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Shane was sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, thinking about what just transpired downstairs in the hotel gym. The way Rozanov’s hand brushed his own when sharing his water bottle sent a spark of electricity down his spine. The first time felt like an accident, but the second time? He couldn’t ignore how it made him yearn to feel his touch again. That thought scared him in a way he’s never sensed before.
He thought of his girlfriend, Jessica. The girl he should have felt this with. When she touched his neck or his arm, he didn’t feel anything. The spark people talked about is something he's never had with her. He figured that was just shit people say, but it wasn’t real. It was a way to try and explain that you liked someone, but that wasn't something that truly happened in real life. It was fantasy. It had to be. But is that what he could’ve felt downstairs?
No.
He had a girlfriend.
Who he really liked.
He thinks.
He was just buzzing with excitement from the day. That's all it was. He was just drafted for the Montreal Metros! He was drafted for the team his mother loved! Of course he felt like he was buzzing!
He was drafted second, next to the one and only, Ilya Rozanov.
He lay back onto the too-soft pillows and searched up his name. Ilya Rozanov, a prospect from Russia, 18 years old, just like Shane. He was a good hockey player, not just good, amazing really. Even Shane could admit that. He was someone who could match his level.
After meeting at World Juniors, he began to study Rozanov, his game tapes and the articles, and he continued that for a long time. He told himself he wanted to learn his plays, his tells, so he could beat him in games. He really just wanted to know more about him in any way he could. This riveting player who kept infiltrating his way into Shane’s head no matter how hard he tried to stop it. Whenever he was at home or in some hotel room with nothing to do, he found himself searching up the Russian to learn whatever he could.
He let his thoughts wander as the night wore on.
Rozanov's body was exceptionally built for hockey. He looked…so good.
Shane could admit he looked good for a man. His eyes shone in such a way when he first introduced himself. He worried he was coming on too strong, but he shook his hand back. Twice. He remembered feeling his gaze when he walked up to him and again as he walked away. He was an asshole, but in an endearing kind of way, with the way he talked with his thick accent.
Then in the gym, he wore a tank top that showed off more of his arms and parts of his chest. Just more of him in general. He hoped he wouldn't notice his staring because he couldn’t help it. He tried to cover it up by upping his speed to try and be faster. Their competitiveness came out naturally. He looked like he was sculpted out of perfected clay. He looked exceptional in an ethereal way. He was damn pretty.
He thought about how he stared at him as he accepted the water bottle. It was stupid of him to go down there without one, but a part of him now was glad he forgot one. The way his lips moved when he pushed Shane to drink ‘more’ was stuck on repeat in his head. He kept his eyes lingering down his body and then back up to his throat as he panted from exhaustion.
A singular horrifying thought broke free. He wanted Rozanov to kiss him.
It made him want to throw up like someone had punched him or pelted him with a puck as hard as they could. But it also made him feel alive in such a weird way. The way the thought of him made something grow inside of him, inside his stomach and his chest. He didn’t understand it really.
Why the fuck was he thinking about him that way?
He didn’t get it, but he thinks he should probably break up with his girlfriend. With him being drafted into the MLH, he’d get busy. A lot busier than he already was. He didn’t think he was a very attentive boyfriend already, and she deserved someone who could be there for her like he should've been. He hadn’t even called her today yet.
He found himself not very heartbroken at the thought. It was almost like a relief washed over him.
Yeah, she deserved better than that.
She deserved someone who thought about her during important moments of his life like this one. Someone who didn’t have to try and fight like hell to think about her to get off in the shower later that night when all he could picture in his mind was the blonde curls, muscles, and sensual eyes staring back at him. Winking at him.
The next time he let those thoughts fly back at him with full force was in the showers after filming their joint commercial. In the communal showers, he got a full picture of him now. More of that sculpted body and heated stares, but wetter.
He thought about how he called him pretty on the ice. He thought it was a chirp, but the more he analyzed it, the more it didn’t seem like it was anymore. The way his eyes crinkled and his lips curved upwards the more they skated towards each other, fighting like hell to keep the intensity up. He saw something in his eyes that he recognized he felt deep in his chest. It terrified him so much he shoved it down as deep as he could, and he managed to almost completely forget about it altogether. He focused on trying to complete the commercial, but Rozanov’s laugh mingled with his own as their focus backfired. They couldn’t hold themselves together, and he was relieved when the director said they got what they needed. A part of him wanted to run away and forget this all happened and not let anything fester. The other part of him wanted to stay here forever.
Now he stood naked and vulnerable in the presence of Rozanov, staring at him, just several feet away.
The wish for his lips on his own came back over him. Maybe this is how it was meant to be. Maybe they were meant to know each other. The tension inside the locker room, paired with the heat from the water pelting his skin, made it all the more overwhelming. If he gave in to his desires, he felt like he might drop to the tiled shower floor and flatline right there.
But maybe giving in wouldn’t be so bad.