Work Text:
It doesn't matter how much time has passed, Shane can't shake the anxiety that rises in his chest whenever he and Ilya are out together.
He's been engaged to Ilya for months, out as gay for years, and speculated to be in a relationship for even longer. But sitting with the Russian at a hidden table in the back of a crowded club is still enough to leave Shane shaking for hours.
Ilya sits a little bit away from Shane, hand on his beer while his other hand rests casually on the table. Shane's hands lay restlessly in his lap, fidgeting wildly and watching the crowd just as his partner is doing. They look like friends to anyone watching, not lovers. Just two people who are sitting in the same booth. He’s sure that thought would kill Ilya a tiny bit.
In moments like now, Shane can't help from feeling the longing looks Ilya is giving the crowd. He knows it isn't a lustful or wanting look for those in the crowd: he can feel it in the way Ilya still has their feet pressed together under the table -- the only contact Shane has allowed for years between them.
No, it's a look of yearning -- wishing. He wants to be like them. He wants to dance, to hold Shane close, to kiss openly on the floor in a room full of strangers without care. But the problem is, Shane is someone who does care. Very much.
His freak out at the Fabian concert was proof enough. One little touch from his life partner and he jumped away like he was burned. Even though Shane had fixed the initial hurt feelings he caused and kept close for the night, Ilya doesn't try many public touches now. No arm around his back in a location nobody can see, no careful kisses on his cheek when he’s promised nobody is watching. Shane is both grateful for it and disappointed by it.
Grateful because then that gives them less reasons to be caught, not that they have been yet. But it’s the idea that they could, and this eliminates those thoughts all together.
Disappointed because just as much as Ilya is craving to be close, Shane wants that too. He wants to have Ilya's warmth surrounding his body, his scent to invade all his senses, his vision to only be filled with one person. To have everyone know that he is Ilya Rozanov’s, and Ilya is Shane Hollander’s.
But he can't.
He doesn't know what else they can do besides press the sides of their feet together in a way that says I'm still here and I still love you. The only thing they can do that could be interpreted as friendly and nothing more. So that's what they do. And that's what they are doing now.
Ilya's hand has begun fiddling with his bottle while the other rubs circles in the wood of the table. Shane spots it, of course he does. He knows that if their hands were together then Ilya would be doing that same, soothing motion to the top of his hand, or maybe against his palm.
Shane takes a drink of his beer, glancing at Ilya from the corner of his eye. He sees the longing look, the itch in his body to be there. To sway with the crowd. Shane can imagine it too, how he used to be.
He would always spot Ilya in a crowd, no matter what city they were in. His hands would be placed on some girl's body, his lips on her neck. They would sway to the rhythm of the songs, and inevitably escape to not be seen for the rest of the night. Not until trashy news outlets posted photos the following morning of Ilya’s arm wrapped around her waist, leading her to his hotel. Shane bit down his upset feelings then, and he's doing it now.
Now it is for a different reason. Now, it's because he knows he’s stopping Ilya from that. He could pick anyone in this room to dance with. Anyone would be on their knees just to have a chance to sway their hips in time with him, but Shane is greedy and keeps him from everyone. He plans to stay greedy with Ilya for the rest of his life too.
But he notices the way strangers glanced at him as they walked in, how they stared as he ordered their drinks, how people would purposely bump into him, just in case it would lead to a conversation with the man. But Ilya didn't give them a single glance, simply looking at Shane with love so deep it made his bones shake.
He taps his foot against Ilya's, earning his attention while Shane keeps his firmly on the crowd. On a couple, to be specific. Two girls. They seem a bit younger than them, dancing together so freely and happy. One girl has dark brown hair that is pulled up in a claw clip, the other with soft black curls that rest at her shoulder. They have their arms around each other, faces so close that they don't have to do much to kiss.
They aren't afraid like he is.
Shane swallows, fidgeting with his fingers as he says, "I'm sorry I'm boring."
Ilya shakes his head, a grin on his face as he replies, "I love your boring. Is nothing to be sorry for." He taps his foot back against Shane's as a sort of reassurance -- the best thing they can do right now under Shane's racing mind.
The Canadian shakes his head, eyes clamping shut for a moment before opening them and finding the girls again, who are kissing and laughing. They make it look so easy. Could it really be that easy?
"You want to dance. I'm holding you back," Shane speaks like it's simple, understandable. Something that doesn't need much more of an explanation or a conversation.
Ilya disagrees. It's his turn to shake his head now, dropping his hand onto the cushion between them. Sometimes, just sometimes when he can tell Shane may need something, Ilya risks it. He risks the potential of upsetting his boyfriend, in the off chance it could instead end with supporting him in the way Shane wouldn’t ever admit needing out loud.
Ilya glances around the crowd, noticing nobody looking at them before pressing the tip of his pinky to Shane's. That small motion is nearly enough to shatter the Canadian.
"You never hold me back, malysh. I’m just happy to be here with you," Ilya says easily, inching his pinky slightly closer so they can nearly wrap around each other. His eyes still haven't left Shane's, not planning to either. Shane's eyes still haven't left the girls.
They're jumping together, twirling and dipping, kissing and loving in public. Doing it all like it's simple. Nobody is watching them, Shane notices as he briefly scans the area. All the other couples are bravely dancing and kissing too, not worrying about anyone except for each other. Nobody is caring.
But Shane cares.
Ilya could easily find someone to do all that with, especially here when it seems like a free zone to do so. Shane clenches his jaw and swallows, finally pulling his gaze away and towards the table at a nowhere in particular spot.
"You can dance with anyone," Shane tries again pitifully, almost pushing him away. But Ilya has dealt with both of their pushing for far too long to let this even affect him in the slightest.
He closes his pinky firmly around Shane's now, squeezing lightly before speaking.
"Shane," He starts, voice somehow both firm and soft. "I don't want to be with anyone. I want to be with you," He speaks quieter now, as though it has to stay an even smaller secret in this loud crowd between them. Nobody would've heard had he spoken in his normal volume.
They lapse into silence while the rest of the club parties on. Shane is sure they look depressing, maybe even miserable. Is Ilya miserable? Shane dares to look towards his man. Instead of the terrible expression he was imagining in his head, he is met with a soft, resigned look. A look that says much more than any words they could comfortably say here.
Shane looks back to the table. It's too much.
Before he has a chance to wallow, Ilya speaks up again. "I would rather do nothing with you than everything with someone else," He mentions, voice holding something serious in it.
Shane's eyes water stupidly in the way they always do when feelings are just a bit too much. Ilya is good, and understanding. So much so -- too much so.
He dropped everything for Shane: his life in Russia, his team who he loved, his home in Boston, his mother’s grave. He’s given up everything for Shane without question every time.
What has Shane given up? He still lives close to his parents, he has his original team, he and Ilya’s house is in his hometown. Everything is for him. Everything has always been for him while Ilya has given up so much to keep it that way.
Shane blinks rapidly, trying to disperse the growing tears in his eyes that are desperately trying to fall. Ilya looks around the room again briefly before bringing a finger up and rubbing under Shane’s eyes, catching a tear that managed to escape.
Even now, even after Shane has kept them apart all evening, Ilya is still reaching out and soothing the ache in his fiance's chest through a simple touch. Shane could burst into tears.
Instead, he takes a deep breath, steadying himself as he takes a sip of his drink. His eyes stay on the crowd, the girls who kiss and dance like nobody is watching. Other couples are doing the same, some men, younger than them. Nobody cares.
A thought slowly clicks into place in Shane’s mind: Nobody would care if we did it too.
He shakes the thought off like a dog with fleas. He shouldn’t be thinking this way. People would care. They aren’t random individuals in a club. They are rival captains to the biggest teams in the NHL – or, they were before Ilya left to join Ottawa for Shane. Regardless, they are known. Too known to be like them.
But that stingy thought keeps rearing its head so stubbornly as not a single person looks in their direction while they sit in the booth.
Shane takes another sip of his drink, finishing it fully as he stares at the crowd. The crowd of strangers who very well could also hold celebrities he isn’t aware of either. Maybe there’s others who are playing as someone else tonight – people who are leaving their titles and lives behind for a chance to be what they want for one night with one person.
Shane wants that. He looks at the two girls again. They are talking low to each other, smiles so wide they feel blinding. He could do that. He could make sure nobody knows them and do that with his man too. He’s always been envious of those who can, and has always wanted to confidently do it with Ilya. This could be his chance if he’s careful.
This time, as the thought appears solidly in his brain, he doesn’t try to swat it away. He could make sure nobody cares and be that way too.
With a plan in mind, Shane wipes his damp hands onto his pants and turns fully towards Ilya. Ilya, his perfect fiance who deserves to be dipped and kissed in a crowded room. Ilya, who is staring at him, eyes searching the Canadian’s as though he could find his answers to what the man is thinking within his gaze. Instead, his own eyes grow wide as Shane moves his hand and grasps Ilya’s firmly.
Shane darts his tongue out, licking his suddenly extremely dry lips. His hand, the one clasping Ilya’s, suddenly feels so empty without his ring on. He wishes he hadn’t asked them to leave them off in public. Now, all he wants to do is try his best at showing his man off like he deserves to be – like Shane has always wanted to do. He wants to try to be brave too.
Shane sniffles once, nervously, and says in as fearless a voice as he can muster, “Let’s dance.”
The song is something pop, something loud. He can hardly process what the words are saying, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is the glimmer of hope within his fiance's eyes. How come he never did this sooner? This look, this warmth and excitement, is nearly enough to thaw the anxiety that’s created a home in his chest.
But Ilya hesitates, eyes scanning Shane’s – confusion shining through this time as he finds his voice. “What are you doing?” He asks, tone quiet and uncertain.
Shane isn’t one to make cruel jokes, especially not ones he knows would be harmful to his partner. This isn’t something he would joke about, Ilya knows that. But he can’t help but feel like this must be some joke, or maybe a misunderstanding on his part. He’s properly learned the English language for years, he knows what these words mean, but maybe they mean something else tonight. Maybe it’s code for ‘let’s get out of here and go home where I can privately love you.’
But Shane, with his undeterred determination that he’s learned from Yuna Hollander, tightens his grip on Ilya’s hand. His eyes shine both nervously and assuredly as he stares at his partner, a look that says ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ A look that Ilya is still trying to believe.
“I’m trying to show my soon-to-be husband off if he will let me,” Shane jokes to the best of his abilities, but his voice wavers and his hand shakes slightly within Ilya’s. He feels like his heart is going to explode, and the sympathetic, yet understanding look Shane receives only makes him trek on. He stands up from the booth, his Russians hand in tow, earning him another wide-eyed, disbelieving glance.
“Shane,” Ilya starts, shaking his head as his fiance pays him no mind, simply tugging on their joined hands in an attempt to pull Ilya out of the booth.
“Please,” Shane says, voice soft and begging. There must be enough of a desperate look in his eyes for Ilya to give him. His patient man complies, slowly following him out of the booth with a sigh and furrowed brows.
Shane shakes now that they’re standing, hands entwined. But nobody is doing so much as glancing in their direction. It’s just them, two men in love at a club. That’s all they have to be tonight. They don’t have to be Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. They can just blend in with the crowd like he wanted. Shane takes a stabilizing breath and continues his path towards the dance floor.
His hands feel clammy and hot, burning within Ilya’s grasp. He watches as a few wandering eyes land on them, but the looks they receive doesn’t show that they know them as famous hockey captains. Instead, they are ones of want – eyes trailing over their faces, lips, falling down their bodies. Shane, for the first time that night, isn’t feeling a deep dread hitting like a heavy rock in a deep pond that is his fragile stomach.
Rather, he feels a sense of pride.
He pushes through the crowd, brushing shoulders with people who are jumping, walking past a few who are kissing, and many who are screaming the lyrics to the song. Everything is loud and sweaty and honestly a sensory nightmare, but with the steady feeling of Ilya’s presence behind him and his heavy hand holding firmly, Shane feels like it can be manageable for now.
The crowd is dancing, jumping all around them as they find themselves in the middle. An opening, a light happening to shine down on it perfectly – a space as though it was made for them.
Shane turns around, toe to toe with Ilya. Ilya, whose eyes dart all over Shane’s face as he tries to make sense of this sudden shift. The Canadian was crying over how boring he was just a moment ago, and now he has pulled them into the worst Shane Hollander environment possible, staring at him with a pleased smile. Did his fiance get swapped when he wasn’t looking? And if so, why does this Shane seem so much like his own?
Shane glances around the room, then hesitantly brings his hands up to Ilya’s shoulders, pulling himself closer. “Is this all okay?” Shane asks, his lips pressed to the shell of his ear, earning him a pleasant chill that runs through Ilya’s body.
Ilya turns his head, faces closely together as he replies, “Yes, but… we do not have to do this, Shenya. We can go back to our table, or go home.”
The suggestion of leaving, as appealing as it sounds, makes Shane frown and shake his head. The motion makes his hair hit Ilya’s lips with how close they are standing, closer than they’ve ever allowed themselves to be in public.
Shane realizes, in a sudden thought that feels so unlike his own, that it’s exhilarating.
He tilts his head, their faces inches from each other. He looks into Ilya’s eyes, which have grown brighter under the spotlight above them. His cheeks are pink, his soft curls seem to glow, his light smile is luminous. He looks like an angel. A beautiful, 6 foot tall angel that is all his. Shane smiles back, another soft look before bringing his hands from Ilya’s shoulders to his face.
He holds him still with tingling finger tips and a gentle shake through his palms. Ilya seems to be short circuiting, his gaze never faltering, its consistent moving across Shane’s face. At some point, his own hands have fallen to Shane’s waist, holding lightly, experimentally. He seems uncertain, like he isn’t sure what’s allowed.
After so many years of only tapping feet as a show of love, this seems like a crime.
The feeling of their shared body heat, the warmth of Ilya’s hands and the intensity of his gaze makes Shane melt. Everything feels soft around the edges, even the booming music seems quiet. A soft hum around them of people, continuing their movements.
Now that they’re here, together, in a close embrace with the possibility of anyone watching, Shane finds his worries falling to the side. All he’s thinking is Ilya. His Ilya, who he almost lost once. His Ilya, who he wants nothing more than to have his life openly with, and to have that, he needs to start small. Small like dancing in a club together. Or small like kissing in one.
So Shane, harnessing all the bravery he’s been gaining through his journey to the floor, leans in and places a chaste, soft kiss to his partner’s lips. It’s gone in an instant, one that could’ve been imagined had Ilya not watched his fiance work up the courage to bring their faces together.
They stand there, both a little dazed and brimming with love, before Ilya takes the lead. He moves Shane closer, hands still on his hips and begins to guide him as they slowly dance. Their bodies are practically flush to one another, moving in tandem like they’ve done it hundreds of times before.
Shane has seen Ilya do this with women over the years – the sway of his hips, his hands resting on their waists as he stares down at them. But he’s never seen Ilya do it like this. His gaze is warm and half-lidded, his smile is consistent, his hold is firm on Shane’s hips. He could dance with anyone, but he wouldn’t do it like he’s doing it with his man right now.
And god, what a glorious sight it is to be on the receiving end.
Shane moves his body, once stiffly at first, now more confidently as they dance through the song. His hands are looped together around Ilya’s neck, holding him closely. He glances around the club again, only to be met with the same lack of eyes on them. The anxiety from before, the jittering nerves that were nearly so crushing, have long since disappeared. It’s hard to feel anything but desire and love when under his Russian’s watchful gaze.
Shane leans in again, lips brushing the side of Ilya’s face as he speaks. “I love you so much,” He declares, voice laced thickly with emotion. His partner simply grins, tightening his hold on Shane’s waist as he murmurs back, “I love you, Shenyusha. Moy krasavchik.”
Shane’s cheeks flush hotter, which only eggs Ilya on further. He presses closer, chest to chest as Ilya whispers into his ear, “Ty takoy smelyy. I’m so proud of you. Ya tebya lyublyu.”
His tone is partial teasing, teetering on something lustful, while still remaining completely and totally full of infatuation. His eyes are dark, yet managing to glimmer gorgeously at Shane. His smile only widens, something so carefree and happy. The kind of carefree expression Shane never sees in public. He’s sure he’s wearing something similar.
It’s hard to say how long they dance for, and when the dancing transformed into kissing, but all they know is that this is the freest they’ve ever felt. Their hands on one another, their lips mingling like they need each other to live, completely open in a crowded room.
As they go home that night, Ilya leaning against his shoulder in the cab as his eyes tiredly, happily close, Shane slowly finds his thoughts back on their conversation from before.
‘I would rather do nothing with you than everything with anyone else.’ The words echo in his mind on repeat as he stares out the window. He brings his hand from around Ilya’s shoulder up to his hair, playing gently with the strands in the way he knows always relaxes his partner – proving to be true when Ilya practically sinks into him.
Shane tears his eyes away from the window and down at Ilya, who has begun to snore softly into him. The sight, the open affection Shane so easily receives after he allowed them to be close in the club, makes him question why this hasn’t been their life this whole time. He smiles to himself and slowly, gently leans down and kisses the top of Ilya’s head without even a glance to the cab driver.
Maybe he doesn’t have to worry as much as he thinks he does. All that matters is him and Ilya staying together, and tonight has proven in more ways than one that his fiance has nowhere else he’d rather be. And with that in mind, Shane snuggles closer to his man and allows his own eyes to drift shut.