that the endorphins could trigger a drop. Ilya should have stayed with him.
"I s-shouldn't n-n-need this!" Hollander cried. "Dad came two days ago!"
"Shane," Ilya said firmly. "Look at me." He waited until deep brown eyes, wet with tears, met his. "Endorphins can mess with hormones. Is okay. Let yourself drop. I am here."
Shane's lower lip wobbled. "I'm sticky, Ilya," he whispered. "Bed is dirty. It's gonna be so bad if I drop."
Ilya could see in the way Shane's body was starting to shake that he was doing everything he could to stave off the drop. Shane had said something in the moments after, before Ilya had really come down from his orgasm, about the bed being dirty. Ilya had been wearing a condom. Shane hadn't been so his release was on the bed and probably drying on his skin in a way that wasn't so nice.
"I will fix," Ilya said. He dropped his hold on Shane's face and offered him his hands. "We will shower."
"You showered already," Shane replied, but he took Ilya's hands all the same and let himself be pulled from the bed.
Ilya took him into the bathroom and started the water, giving it time to warm up while he shed his towel, hanging it up so he could use it again when they'd finished.
He stepped under the water first and held out his hands. Shane rubbed his eyes with his fist, sniffling as he stepped into the shower.
"Hey, hey," Ilya said, keeping his voice soft. "You are okay. You will be clean, and I will make your bed clean too."
Shane dropped his head forward against Ilya's shoulder and before he even thought about it, Ilya had brought his other arm up and wrapped it around him. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "I am not upset. You know this?"
Shane made a soft noise that did not really sound like words Ilya knew in either language, but it didn't sound like agreement either.
"You do not know this?" Ilya asked. "Is okay. I am not upset." He rubbed his hand down Shane's back, just keeping him close. He really wasn't upset, but dropping after what they'd done had to be hard for Shane. He gently tipped his head back.
Shane chewed on his lip. Ilya stroked his thumb across, pulling it free of Shane's teeth.
"Listen. I will wash you and maybe your hair, if you want. Will feel nice, and you will be clean, then we will find sleeping clothes and you can sit with Puck and Rozy Bear while I make bed. Sound good?"
Shane looked at him, eyes narrowing as they moved back and forth across his face. "And... maybe some juice?" he asked finally.
"Yes, juice," Ilya replied. "You want I wash your hair?"
Shane nodded.
Ilya was good at washing hair. Svetlana let him practice. She was a sub, someone his father approved of, and the only other person who knew his full designation. She let him take care of her. She taught him how to wash her hair. He could do basically a whole curly routine on her. Shane's hair was different, but he still could wash it the same. He scrubbed the shampoo into Shane's scalp with the tips of his fingers. He rinsed his hands before using one to shield his eyes as he tipped his head back to wash the shampoo out. He combed conditioner through the ends of his hair and let it sit while he found a cloth and lathered soap into it.
Ilya started with Shane's shoulders, scrubbing gently with the cloth down to his fingers on one arm and then the other. He continued with his chest and his back, his stomach, and his ass.
"I will touch you here," Ilya said, gently tapping the cleft of his ass. "Is okay?"
"Okay," Shane repeated.
Ilya was quick, but thorough as he slid the cloth between Shane's cheeks. He checked in twice more for his genitals and then moved on to his legs and feet. It was more clinical, the way he touched Shane, than he was usually, but this was an unexpected situation. When he finished, he shielded Shane's eyes again as he tipped back his head to rinse the conditioner out and then the soap from the rest of his body.
"Better?" Ilya asked.
Shane nodded. "Better," he whispered.
Ilya dried himself carefully and wrapped the towel around his waist before pulling a fresh towel for Shane. He didn't even think twice before carefully drying him off.
"Alright," he said, stepping back. "Pajamas, and where are clean sheets? And your friends. They will keep you company."
Shane's eyebrows knit together. "Too many things."
Ilya blinked. "Da," he said, then, "Pajamas."
He waited until Shane was at the dresser to grab his underwear from the floor. He pulled them on and took his towel and Shane's when he'd finished with it, hanging both up in the bathroom.
He came back out and started to strip the bed. By the time he'd finished, Shane was dressed in a matched set of pajamas, blue pants with little brown teddy bears, a t-shirt of the same color with a breast pocket. A little bear peeked out of the pocket. It was cute. Hollander was cute and what Ilya wanted to do was wrap him up and kiss his face. He wouldn't.
"Puck and Rozy Bear?" he asked.
Shane looked unsure for a moment, but he reached for Ilya's hand.
Ilya took it and let Shane lead him out of the bedroom, through the living room, and into another bedroom. Rozy Bear was reclined against the pillows with Puck in his lap.
"Are you little in this room?" Ilya asked as he watched Shane very carefully pick up his soft toys.
Shane shook his head. He gently smoothed his hand over the top of Rozy Bear's head. "Puck is just a baby. He shouldn't see adult stuff."
Ilya paused to take that in. Adult Shane had moved the toys into the guest bedroom so they wouldn't see them having sex. It was sweet. It was a little innocent too, like this thing he kept hidden really was a present in him all the time. It must have been so much work to keep it hidden.
"Kind of you," Ilya murmured. "Now sheets."
Shane had his sheets in the guest room closet. Ilya grabbed them and went to make the bed. Shane sat on the floor with his legs crossed. He chewed at his thumb nail and held his stuffed friends tight against his body.
Once the bed was made again, Ilya turned to Shane. "Juice?"
"Kitchen," Shane said around his thumb.
Shane directed Ilya around the kitchen. Where his special cups were, what kind of juice he liked.
"Daddy mixes it with water," he said. "But probably I can have it without the water."
Ilya paused with the sippy cup in his hand. It was plain, blue in color, but didn't have the cartoon characters like the ones Ilya saw in the stores. He looked back at Shane. He was willing to give Shane anything he wanted, but he wondered if deviating and doing something he didn't normally do, like drinking full strength juice, would make him feel guilty in the long run.
"No, no, I will not have Yuna Hollander upset with me for giving her star too much sugar," he said. He knew how fierce Shane's mother was about her son, so he figured it was safe.
"I won't tell," Shane promised.
"Ah, no," Ilya said, shaking his head. "I do not want you to lie, malysh." The endearment surprised Ilya even as he said it, but he wouldn't take it back.
"I'm already lying," Shane huffed, crossing his arms. "You're here."
Ilya set the cup down on the counter and reached out to gently rub his hands down Shane's arms. "Yes, you are lying about us. Me too. So maybe it is not so good to add more lies?"
"I guess," Shane sighed. He dropped his head forward against Ilya's shoulder. "Don't like to lie."
Ilya brought a hand up to gently rub Shane's head. He didn't know what to say to that. He felt selfish in that he didn't want them to stop what they were doing. He wanted to fuck Shane Hollander just as much as he wanted to take care of him. Even if they weren't doing it on purpose, though Ilya had to admit that Shane's distress was hard on both of them, so it would be nice to drop him on purpose.
Shane sagged against him.
"You must be sleepy," Ilya murmured.
"No," Shane huffed. "Juice."
Ilya kissed the top of his head. "How about you go, you use the toilet, and then I will bring you your juice in bed." Were those counterproductive? Should he even be giving a little juice before bed? Ilya didn't know anything. He hadn't had ever been educated on Littles the way he should have been for someone of his designation. Some of it, like the comfort, and making sure Shane was fed were easy, but the rest was just a big blank for Ilya. Not for the first time, he found himself cursing his father's bigotry. He should know how to be a caregiver.
A touch on his wrist, feather light, hesitant, pulled Ilya from his thoughts. Shane withdrew his hand.
"Yes, malysh?" Ilya asked.
"You'll lay with me?"
"Of course. Go now, and I'll be right in." He watched as Shane turned and went back to his bedroom. The only juice in the fridge was cranberry, but Shane must have known that, so Ilya mixed it half and half with water in one of the adult sized sippy cups in the cabinet. Considering Shane's insanely restrictive diet, he probably didn't usually consume that much sugar, so cutting the juice made sense to Ilya (and he was happy to take the lead from Shane's father who knew Shane better).
Shane was in bed when Ilya walked in. He had both Puck and Rozy Bear tucked in with him. Ilya sat on the bed next to him before offering the sippy cup.
Shane took it with a quiet thanks and started to drink it. His eyes closed happily.
Ilya settled next to him and gently combed his fingers through Shane's hair.
"How long will you stay?" Shane asked, pulling his cup away.
"Until after you're asleep," Ilya promised.
Shane's eyebrows drew together and it looked for a second like he wanted to argue, but the look vanished after a few seconds. "When will I see you again?"
Ilya ignored the fluttering in his chest at those words. He propped himself up on his elbow and gently stroked his thumb across Shane's freckles. "After the Olympics," he said. It was too risky for them to interact in Russia. If Ilya was honest with himself, he hated that Shane would be there at all.
"Oh," Shane sighed softly. He snuggled closer to Ilya and took the spout of his cup back into his mouth.
Ilya stayed put, going back to stroke Shane's hair as he slowly drifted to sleep. Ilya grabbed the cup so it wouldn't fall on his face, but didn't rush to leave. He knew he needed to go back to the hotel and try to get some sleep before their early flight back to Boston, but he didn't want to. Being in the bed snuggled close to Shane made him feel good and fulfilled.
And if he didn't get back to the hotel until early the next morning with just enough time to pack his bag, well, that was his business.
Ilya was so close to shouting. Why wouldn't Hollander just leave? Ilya told him to go. Ilya needed him to go. To leave. To not be anywhere near him while they were in Russia. It wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to tell Shane how cute he looked in his fuzzy Canada jacket. He wanted to ask if Rozy Bear had come to Russia or if he had been left home while Puck got one more stamp in his passport. He wanted to grab Shane by the back of his neck and pull him close, kiss his forehead and take a deep, deep breath of the smell of Hollander, some combination of the outdoors and shampoo. Ilya was pretty sure that would make everything better. He ached for the calm that being with Shane Hollander, that being a caregiver gave him. It wouldn't change that his team lost to Latvia, that they wouldn't be medaling at all, that he as the captain had let down his team, his country, and his father. But it would make it feel less bad to hold Shane.
Except it was illegal to be gay in Russia. That was bad enough, but the idea of Shane Hollander dropping terrified Ilya more than anything else.
"No, I didn't respond to your texts. I'm fine. Go sit down."
He'd never needed Hollander to listen as much as he did then.
"I just wanted to see how you were doing," Shane mumbled, looking away.
"Please go back to your seat, Hollander," Ilya said "Please."
Shane swallowed and he nodded: he turned and walked away, and Ilya wanted to stop him for every second of it. And then he turned back to the ice.
In the months that followed the Olympics, Ilya did everything he could to put Shane Hollander out of his mind. He took Svetlana's words as prophecy and worked his ass off to make them come true, and if the exhaustion meant he couldn't think of Shane, so be it.
Except that didn't work. Of course it didn't work. He was always thinking about him. But Ilya Rozanov was no good for Shane Hollander. He would only bring him pain. Ilya wanted Hollander to hate him, to think of him as the rivals they were, to never come near enough to feel anything. Because Ilya was trigger shy after their last time before the Olympics.
He was also still so deeply attracted to the man even if he ignored all the caregiver feelings that had been seemingly unlocked.
They played against each other, but Ilya didn't text Hollander. He didn't answer the messages, not even the congratulations he got after they won. He'd almost caved then when it was later and he was drunk. Winning the Stanley Cup was his greatest achievement and he wanted so badly to share it with Shane. But he'd thrown his phone on the floor and curled up in the middle of his lonely bed.
In the bathroom in Vegas, Ilya could see the way Hollander's eyes shone with his unshed tears, the way he tugged at his collar, his jacket, from the moment he walked into the bathroom. He wanted to wrap him up in his arms and hold him. Instead he locked the door and leaned back against it. "Well?"
Shane’s face flushed with his anger. "What the fuck do you want from me? You've ignored me for months, won't even acknowledge my existence unless there's a camera pointed at us and then it's just some big joke. So, yeah, what the fuck do you actually want?"
Ilya unbuttoned his jacket, exposing the white shirt underneath. "I want you to suck my dick."
Shane's face flushed an even deeper red and looked away. "Oh fuck you, you're such a fucking asshole. You suck my dick."
Ilya pushed himself away from the door, closing the distance between them. He grabbed Shane by the chin and pulled his gaze back to him. "Ask nicely."
Shane's eyes were wet as he stared at Ilya. Ilya thought for a few seconds, he wouldn't ask. He'd finally pushed Shane Hollander too far, but then Shane's lips parted.
"Please." It was such a small, desperate thing, something Ilya wanted to take pity on, but he shook his head instead.
"If you expect me to get down on this dirty floor and suck your dick, you're going to have to ask nicer than that."
Shane's eyes stayed wide as he took Ilya in. If he blinked, there would be tears, Ilya could tell.
"Please get down on this dirty floor and suck my dick, please," Shane whispered, and Ilya wanted to give Hollander everything in that moment, but he also wanted to dom him so badly.
He wrapped his hand around the back of Shane's neck, guiding his face to the crook of his neck. "No."
It took a second for the word to penetrate and then Shane mumbled. "What?"
"No, we will go back to our seats and watch the rest of this show. We will go to the after party and socialize like expected, then when you’ve been waiting all night, you'll come to my hotel room and I'll do much more than suck your dick."
Shane pulled back. His Adam's apple bobbed a few times as he scanned Ilya's face. He lifted a hand to tug at his eyelashes and then looked away again.
He made a comment about his English, and Ilya could feel the tension shift. They were playing. Ilya could play. Thought not for long. Someone would come looking for them eventually. Or need the bathroom.
"I'll make you a deal," he said. "If you win MVP, I'll do whatever you want."
"And if you win?" Shane asked.
Ilya smirked before crashing their mouths together. He thought about the last time they kissed, right after they fucked for the first time... before Shane dropped. It had been sweet, slow. This time was different. This was Ilya answering the question he'd been asked.
He left first. Later, he saw Shane from across the room and between congratulations from almost everyone he saw, he texted Shane his room, one of the penthouses.
Their designations played a role in every interaction, of course, but as Shane walked into the room, his jacket over his arm, Ilya felt powerful. He won and there was his prize.
"Congratulations," Shane says.
Ilya smiled, nodded once, and took a sip from his glass. "Strip."
Shane huffed out a laugh, but did as he was told. Well, mostly. He stopped in just the black boxer briefs he'd had on under his suit. Ilya raised an eyebrow.
Shane gestured to the window. "It's just a lot of window."
Ilya wanted him in front of the window, but Shane must have felt exposed there, exposed to the world when he only wanted to be exposed to Ilya. Ilya liked the idea of Shane as his. Only his, so he turned and walked into the bedroom. He pulled a chair to the end of the bed and sat before pointing to the bed. "Show off for me, Hollander."
Shane looked at the bed, hesitating. Ilya could almost see him talking himself into it and smiled as he sat on the bed facing Ilya, his legs slightly spread.
"Come on, Hollander, it's my special night. Let me see you touch yourself," Ilya said when Shane didn't move.
"I've never..." Shane replied.
"Good, just for me then." Ilya smirked.
Shane tipped his chin up like he was going to argue. Ilya raised his eyebrows. "Be good for me, Hollander."
Shane blew out a breath and slowly slid his hand down the front of his boxers, gripping himself. It looked obscene, the dark fabric outlining perfectly the shape of Shane's hand around his dick.
Shane moaned.
"Do you want to know how it feels?" Ilya asked, taking another sip of his vodka.
"How what feels?" Shane panted.
"Holding the cup," Ilya replied.
The flush across Shane's nose and cheeks deepened. "You fucking asshole."
"I can't even describe it," Ilya said. Something hit him in the chest. He picked it up and frowned down at it. Boxers. Shane's boxers. Part of him wanted to follow that thread, but then his eyes caught the sight of Shane spread out there on the bed, everything for Ilya only to see.
He dropped Shane's underwear and took him in. So beautiful, so perfect. Ilya wanted to put his mouth on that perfect little picker, to drag his tongue up his taint. "Oh," he said.
"I need," Hollander said, slowly stroking himself, his eyes starting to look a little glazed over.
"What do you need? Tell me," Ilya demanded.
"You," Shane moaned. "Need you."
Ilya's chest went tight with his own need. He drained his glass and let it thunk down onto the carpeted floor before he stood. Who was he to deny Shane anything?
After, they sat in bed, a glass of vodka for each of them while Ilya smoked a cigarette, and Shane started to ask questions about Russia. Was it safe? Did he want to go? None of that mattered. He couldn't not go home for the summer. There wasn’t another option for him. His father was sick.
"I should sleep," Ilya said.
And Shane left. Only as soon as the door closed behind him, Ilya was out of bed, his phone in his hand. He got as far as the door and pressed his forehead against the smooth wood as he opened their text thread. Shane was typing. The bubbles continued for minutes until they just stopped and no texts ever came. Ilya stared at their text thread for too long before finally throwing his phone down on the couch and crawling into bed.
As much as he tried to think about anything else, all Ilya could do was worry. What if Shane dropped again all by himself?