Work Text:
We didn't even kiss
Shane looks at the words he just typed and knows two things:
1) He can’t send this text to Rozanov.
2) The fact that he’s devastated about the two of them not kissing tonight can’t be good.
He deletes the draft, slides the phone into his pocket, and exits the elevator once it gets to his floor.
What the fuck is wrong with him? Shane should feel perfectly content — he just had mindblowing sex and, for once, there’s nothing on his to-do list for the next two days. Truth be told, a weekend off in Las Vegas may not be Shane’s ideal way of getting some much-needed rest; however, a nice hotel gym and alone time with room service and possibly a movie marathon do sound appealing, especially since his parents decided to go back home earlier than planned when they heard David’s favorite old college friend was in town. Shane loves Mom and Dad, but sometimes, having them on every trip makes him feel like he’s a toddler in need of constant oversight. So, he was secretly happy when Yuna and David assured him he didn’t need to depart with them.
In the shower, Shane wonders when Rozanov is leaving tomorrow. Or, actually, today, as it’s well past midnight. What if they run into each other in the lobby or something? That would be awkward, probably. Shane will need to be careful.
And, again, he can’t help but wonder why his rival-turned-secret-fuck-buddy didn’t kiss him at all during their heated encounter in Rozanov’s suite after the awards ceremony. Why does Shane even care? The concept of interlocking lips with someone is fundamentally romantic, while this thing between him and Rozanov has nothing to do with romance. It’s just convenient for two high-profile guys who don’t want anyone else to know they like doing… stuff with other guys.
They always kissed before, though. Not as much as Shane secretly wants sometimes, but still.
Perhaps Rozanov is mad at Shane for some reason, but if anything, it should be the other way around. It was the Russian who pretty much ghosted Shane months ago and had the audacity to act all nonchalant after they presented that stupid sportsmanship award. If Shane had any dignity, he would’ve ignored Rozanov instead of taking the first chance to get back into his sheets.
Maybe this evening was just what Shane needed to put an end to this whole craziness. When or if Rozanov makes a move next time, Shane just needs to remember this icy stab that’s making his heart crumble over and over again. That’ll give him the willpower to decline Rozanov’s advances once and for all.
At least he hopes it will…
***
Ilya is staring at the calendar app. Tomorrow is June 15th, his birthday. Yesterday was Friday the 13th, and he can't decide if it was an unlucky day for him or not. Lots of good stuff happened: the hotel greeted Ilya with an incredible gift basket that included top-grade vodka, he won the MVP award, everyone complimented his look, and Hollander put on the sexiest show possible for him. However, yesterday was also full of moments where Ilya just felt fucking empty.
Not when he was with Hollander, though. Watching Hollander’s anger turn into desire… Touching his smooth skin… Soaking up his moans as Ilya entered him from behind, hard, again and again and again… It was like a drug. A drug Ilya must quit as soon as possible because he can’t deny it anymore — this is starting to feel like more than just sex. Ilya has other fuck buddies or friends with benefits, however you wanna call it, but he doesn’t hesitate to kiss those people, scared he won’t be able to stop. He doesn’t daydream about those people when he’s not with them. Hollander, on the other hand, occupies Ilya’s brain more often than not. And that’s just unacceptable, even if Hollander felt the same, which he probably doesn’t.
Guessing that Canada’s golden boy is flying home with his parents this morning, Ilya goes back to sleep after waking up way too early and later nibbles his breakfast in bed as slowly as possible. He only leaves his room when he’s fairly certain that the coast is clear.
After hitting the Las Vegas premium outlets, followed by an hour at the hotel pool, Ilya still has jitters in his entire body. He keeps getting flashes of last night. He even hallucinates Hollander at one point on some random balcony across the pool, but that must be just some guy who resembles him. Hollander has surely left Las Vegas by now.
Another thing happens later in the afternoon. Besides Ilya, only two quiet guys and a girl are at the gym, and just when the heavy weights he’s lifting are starting to erase any thoughts from his mind, he notices a water bottle with the Montreal Voyageurs logo. Ilya knows it could be anyone’s, those bottles are sold everywhere, but a part of him wonders if Hollander left it there by accident yesterday. If Ilya knew for certain that it was this particular Voyageur’s bottle, he would drink from it just to get on his lips what he chose not to last night. How lame is that?
Despite all his efforts, the rest of Ilya’s evening is tainted by the same foul mood. At first, he’s leaning toward staying in bed and watching whatever sports game is on, but then he gets sick of his own grumpiness. He is Ilya fucking Rozanov! He doesn’t wallow in misery when he’s in a 5-star hotel in freaking Las Vegas! And he may not have his teammates or usual clubbing pals with him, but there must be somebody at the bar downstairs who will lift his spirits. A hot girl in a miniskirt, hopefully. If not, he can move on to the casino, although gambling never excites him that much.
So, Ilya puts on a pair of dark jeans and a burgundy shirt that hugs his torso perfectly. Of course, he also needs perfume all over (he doesn’t know why, but he has the unnecessary habit of spraying it in front of a mirror). Ilya’s curls are a bit wilder than he usually prefers for a night out, but he doesn't feel like doing anything about that right now.
He takes his wallet and phone and finally heads for the cocktail lounge.
***
The first day of Shane’s weekend off isn’t as fulfilling as he’d hoped. He enjoyed a healthy breakfast, watched a relatively interesting movie, took a nap, and exercised his ass off at the hotel gym. Unfortunately, all of that wasn’t enough to completely distract him from ruminations about Rozanov.
First, one of the actors in the movie kept reminding Shane of the handsome Russian (probably because of the similar accent and golden-brown curls). Then, for a split second, he caught a glimpse from his balcony of someone who looked a lot like Rozanov from the back at the outdoor pool. On top of everything, when Shane realized he must’ve left his water bottle next to the treadmill and went back for it to the suddenly empty hotel gym, he overheard someone who sounded just like Rozanov humming a song in English in the locker room.
Everything reminded Shane of the one person he was trying to forget and it was torture.
That’s probably why he’s made the most un-Shane decision ever to hit the hotel bar around 11 pm. He generally hates going out, especially by himself, but the lounge on the ground floor looked quite elegant yet chill when he passed by it earlier.
And now that he sits at one of the tables, Shane kinda regrets his decision. The space isn’t that crowded, which would usually calm his anxiety, but he’s the only one drinking alone. Not that anyone’s giving him dirty looks or anything — he just feels self-conscious. As soon as he finishes the beer, he’s going to return to his room.
Shane almost chokes when he sees none other than Ilya Rozanov enter the room. Had he consumed more alcohol, Shane would’ve been sure he was imagining stuff. But there’s no mistake, this is really Rozanov, in the flesh.
Rozanov doesn’t see Shane right away, but as soon as he takes one of the high chairs right next to the bar, he scans the room and undoubtedly spots his so-called rival. That leaves Shane paralyzed, unsure what to do. Nod? Wave and get lost? Invite Rozanov to join him?
While Shane’s deliberating, Rozanov turns away and orders a drink from a blonde, muscular bartender, who’s not at all subtle while checking him out. Shane can’t blame the guy, Rozanov looks unreal.
(Shane can’t blame the guy, but he can wish he could make the blondie explode with his mind.)
Rozanov gets his drink — vodka on the rocks, as far as Shane can tell — and heads straight toward Shane’s table.
“Is this taken?” Rozanov asks, with his hand on the chair across Shane’s.
Shane can’t decipher the look in Rozanov’s eyes, and not just because the room is pretty dark.
“Uhm, no.” He shuffles in his seat. “I mean, you can…”
Rozanov sits down before Shane finishes the sentence. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Yeah, same,” Shane admits, with a hint of a smile before he can control it. He immediately clears his throat and adds, “As soon as I booked the hotel for the awards ceremony, I decided to extend my stay and take the weekend off. I kinda needed a change of scenery, I guess.”
He omits the part where he considered suggesting Rozanov do the same so that they could fuck each other for two days straight. Of course, Shane talked himself out of it. Now that he's realized Rozanov is also staying longer, Shane kinda wishes he’d mentioned something.
“My flight got canceled,” Rozanov explains, unprompted. “I mean, I got the email yesterday and they offered me seat on another plane this evening, but I took it as sign that I should just say fuck it and stay one extra day in Las Vegas.”
“So, you’re flying out tomorrow?”
“Yes. At 1 o’clock, afternoon.” Rozanov takes a sip of his drink. “You?”
“Tomorrow at 3. Also in the afternoon.”
“Ah, too bad it is two hours apart. We could have shared a taxi to the airport.”
Rozanov finally offers a playful grin, which makes Shane’s chest flood with warmth. But the moment is quickly over, and they are both just sitting there in silence.
“So, what did you do today?” Rozanov asks.
“Uhm, not much. I ordered room service for each meal, watched TV, and went to the gym. Boring, I know.”
Rozanov smiles and frowns at the same time. “Did you maybe leave your water bottle there?”
“Yes!” Shane is visibly surprised. “How do you know that?”
“I saw it at gym. I thought anyone else would be too embarrassed to carry Voyageurs merch around, so it must be yours from yesterday or something.”
Shane rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment on the mocking remark. He suddenly points a finger at Rozanov. “Were you singing in the locker room? Something like ‘I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m 22’?”
“Oh my god, Hollander, you live under a rock. You must be the only person in the world who doesn’t know the classic Taylor Swift hit. Yes, it was me singing that, probably because this is my last…”
“Your last what?”
“Nothing. My last time singing in public when I’m thinking no one else is there. Now I am embarrassed.”
“Don’t be, you honestly didn’t sound that bad.”
“You are just saying that to make me feel better. Or yourself for hanging around locker rooms like some creep, secretly listening to people.”
Shane can’t stop himself from laughing again. “Fuck you, I wasn’t lurking, I just happened to be there!”
“Yeah, yeah… If you say so.”
They just smile at each other for a moment. Then Shane remembers last night and how he told himself he wouldn’t fall for this guy again.
“Well, I think I’m gonna go now,” he says, shaking his empty beer bottle.
“Already?” Rozanov’s fingers trace the rim of his glass. “I think it is polite to wait for the other person to finish their drink as well.”
“Uhm, okay. I’m pretty sure that won’t take long.”
Why can’t Shane stop smiling?!
All of a sudden, Rozanov starts telling him a story about a night out with his team in Boston after winning a home game against Buffalo last year. Half of the Boston Bears ended up so drunk they could barely walk. Since Rozanov was the least intoxicated, lived the closest, and had just been appointed captain, he took it upon himself to make sure everyone got home safely. But two of the guys were so out of this world they couldn’t even recall their address, so Rozanov had no other choice but to bring them to his own house. Before tucking them in, though, their captain used a black marker to write “Out of order” on their foreheads. Of course, he took pictures and sent them to the team group chat. Now he's showing the photos to Shane, who’s practically giggling, again.
Shane, then, recounts the time when his teammate Hayden Pike got so hammered that Shane had to drive him home. They spent ten minutes trying to figure out why Hayden’s house key didn’t work, only to realize it was the key to his car, not the front door. And that’s also when Hayden’s wife Jackie woke up and started freaking out, convinced that someone was trying to break in. She almost called the cops on her own husband and his best friend.
They exchange a few other mostly drunken anecdotes involving their teammates. Against his better judgment, Shane finds himself enjoying the fact that he just made Rozanov cackle so hard his eyes started tearing up. Just as it dawns on him that he was about to go away like half an hour ago, Shane notices the hunky bartender approaching their table with a tray — another beer, a glass of vodka, and a big chocolate muffin with a lit-up candle in the middle.
“This is on the house,” he says, placing the drinks in front of the two confused hockey players. He slides the muffin toward Rozanov. “It’s midnight. A little birdie told us it’s your birthday, Mr. Rozanov, hope you don’t mind. It’s just a small token of our appreciation.”
Rozanov just blinks for several seconds. “Thank you. I am so surprised, really… Thank you so much.”
The bartender winks and withdraws. Shane looks around. The people around observed the whole thing, but they just smiled and went back to their conversations. Nobody is taking pics or anything.
“It’s your birthday?” Shane feels strange, taking a long sip of the fresh beer. He probably should’ve known this information, given that he’s googled Ilya Rozanov so many times before.
The birthday boy looks as close to shy as Shane’s ever seen him. “Yes, it is. 23, here I come!”
“Oh my god, Rozanov, it was your last day being 22, that’s what you meant earlier!”
“Da, you caught me. So… I should make a wish, no?”
“I’m sorry, I… I kinda wish I had a present for you now.”
Rozanov shakes his head. “No, Hollander, come on, this is stupid.”
“It’s not. And yeah, you should make a wish.”
“I don’t know what to wish for.”
Shane clicks his tongue. “Is this your way of rubbing your Stanley Cup in my face? And the MVP award? Or just bragging about having everything you want?”
Rozanov’s eyes drop, more seriously than Shane expected, before looking up again. “Not everything I want.”
“Okay, so? What’s the thing you want the most, right now?”
Shane can’t help but notice the way Rozanov’s hazel eyes linger on his mouth. Fuck, they shouldn’t be in this position. If you’re making a birthday wish at midnight, it should be with someone you love, not your archrival slash casual hook-up.
“I always wish for something too big, impossible,” Rozanov admits. “Then I get disappointed when it does not come true.”
“Well,” Shane sighs, “I know you’re not exactly the most humble dude, but maybe try something more attainable this year. It’s the little things that add up to something like happiness, right? Isn’t that how the saying goes?”
Shane feels a bit silly for mumbling all that, but the corners of Rozanov’s mouth go up. He then closes his eyes for a second and blows out the candle.
“Happy birthday.”
“Thank you, Hollander. Wanna split the muffin?”
If it were any other occasion, Shane would refuse because this type of dessert isn’t what he eats normally, but he can make an exception now. However, Shane is determined to go back to his room afterward. To his surprise, Rozanov also gets up.
“Don’t you wanna keep celebrating?” Shane asks as they’re walking toward the elevator, with slight guilt in his voice. “It seemed like maybe you know those guys in the corner. I think someone waved at you?”
“Yes, he was my personal trainer back when I just moved to Boston. Nice guy, I run into him from time to time.”
“So…?”
Rozanov shrugs. “Kinda tired. I think I can celebrate another time.”
For a moment, Shane wonders if Rozanov has late-night plans with someone else, but he sounded genuine just now, so probably not. Hopefully not.
A ding signals they’ve reached Shane’s floor. He wishes the ride lasted a thousand times longer. Or that he didn’t have to go. Or that Ilya would go with him.
Shane hopes Rozanov can’t read this in his expression as he steps out and mutters, “See you next season.”
Rozanov opens his mouth, but no words follow. The elevator door closes. The only thing Shane can do is drag his feet to his room, alone and miserable.
***
Ilya typically hates June 15th. Usually, he either spends it getting wasted with Svetlana and mostly her friends or completely alone, reminiscing about the last birthday cake his mother made him before dying. He expected the latter would be the case for his 23rd trip around the Sun, but Shane Hollander challenged that — well, at least the very beginning of the day. Will Ilya see him again before the weekend ends?
Making that birthday wish was so fucking difficult when Ilya’s dream come true was right there in front of him. There was Ilya again, wanting the impossible. So, before blowing out the candle, he didn’t ask the Universe for what he really desired (that was too scary to admit anyway). Instead, he landed on something that’s still not smart, but at least it’s more probable: a birthday kiss from the star center and team captain of the Montreal Voyageurs.
Ilya almost believed he’d get it in the elevator after drinks. Shane glanced at Ilya’s lips more than once and kinda hesitated to get out when they reached his floor. Should Ilya have nudged him somehow? He didn’t wanna push it, especially since he got the impression that Shane was guarded at times during their conversation at the lounge. He probably thought hooking up twice during the same weekend was too much, and he was probably right.
Just as he unbuttons his shirt, Ilya hears a knock.
His heart skips a beat. That can’t be Shane, can it? But who else…
Ilya rushes to open the door and is met with big brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and freckles he would die to pepper with kisses right now.
“Hey,” Shane says quietly. He seems slightly out of breath.
“Is everything alright?” Ilya asks.
“Yeah, uhm…” Shane looks around the corridor. He has no idea how fucking beautiful he is right now. “Sorry, can I come in for just a minute? I don’t wanna risk waking up other guests.”
“Of course.”
Ilya notices Shane’s shirt is untucked now, and more than several of the top buttons have come apart since Ilya last saw him downstairs. Provoking Ilya surely wasn’t the aim — Shane probably started undressing and changed his mind. But seeing the middle part of Shane’s well-defined chest, which Ilya likes to trace with his tongue the most, is definitely causing a stir in his stomach.
“I still don’t have a birthday gift,” Shane declares, still kinda breathless, “but there is something I wanted to give you tonight. And the night before.”
Ilya doesn’t dare to get his hopes up, yet a part of him can’t help it. “What is it?”
Shane bites his bottom lip with the tiniest nod directed at no one in particular, and then he reaches for Ilya.
At first, the kiss is quiet and gentle. Ilya is terrified to change the tempo, but his body reacts on its own. His right hand grabs Shane’s waist, while his left hand starts caressing Shane’s jawline. Moans escape from both of their mouths.
When they stop for a moment, Ilya assumes it’s just to catch their breath, but Shane tries to step back. Ilya’s grip on his waist tightens.
“What, just one kiss?” he asks and doesn’t even care that he sounds whiny. “I think the birthday boy deserves more than that.”
Shane is blushing again, which is frankly a sight for sore eyes. “Well, I… I don’t wanna intrude, I’m not sure if you have plans, uhm…With someone else or like… Maybe you wanna be alone?”
Instead of responding, Ilya basically attacks Shane’s mouth, with more tongue this time. In less than three minutes, they are both naked and rock hard, making out on the bed like it's their last day on Earth.
Ilya starts smooching his way down to Shane’s leaking dick.
“Wait,” Shane interrupts and switches their positions. “You said it, you’re the birthday boy, it’s only fair I do this first.”
Ilya doesn’t share that sucking Shane is equally a gift as having Shane suck him. If Shane wants to spoil him, so be it.
Later, when Ilya has opened Shane up and has put a condom on, Shane smirks and asks: “So, how do you want me tonight? I can be anyone you design. The birthday man gets to choose.”
All the birthday talk initially turned Ilya on, but now it’s starting to sound like all this is a chore for Shane.
“Well…” Ilya sucks on Shane’s neck. “I’m thinking…” He plants a wet kiss on Shane’s chin. “You could just be you?”
Something in Shane’s eyes tells Ilya he also likes the idea.
“Yeah, I can do that,” Shane almost whispers.
They end up having what’s quite possibly the best sex they’ve ever had together and beyond. Their hands are everywhere, their mouths keep finding each other, being inside Shane is driving Ilya crazy, and judging from Shane’s delicious sobs and loud yes’s, Ilya keeps hitting just the right spot.
Shane comes first, splashing Ilya’s stomach and his own, and Ilya follows him closely. They both pant as sweat dries from their backs.
Ilya disposes of the condom and gets back on the bed, sensing Shane has become tense. He remembers their first time going all the way in Shane’s Montreal apartment, how his host held him after Ilya got out of the shower, giving Ilya the most tender kiss on the lips, then the forehead. It was like Shane was silently stating, “Thank you for making me feel precious and safe, I’m glad I trusted you, you are also precious to me.” It freaked Ilya out so bad. He isn’t used to feeling treasured.
“Uhm,” Shane finally breaks the silence and then covers a yawn with his palm. “We should get cleaned up.”
Before thinking too much about it, Ilya takes the bed cover that slid to the floor earlier, throws it on both of them, and rests his arm across Shane’s stomach. “We can do it in the morning. I’m really fucking exhausted right now. Thanks to you.”
Shane holds his breath for a second, and Ilya prays he doesn’t get up. “Okay.”
Closing his eyes, Ilya scoots closer to Shane. “Good night, Hollander.”
“Good night.”
The next morning, around nine, Ilya wakes up first — or so he thinks at first. Something about Shane’s face is unnaturally still, so he whispers: “Hollander, are you pretending to be asleep?”
“No,” Shane murmurs. “Just can’t open my eyes yet, the sun is too bright.”
Ilya grabs a remote from the nightstand and adjusts the blinds, making the room slightly darker. “How about you go shower, and I order breakfast?”
Shane is overly stiff again, but he eventually nods. “Okay.”
Ilya feels confident in his pick when he orders eggs and bacon for himself and Greek yogurt with fruit for Shane. Then he joins Shane in the shower, where they give each other handjobs and neck kisses.
They watch a soccer game in fuzzy white bathrobes as they eat breakfast, although neither of them is particularly interested in that sport. When Shane suggests he should leave, Ilya makes him a counteroffer:
“How about I fuck you against the window instead?”
Shane chuckles as Ilya nuzzles his shoulder. “Like you can go again so soon.”
“I like a challenge.”
“I appreciate it, but you have a flight in 3 hours, which means you have like half an hour to pack and leave.”
Ilya uses his most seductive voice: “I can do a lot in half hour, Hollander, you know that.”
“Yeah, I do, but I’d just feel terrible if you missed your flight because of me. And I need to pack too.”
There’s nothing Ilya would enjoy more than for both of them to miss their flights and stay in this suite forever. But alas, he does need to get to Boston today to take care of some stuff so that he can travel to Russia in a few days.
So, he lets Hollander get dressed.
“Thank you, uhm, for the breakfast,” he says, leaning on the door somewhat awkwardly.
Ilya winks. “Thank you for the birthday present.”
Yes, there’s that blush underneath the freckles again. “See you in October?”
“You bet.” Ilya unlocks the door and kisses Hollander goodbye.
Once he’s alone, Ilya can’t help but smile. This may just be the first time he got not only his birthday wish but way more.