Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He was nervous. His fingers combed through his curls again as he leaned against the kitchen island. His stomach churned at the thought that Shane, his Shane, was going to spend the day with him. The fridge was stocked with ginger ale, the house temperature was set to just the right temp, the same he saw the thermostat at the apartment in Montreal.

Everything had to be perfect. He wanted Shane to stay the day, to stay the night. But he knew that Shane was skittish and would try to run after they fucked. But he had to try, try to make him stay. Because he wanted it, needed it.

His mouth filled with saliva as his stomach flipped, the edges of his vision suddenly darkening. What was happening? There was no way he could be getting sick, today of all days.

His eyes squeezed tight, breathing through his nose as he shut it down. “No, not today. Two days. After game, then you can get sick.” He told his body, willing it into existence as the nausea webbed away just as a distant knock echoed through the foyer.

Shane was here and the nerves intensified. Another nervous comb through his hair as he tried to calmly walk down the hall, seeing as Shane spun around through the glass. The other man was already in awe of just the outside view of the house.

Typical. Ilya pulled open the door, his previous churning stomach now filled with butterflies as Shane filled the doorway, his cologne filling his nostrils. Brown eyes met blue as Shane smiled brightly.

“Wow, this is a nice place you have here Rozanov.” Shane complimented as the other gestured him into his home. “Oh my. Did you buy this or did you get it built?”

“Oh, Mr. Real Estate. Mr. Businessman.” Ilya teased lightly as Shane spun on his heels, a light frown on his face, a crease between his brows.

“There is nothing wrong with admiring architecture.” Shane puffed out his cheeks a little. “It’s good to have hobbies, Rozanov.”

“I did not say it was a bad thing.” Ilya closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around Shane’s waist. “It is…cute that you are into real estate.” He pulled him closer, their hips flushed. “Mr. Architect.” He whispered, their lips inches apart.

“You think it’s cute?” Shane kept his voice low as Ilya’s lip twitched.

There was no answer, only a small nod before Ilya leaned in, pressing their lips together. He pushed Shane toward the kitchen island, their lips never separating. As Shane’s ass collided with the island, Ilya wasted no time with wrapping his arms around his thighs, lifting him onto the counter. A small ‘Oh my god’ echoed through the kitchen when his ass plopped on the marble.

Shane was finally here, and all his for hopefully the next twenty four hours.

- -

Soft breathing, the sound of Shane’s heartbeat. His warm skin.

Ilya couldn’t get enough as he stared down at the tousled black hair against his black pillows. His fingers danced across the tan skin, counting the freckles across the shoulders. He was careful not to wake the other. He wanted this moment to last as long as possible. He flexed his other hand, the arm that was currently being used as a neck pillow, feeling the numbness set in.

He would have to wake him up eventually. But he couldn’t, not yet.

He’s staaaaaying. He thought as his head laid behind Shane’s, pulling him closer to his chest. This was a luxury they did not have when sneaking around in hotels. The cuddling. Even in Shane’s sex apartment, they didn’t cuddle often. So Ilya was going to soak this in as much as possible.

But then his stomach curled into itself…the hunger. The intense need for food hit him hard.

He leaned forward and nuzzled his face into the crook of Shane’s neck, kissing it gently. When Shane did not stir, he began working up north, kissing his jaw then a small nip on the ear. Eventually a groan escaped the others lips before brown eyes fluttered open.

“Heeeeeeeey.” Shane’s voice was husky, a bit of sleep still stuck in his throat.

“I’m hungry.” Ilya simply stated, but that was an understatement. His stomach felt like a ton of bricks, heavy, empty. As if he hadn’t eaten in days and played an entire game of hockey.

Shane laughed, “Hmm.” He hummed, “For what?”

“Food, you pervert.” He slipped his arm out from under Shane’s head, feeling the blood immediately fill the extremity as he sat up in the bed, throwing a shirt at Shane’s head. “Come meet me in kitchen when you are awake.” He slid himself off the bed, throwing his legs into a pair of sweats quickly before making his way into the kitchen.

His stomach twisted into itself again, reminding him that he must eat now, and eat something.

The air from the fridge cooled his body as he eyed what he owned.

Salmon? No, his stomach churned at the thought.

Alfredo linguine? Nope.

Hot dogs? Nu-uh.

What if he ordered out instead?

His brain was firing messages, his mouth tingled at the thought of the tuna that sat in a container in the fridge. He bought it as a just in case moment. It checked off every box on Shane’s obsessive diet. But Ilya absolutely needed this. His mouth watered at the idea of hot tuna smothered in cheese, sandwiched between toasted bread with a side of spear pickles and a bag of–

The sound of the chair screeching pulled Ilya from his daydream as he turned, Shane planting himself down on the bar. “Tuna melts. You like?” Ilya couldn’t stop the words spilling from his mouth. There was no stopping the idea of tuna melts.

“You would make me a tuna melt?”

“I make myself one, I can make two.” He spun around back toward the fridge, grabbing the necessary ingredients. He quickly grabbed a can of ginger ale, throwing it along the island in Shane’s direction. “Drink up, you had busy morning.”

“Shut up.” Shane grunted but couldn’t hide the smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Is no problem.” He continued his mission, his stomach still ached, his mouth salivating with every step of making the melts. As he set the temp on the oven, he tossed the tray onto the rack, turning toward Shane. “Let’s go watch the game while we wait, da?”

His fingers rubbed gentle circles on his ear as he tried to not pay attention to Shane who decided to sit on the other end of the couch. The smell of tuna filled the room, his stomach cramped again.

“If you had to leave Montreal team, which team would you go to?” Ilya suddenly asked, trying to distract his mind from the food cooking in the next room.

“I would never leave Montreal.”

“Da, I know, but if you had to.”

“I guess maybe Ottawa.” Ilya puffed out a small boring as Shane continued. “It is not a boring answer. I am from Ottawa.”

“Da, and you are boring.” Ilya grinned as he pulled his arm from over his head to cross over his chest. “But I like boring.”

“Oh, you like boring?”

“Da, I do. I like you.” Shane’s cheeks turned rosy, quickly hiding behind the ginger ale as Ilya sat up. “I also like girls. If you didn’t know.”

“Oh, that is pretty obvious.” Shane mumbled behind the can, averting his gaze from Ilya. He opened his mouth to say more when the oven began beeping. “I will help.”

“No, you stay. You are my guest.” Ilya stood from the couch, his heart suddenly pounding at the sight of the freckles standing out on Shane’s still pink cheeks. “I will bring food.”

“Oh, okay.” He smiled as Ilya left the room to retrieve their lunch.

- -

“I–I can’t do this anymore.” Shane stuttered as he hopped off of Ilya’s lap, pulling his sweats, Ilya’s sweats, back over his ass. His shirt that was once discarded across the couch was thrown back onto his body. “I–I forgot that I have practice in the morning.”

“You forgot. You, the captain, forgot about practice. Hollander.” Ilya grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped the cum from his stomach as Shane avoided eye contact. “Hollander.” He tried again but Shane just moved closer toward the entry way. Ilya’s stomach dropped as he watched the way he continued to panic. He thought everything was going well. Everything was going well.

“I–I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” Shane disappeared from view as Ilya continued to sit on the couch, the warmth that was once on his body cooling when the front door slammed shut. His stomach rolled. How could he just leave, after that.

What changed? What triggered Shane to panic? They didn’t do anything out of the norm, except for one thing. Ilya pulled at his curls and groaned. “Blyat.” He cursed at himself. He said his name. Not Hollander, not something in Russian. He said Shane.

But Shane also said his name back? He heard it didn’t he?

He wasn’t going to dwell on it anymore, feeling the darkness sink in as he grabbed the empty plates, the used napkin and began cleaning up. His phone on the table flashing with the image of his father. The sound of the vibration grating on his last nerves as he grabbed it, silencing the device.

He didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially his deranged, sick father. Alexei was there to take care of him. He was paying him to take care of him in his absence. Didn’t want to be berated for something that Ilya didn’t do. Ilya didn’t shoot the final puck, Ilya didn’t shove that player into the board, Ilya this, Ilya that.

“Ugh!” Ilya grunted as he threw the can of ginger ale into the sink, watching as the golden liquid spilled down the drain. “Golden boy didn’t even finish his drink…” He mumbled before crumpling to his knees, breathing heavily. Alone.

- -

“Yo! Captaine!” JJ yelled out as he entered the locker room, making a bee-line toward Shane as he placed his phone in the locker. It was the third time that hour that he checked his phone, looking for a text from Lily, though he knew deep down he knew there wouldn’t be one.

He fucked up, and he knew it. But he panicked. Everything was too perfect, too domestic, and hearing “Oooooooh fuuuuuck, Shaaaaane.” fall from Ilya’s lips sent his brain into overdrive. He had to make it up to Ilya. Soon. He knew he had too.

“Did you hear the good news?” JJ’s french accent rang through the sing-song tone he spoke as he reached his captain, slapping a hand on the bare shoulder. “Rozanov is not playing tonight.”

A sharp pain shot through Shane’s chest. “What do you mean, not playing?”

“Coach just told me. Rozanov was benched today. No one knows why. So easy win tonight, right!” He grabbed both of Shane’s shoulders and shook him. “Boring game without his chirps, but at least we will win!”

The room erupted in cheers and laughter, Shane faking a laugh. “Yeah, easy win. Right.” As JJ released him to return to his own locker, he quickly grabbed his phone, pulling up Lily’s contact.

“Hey, Shane. Is everything alright?” Hayden’s voice snapped Shane out of his trance. “You’ve been staring at your phone for a good five minutes? Is it Lily?”

“Ah, yeah. She isn’t returning my messages.” Shane quickly turned the phone off and threw it in the locker.

“I’m sure she’s fine dude. You’re going to see her after the game right? Isn’t she working right now?” Shane quickly nodded. A lie. He’s supposed to be working, but instead he isn’t even at the rink. “Don’t worry about it.” He shoved his shoulder. “Let’s just get this game over with so you can get laid before we leave tomorrow.”

Shane watched as Cliff Marleau skated around the rink, his movements fluid. He knew Marleau was one of Ilya’s closest friends on the team. If anyone knew what was happening to Ilya, it would be him.

He pushed away from the boards and toward Cliff. “Marleau!” Shane called out, catching his attention.

“What do you want, Hollander?” Cliff barked out.

“Oh, I just wanted to see if you know what happened to Rozanov.”

“Why? What does that have to do with you? You guys are rivals, are you not?”

“We are, sort of. But I’ve known Rozanov since we were rookies. It isn’t like him to miss a game, I just wanted to see if he was alright.”

“It’s none of your concern, Hollander. Now, if you excuse me, I have a game to win.”