Work Text:
Shane stepped into the Ultraviolet and was instantly blasted with the heat from inside the club. The scent of alcohol lingered in the air as the music sounded throughout the building. He hated clubs, but he was here for Rose, to make her happy. He knew she would make him dance, and as much as he was dreading it, he wanted to try to enjoy himself. He forced his feet to move through the club until he found Rose and her friends sitting at a sleek VIP table, where she smiled as soon as he came into view. They greeted each other with a kiss as Shane sat down next to her. Shane couldn’t keep up with the conversations going on around him, so he just sat there quietly, holding onto Rose’s hand. He had a beer in front of him, which he hoped would calm some of his nerves. He was trying, but it was hard. He really wanted to be anywhere but here.
The next thing he knew, Rose was pulling him out of his thoughts and trying to push him out of the booth.
“Come dance with me!” She shook his shoulder lightly, trying to get him to stand up. Shane complied and stood up to at least let her out.
“Oh, I don’t know…” He trailed off, looking around the club frantically.
“Please, I never get to dance!” She shouted over the music.
“Now that is bullshit.” Miles, Rose’s friend, laughed, pointing a finger at her.
“Well, never with Shane! Please, Shane?”
Shane nodded reluctantly, not sure if he could get out of this even if he tried. She deserved to have what she wanted, even if it meant dancing with him in a crowded, hot, and very overstimulating room.
Rose led him deeper into the crowd but still stayed somewhat on the outside, which he appreciated. Rose put her arms around his neck as she danced, and Shane tried to dance. More like shuffling his feet around. He stole a look around the room, surveying the other couples and groups of people. Everyone else in the room seemed more entranced by who they were with than he was, which made him feel guilty. Everyone else seemed more relaxed and cool within themselves as they danced their nights away.
It was something Shane didn’t feel like he could ever be able to do.
This was something Rozanov would be more into. The lights, the drinking, the people. This was more of his scene than it was Shane’s.
He tried to play his part of the fun boyfriend who should be dancing with his hot movie star girlfriend. The guy who should be all over her, worshiping her and kissing her. It almost felt like pulling teeth, so he settled for some more 'chill' dancing as Rose moved happily.
Her shimmery dress hung off her shoulders and swayed just right with her hips as she danced. It’s something Shane should’ve noticed. It didn't even occur to him to notice something like that. He tried to keep his eyes on Rose, but couldn’t help but trail his eyes away to the others around him. That’s when he saw the familiar sight of blonde curls in the distance that couldn’t have belonged to anyone else. He felt his heart sink deeper.
Ilya Rozanov was dancing with some girl, trying to follow her body’s movement with his own. He kissed her wildly. It was a truly filthy kiss that Shane couldn’t tear his eyes away from. It made him feel sick to his stomach.
His eyes met Shane’s, and his brown eyes went wide, fully realizing his situation. He was standing there with a fire brewing inside him. The sparks caught his limbs alight. What was once a little flicker of a flame, their eyes meeting, doused it with gasoline. He thought of his name being whispered from that girl’s lips, begging for more like Shane had done all those months ago. It made Shane want to throw up.
It took a few tries, but he eventually tore his eyes away and tried to stare at Rose. The gorgeous woman stared back up at him with such kindness in her eyes and a grin on her face. He didn't want to ruin her night, but staying here might just do that. Shane leaned down towards her so she could hear him properly.
“Hey, I’m not feeling too well. I think I need some air.” He whisper-shouted over the bass in their ears.
Rose frowned but squeezed his shoulder in comfort. “Go get some air! But if you feel like you need to leave, you don’t have to stay!”
Shane frowned back.
“Are you sure? I hate to ditch early.”
“You’re fine! I’ve got Miles and the others. Text me so I know you got home safe.” Rose said with a soft smile, leaving a kiss on his cheek and pushing him slightly towards the edge of the dance floor.
Shane took the opening and made his way as fast as he could out of the club and into the cold air of Montreal. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and panted as he walked faster to the side of the building where he’d have some sense of privacy.
He slammed his back into the brick of the building, trying to self-regulate. He was embarrassed he’d been caught staring at him. He felt more guilty than anything because it had affected him so much that he had to leave his girlfriend because he was jealous of the girl dancing with Rozanov. He didn’t technically lie because seeing Rozanov did make him feel sick. He still felt terrible.
Once the air came into his lungs a little easier and he could see straight, he turned the corner to go and find his car so he could get home and away from this building. He hoped Rozanov didn’t see where he left from. As much as he wanted to hear his voice again, he knew it wouldn’t end well. He couldn’t help but imagine what Rozanov would say to him if he followed him out here. Would he make fun of him for having such a visceral reaction? Would he notice how the mere thought of him tore him to pieces, that seeing him with that girl made his stomach churn?
He walked fast to try to put as much distance between himself and that building as possible. He shakily searched his pockets for his keys, he just needed to get home.
He was able to get the car started and only made it down the road, not even a mile, before he had to pull over because the roads were becoming blurry.
He felt his composure come crashing down as he slammed the car into park and fully sobbed into his hands. It was wrong, he shouldn’t be feeling like this over some fucking guy. He felt like he was going insane. Why was this making him feel this way? Why was he making him feel this way?
He tried so hard to play the part of a normal guy with a girlfriend. He held his head up as his teammates ribbed him constantly for finally getting a girlfriend. They constantly talked about how he might as well be a virgin, and there was no way someone like him could land someone like Rose Landry. He tried so fucking hard, but none of it mattered. None of it mattered if what he saw at the club was all it took to pull on the lone thread that threatened to unravel him completely.
He tried to ignore it, ignore the fact that his dreams every night since Boston were filled with those strong arms wrapped around him, a Russian accent, bluish-green eyes, blonde curls, and the whisper of his name on his lips, Shane.
He was going crazy. This wasn’t how a straight man acted, this wasn’t the plan. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Ilya Rozanov. He swore he was trying to rip these feelings to shreds, to stop them before they became too much. Before it was too much to handle.
All it did was make everything fester and bubble underneath the surface until he got to this very moment where it all erupted out of him. Coming out as hot tears down his face.
He thought getting a girlfriend would fix it all, it would make him more normal. More normal like his teammates with their wives and girlfriends. There was no fucking way he was in love with a man, and he had to prove that to himself. Now he felt like shit for basically using Rose in that way. He truly liked her, but he knew this wasn’t working. There’s no way she didn’t know already, either.
Every thought was harassing his very being as he felt himself crack down along the edges of his sanity. This was his fault, he couldn’t help but think. It was getting too real, too serious, and it scared him. It scared him to admit what he felt was more than just a basic level of attractiveness towards him, more than just sex. It was love.
He was in love.
He was in love in the way songs on the radio droned on about constantly. In the way limericks and sonnets are written, only metaphors can describe those feelings. But what he felt was more than any of them could ever portray. More than words could ever mean.
And it was fucking destroying him.