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The plane touches down on the thin strip of runway bordered by glowing turquoise seas and Rose beams at Shane in excitement as the captain announces their arrival.
He’s been dragged to this private resort - owned by a friend of a friend of Rose’s who’s recently invested and is looking for honest feedback - by Rose. His best friend is newly single and, with a month off before her next project, wants two weeks to laze about on the beach and make the most of the amenities at the resort.
Freshly exhausted off his third cup win for Montreal, Shane’s cottage renovation is taking longer than planned, so rather than sticking around in Montreal or intruding on his parents own cottage, he’d given in the second time Rose had asked him to come along so she wouldn’t ‘feel like a sad sack unable to even get a friend to go on vacation with me, please Shane’.
There’s a golf cart waiting to take them to the reception once the plane’s engines have come to a stop, a second cart to bring their luggage behind the first. They’re driven down to the resort by an affable staff member, dressed smartly in a loose black linen shirt and trousers in deference to the heat. It’s not muggy or oppressive but the sun is strong as it beams down on the roof of the buggy and Shane’s a little relieved when they step into the softly air-conditioned main building.
They’re checked in and shown to their villa efficiently. Their temporary residence sits on the edge of the island; a long stretch of mostly private beach belonging to the five villas in this corner of the resort spread out in front of the decking at the back of the building.
The villa is absolutely stunning. Two bedrooms with individual en-suites are side-by-side and have sliding doors in both that lead out to a private pool. The living-kitchen space is massive, opening up on one side to the deck that leads down to the beach, barely fifty metres to the sea.
Rose grins brightly at him as they’re left alone, a complimentary bottle of champagne popped open by the staff before they go.
“To an excellent two weeks,” Rose purrs as she taps her glass against his and he can’t help but smile back, sips the champagne and feels the bubbles burst across his tongue.
The resort is indulgence personified.
Shane’s no stranger to luxury, really; although Montreal aren’t always putting up their players in the swankiest of hotels they’re of a higher quality, especially now they’re on their third cup win in the last four seasons. Shane generally gets put up in the nicer hotels as well for the various brand campaigns his mom and agent set up for him, so alongside that and the various professionals that keep his life going: from his personal chef and cleaner to the Metro’s personal trainers and physios, he’s well-used to having the majority of his needs met before he needs to voice them.
He’s never had that when he’s had barely anything else to do, though, and he finds it… not as exciting, as he’d anticipated.
All three meals are provided for them, their kitchen stocked daily with fresh produce and anything they’ve used the day before.
Shane enjoys the first couple of days, don’t get him wrong. The beach is glorious, the pool is a nice cool relief from the heat and he gets through two of the four books he’d brought with him. the change of pace is close to perfection after a tight cup run, going all the way to game seven in the final to eke out the win over Edmonton, and Rose keeps reminding him he deserves a bit of pampering after the sheer number of his goals that had propelled Montreal to victory again.
Rose indulges herself too, but by the third day she’s watching him in bemusement as he returns to the villa before breakfast, having been on an hour-long run down the beach, through the resort and back.
“How bored are you?” she asks him bemusedly as he brushes the sand from his feet and thanks her for the coffee she pours into a mug and slides across the counter.
“Not that bored!” he protests, but breaks down immediately when she lifts a single eyebrow at him. “It’s just… even at the cottage I’ve got the gym and the practise rink. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing for this long.”
“It’s been like three days,” she reminds him dryly, but amusement remains twinkling in her eyes. “You’ve got ten to go.”
He shrugs sheepishly, sips his coffee.
“Well, we can try some other stuff?” she suggests, and tugs over the binder with the list of all of the amenities on the island. “Let’s see. There’s… oh, there’s a gym!” she points out, and Shane’s immediately leaning over to look at the map and the photos. Rose laughs, but lets him take a photo with his phone so he can find his way there later before she flips through the other pages.
There’s an insane amount for a small island like this. A full spa, with massages and various treatments; various tours, either in a propellor plane to see the nearby islands, or on foot around the local nature reserve including the chance to spot local flora and fauna; sea-kayaking and SUP-ing around the coastline; tour boats that take you to the nearby islands and their amenities, including a local wildlife sanctuary on the next island over. Yacht rental, snorkeling or scuba lessons, yoga or pilates either at the gym or in your rooms, special meals and menu provisions or cooking lessons, and the list goes on.
“Okay,” Rose nods, slams the binder shut as they both stare at the pages left. “I’ll pick something for us to do this afternoon, if you trust me? And then you can choose something for us to do tomorrow, and we can keep taking it in turns?”
“Okay,” Shane agrees, relieved he's not got to decide anything just yet. “Thanks.”
He spends the morning swimming in the sea. It’s a little overcast today which is nice; it lets him stay out longer without getting overheated, and the sand doesn’t burn his toes as he returns to the villa for lunch.
He tries to work out what they’re doing this afternoon when Rose tells him he’ll be fine in his gym gear but they will be leaving the villa for a short walk before the session of whatever it is at 3pm. She refuses to give him any further clues and with anyone else this is the sort of thing he’d absolutely hate, but he trusts her enough that he knows he’ll like whatever she’s picked out for them.
Rose leads him through the complex and he’d run the paths this morning without paying much attention to where they lead, but they end up outside an impressive building that houses both the spa and the gym.
He assumes they’ll be heading for the former, but to his mild surprise she turns right and heads down a corridor signposting to Studio One.
“What are we doing then?” Shane finally asks, and Rose grins at him.
“Something of a compromise,” she offers. “I’ve booked us a yoga class. Something at my level, but also more relaxing than your usual workouts? I know you’ve done some yoga before too, right? That documentary mentioned it, I think,” she adds slyly and he groans and rolls his eyes, but loses his words as they reach the room and push through the open door to see who he assumes is their instructor.
The man is the most beautiful person Shane thinks he’s ever seen. Probably as tall as Shane, if not an inch or two taller, with long, muscular limbs sun-kissed gold and a ring of glowing golden curls around a face made for greek statues.
“Hello,” Rose greets him cheerily, and the man turns to them with a professionally warm smile. He’s dressed in a pair of black shorts that are gym-worthy while being professional, and a tight black t-shirt that lovingly caresses every dip and curve of a very muscular torso.
“Welcome!” his voice is just as stunning as the rest of him, soft accented with something Shane thinks is Russian - it’s similar enough to that of the Russian rookies he’s encountered playing, anyway. “You must be, ah, reservation for the Landrys?”
“Yes, that’s us. I’m Rose, and this is Shane.”
Shane lifts a hand in greeting as hazel eyes turn to his, practically winding him and rendering any words lost to the blue-screen of his brain.
His brain takes a minute to boot up so he’s glad he’s so used to following Rose around as she leads him into the studio and they take their places in front of the two yoga mats as the instructor - Ilya, his brain finally tells him, catching up on the brief introduction - gestures for them to take a seat.
Ilya collapses fluidly into a cross-legged seating position so Shane does the same, and luckily his brain ticks into something resembling operational so he can answer the introductory questions about their previous experiences with yoga (Rose has tended to go for pilates classes rather than yoga, as that's the current fad in L.A., and for Shane he's had some experience, but mostly for stretches and recovery rather than anything regular/intense).
Having got the information he needs, Ilya nods and then leads them into an hour-long yoga session. There’s a soft acoustic track in the background but it fades under the warmth of Ilya’s voice as he guides them into poses, the soft Russian accent almost soothing.
Shane can’t watch the other man for too long as he demonstrates, knows he’s risking not being able to look away, so mostly watches Rose and copies her movements, though he’s lucky enough that he recognises most of the movements and doesn't need much adjusting, though he wonders what Ilya's hands might feel adjusting his poses if he gets them wrong. He's glad they dip into child's pose for a minute as he flushes at the thought, and takes a deep breath as he hides his face in his knees for the brief break.
The session is good. The movements work muscles Shane probably should target more, and as they sink into corpse pose at the end for five minutes while Ilya takes them through a soft five-minute meditation and cool-down, Shane feels the soft tiredness of well-used muscles sink into the plush yoga mat beneath him.
He manages to get his brain-to-mouth connection working well enough to thank Ilya earnestly for the session, thinks he might have to ask for another one because if he can memorise the flow and movements it’ll be a great supplement or adjustment to his current routine when he’s back home.
“Good choice,” he compliments Rose as she grins at him and they leave the room with promises to let Ilya know if they’d want another session any time while they’re still here.
She smiles, tucks her hand into his elbow as she bumps her side against his. “I actually really enjoyed that too. He was a good instructor, don’t you think?”
He pointedly avoids the knowing grin she gives him at that. “He was,” he agrees blandly. “Very professional.”
“Mm,” Rose grins, pushes him lightly, “I doubt you’d’ve minded if he was a little less ‘professional’.”
“Rose!” Shane exclaims, but can’t keep the wry grin of agreement off his lips.
“I mean,” Rose glances back and hushes her voice, even as they step back into the sunshine and the doors close behind them, “That butt. I’d not mind if he wanted to be very unprofessional, for my part.”
“Rose!” Shane can’t stop a laugh, and she cackles back at him.
“Come on,” her hand takes his, “I think maybe showers, and we could go to the bar for a couple of drinks and have dinner at the restaurant tonight?”
“Sure,” Shane agrees, loose and relaxed enough from the yoga that he thinks he’d say yes to anything.
Shane heads for the gym the next morning. He’d caught a glimpse yesterday and it had looked well-equipped enough that he thinks he can get in a decent workout before Rose gets up to start their day. He stops by the reception on the way, books onto an activity for this afternoon that he'd seen yesterday and thinks Rose will like.
The gym is empty when he arrives, and he warms up carefully as he evaluates the equipment and plans a rough upper-body workout.
He’s debating whether or not to set up the bench press - he’s not going to go heavy, but a spotter is a sensible move at any weight and he likes the bench - when the door opens and golden curls slide through the gap.
“Good morning,” Ilya greets him cheerfully, and Shane finds himself almost flushing as he snaps upright.
“Hi- hey,” he manages to get out, and feels like an idiot.
“I probably do not need to say,” Ilya starts with a smile, “but if you need anything, I am here to help. I am qualified PT, and on gym duty for this morning, so please just say, yes?”
“Thank you,” Shane replies automatically, too stunned by thick lips curving into a warm smile to think of anything else to say.
“Of course. I will be at desk out front.”
“Okay,” Shane nods, and the golden mop disappears back behind the doorframe.
Fuck. He should’ve asked him to spot him.
Shane sets up the bar in the hopes that it’ll give him the courage to ask, and once his warm-up weight is racked he forces himself to step towards the door, takes a glance back at the setup again when his heart thumps rapidly in his chest.
“Hi, sorry, um, Ilya?” he asks as he cracks the door open, sees Ilya perched at the reception desk, typing something at a computer with a faint frown furrowing his brow.
“Yes?” Hazel eyes snap up and meet his, and Shane feels his breath constrict in his chest briefly. Why the fuck had he done this?
“Sorry. I was wondering if you’d, ah, be free to, um, spot me?”
“Of course,” Ilya stands easily, taps briefly at the keyboard and the screen goes dark. Shane watches as he almost lopes towards him, grace in every step. He almost flushes as Ilya slows and Shane realises he’s blocking the doorway, steps back and holds the door for the trainer as he steps into the room with a quiet 'thank you'.
Ilya follows him over to the bench and Shane lies down when gestured, suddenly regrets everything as Ilya stands at the head of the bench. His thighs could easily bracket Shane’s head if he took a step or two forward, and Shane would only have to reach back and up slightly to touch and his fingers practically twitch with the want to do so.
“You have warmed up?” Ilya asks him, breaking him free of his thoughts.
“Yes, but um, not on the bench. This is just under my usual warm-up weight for the press,” Shane admits, and almost basks in the faint flash of admiration that lifts Ilya’s eyebrows.
“Whenever you are ready, then,” Ilya murmurs and Shane settles into his usual spot, wiggles his shoulderblades into the right position as he sets his hands on the bar.
The first few sets are easy. He feels slightly looser than usual and wonders if it’s the couple of days of rest or the yoga yesterday or something else that’s caused it. Ilya keeps giving him soft words of praise: ‘yes’es and ‘good’s and it makes him want to push more, get more of that praise coming his way and he tries not to think too hard about the why of it all.
He barely has to do anything either in his rest periods, as Ilya loads up the bar for him without being asked, confirming with quiet questions about Shane’s usual increases for progressive overload.
“Here,” Ilya holds out a sealed bottle of water as Shane sits after his third set, sweat starting to stick his shirt to his chest as he lifts lighter but for higher reps than usual.
Shane’s breath catches again as their fingers brush on the bottle, and he can’t help but look up to catch heated hazel eyes, hands frozen in the middle until he realises he’s just sitting there and rapidly pulls his hand back, glad for exercise-flushed cheeks as he knows he’s glowing bright read.
“Thanks,” he mutters as he twists off the cap and drinks.
“Two more sets?” Ilya asks him.
“I usually only do one more,” Shane admits. “Warm-up plus four.”
“Okay,” Ilya nods again. “Heavier, or lighter?”
“I- what would you recommend?”
Ilya shrugs, and Shane tracks the way impressive muscles of his own ripple with the movement under the black t-shirt. “You are on holiday, so I assume something of a deload week, no? This is not your max?”
Shane shakes his head in agreement.
“Then is up to you,” Ilya shrugs again. “How tired you want to be.”
“I’m not used to sitting around all day. Even rest days I’ve got to be doing something.”
Ilya grins at the sheepish admission, something understanding in the crinkle of his eyes. “Tired, then. Okay. We go heavier.”
Shane finishes the water as Ilya racks a couple more plates onto the bar, and slides back into place.
He’s pleased that he finishes all of his sets without needing assistance, is semi-embarrassed that he’s called Ilya away from other work to stand and watch him work out.
“No, do not worry,” Ilya waves him off as he voices the latter. “Would much rather be doing this than paperwork. Also if in case something did go wrong and I was not here, has saved me more paperwork, so thank you.”
Shane smiles back at the grin Ilya offers.
“My schedule is on wall at entrance, so if you ever need another spot,” Ilya adds, as Shane reassures him he can finish his workout alone from here. “Or want more yoga, or something.”
“Thanks,” Shane’s smile is maybe a little too strong and it feels like Ilya almost hesitates before he nods, collects the empty water bottle and then leaves the room with a wave and a soft 'see you'.
Shane finishes his workout without any additional fanfare, and offers a wave to Ilya who’s sat at the reception desk, on the phone when he leaves. The resort employee smiles and waves back in goodbye.
Shane takes a brief scan of the schedules as he leaves - the board well out of sight of Ilya, to his relief - and notes with something like anticipation that the PT is scheduled to be at the gym almost every early morning.
“Boooo,” Rose teases him as he emerges into the living room after a quick shower, beelining for the coffee and smoothie sitting on the counter. “I honestly don’t know if you know the meaning of the word ‘relax’, Shane.”
Shane huffs a laugh, shrugs. “The gym’s just nice,” he counters, “and I can add it into our review of the resort.”
She laughs, makes space as he joins her on the edge of the deck, staring out to sea as she drinks her own morning coffee.
“So,” Rose waggles her eyebrows. “What are we doing today?”
“Going out about 3pm again,” Shane replies with a grin. “Trust me?”
“Always,” her smile softens and they relax for a while in the quiet, the lapping of the waves on the shore a quiet soundtrack to their morning.
“Shane,” Rose stares at the two jetskis bobbing in the water in front of them. “I’ve never ridden a jetski before.”
Shane blinks, “I thought you would’ve,” he admits. “But it’s easy, I promise. I’ve got a couple at the cottage, I take them out in the summer. It’s fun, honestly. And, hey,” he offers when the scepticism remains on Rose’s face, “you can join me for the first try? There’s space for two, so I can take us out and show you how it works first and we can come back and you can try driving your own if you want to then?”
“Okay,” Rose squares her shoulders, grins brightly at him. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“That was so much fun,” Rose laughs a couple of hours later, as Shane returns the jetski keys to the cabin attendant with thanks. “Good choice.”
Shane grins brightly back at her, pleased he’d picked a good activity. It had taken him a minute to get used to the jetskis going over the waves - slightly different to the flat surface of his lake - but once he had and Rose felt comfortable enough to drive her own they’d had a great time carving through the water and racing from one indeterminable spot to another.
They take themselves to the beachside bar for a drink after dinner that night. The sun is setting in a glorious display over the horizon, the cocktails are delicious as Shane treats himself to some kind of gingery concoction at Rose’s suggestion, and he’s pleasantly exhausted after their afternoon on the water.
“The bartender is flirting with me,” Rose murmurs as she returns with another drink. Shane’s still nursing his first, but she brings him a glass of water anyway.
Shane glances over. “He’s cute. You know you can go flirt back, if you want,” he adds. “I’m going to finish this drink and head back for bed, I think.”
“You sure?” Rose is serious as she scans his face.
Shane smiles at her honestly. “I’m sure,” he promises. “I won’t wait up.”
She barks a laugh, leans in to clink her glass to his before returning to the bar. The bartender smiles brightly as he sees her approach and perch at one of the stools, and Shane turns away to watch the last of the sun disappear beyond the horizon.
“This seat taken?” a soft voice interrupts his thoughts a few minutes later and he looks up to see Ilya, dressed in a change from his previous black-on-black in a red floral shirt that compliments the gold of his hair and tanned arms.
“No, please,” he sits up a little straighter, having slumped into the chair, and smiles as Ilya perches carefully in the seat next to him.
“Are you okay?” Ilya asks him, something more serious in his face and voice than Shane has seen or heard before.
“Yes.” Ilya’s backlit by the soft fairy lights that decorate the edges of the patch of sand making up the bar, and it lends a softness to his features that’s almost as touchable as the shirt. “How are you?”
“Good, thank you.” Ilya’s still a little stiff but maybe he’s just tired?
“How long have you worked here?” Shane asks as they both fall into a moment of silence, and Ilya blinks at him as if confused.
“I have been here a month or so,” Ilya replies, “I am actually just filling in, the usual PT had to go home for a family thing. Sveta - the new owner - is a friend, and she asked if I could help for summer period as is busiest, so here I am.”
“What do you normally do, then?”
Shane can’t explain why he’s so intrigued by Ilya. The way he makes his pulse race is one thing, but there’s something else there that makes Shane want to know everything about him.
Ilya tells him that he is a PT, usually based out of Boston, and mostly works with athletes outside of their usual work-provided PTs.
“Do you work with any of the Raiders?”
“Mm, a couple,” Ilya agrees. “Afraid I cannot give away their secrets, though,” he adds with a wink and Shane laughs.
“I don’t need them,” he dismisses.
“Ah, yes, I guess not, third-time Cup Winner Shane Hollander. I suppose I should also say 'congratulations'."
Shane grins back lazily, shrugs with false-modesty at Ilya’s sly grin. “I'm lucky, I know. The Raiders are pretty good, though,” he concedes. “If it hadn’t been for Peters’ injury this year they’d’ve made it through to the next round, I think.”
Ilya leans forward and Shane’s attraction notches up another level as he follows Shane through into a hockey discussion, of the highlights and key actions of the latest season. Ilya’s got some good insights, his hockey knowledge is almost enough to rival Shane’s own - only lacking the insider knowledge he’d have as a player.
“You know a lot about hockey,” Shane eventually acknowledges.
Ilya shrugs carelessly, but something dark flickers through hazel eyes. “I played for a while. Was meant to come to MLH, but had family thing, so ended up playing for KHL instead for a while. Got tired of Russia, though, and family thing… ah, ended, so moved to US and picked up personal training instead.”
“And now you’re here,” Shane adds quietly. He wants to push a little more, ask about Ilya’s playing history, what kind of family ‘thing’ would keep him in Russia only for him to leave as soon as possible. But the tightness of Ilya’s mouth seems incongruous with the soft vacation setting so Shane bites back the questions, tries to find something gentler to talk about.
“Now I am here,” Ilya agrees, thumb rubbing up and down the side of his glass in a way that’s far too distracting. “Is very nice, yes?”
“Yeah, the resort’s amazing,” Shane agrees. “I’m really glad we could come.”
He glances back at that reminder, sees that the bartender is still leaning over the bar close to Rose, the two of them talking intimately. Rose grins softly at the man and Shane is pleased that she’s having a good time.
He realises he doesn’t know how long he and Ilya have been talking, but his glass is long since empty and the sky is twinkling with bright constellations.
“I should get to bed,” Shane admits as exhaustion laps over him like one of the waves.
“I should also,” Ilya agrees, but there’s something a little grim in his expression again. “You are at the villas, yes? I am just past that, if you do not mind company on walk?”
“That’d be nice,” Shane agrees softly. They both stand and Shane glances once more over at Rose but she’s wrapped up in her conversation with the bartender so he simply leads the way across the sand towards the villa.
“You are sure you are okay?” Ilya asks him softly as they walk, almost shoulder-to-shoulder down the beach.
“Yeah,” Shane nods, “I've enjoyed our conversation.”
“Me too,” Ilya returns.
They walk in silence for the short five minutes it takes for Shane to reach his villa, turns up towards the decking.
“Well, goodnight,” Shane feels awkward as he pauses, watches as Ilya watches him by the moonlight. “I’ll, um, see you tomorrow, I guess? I’ll probably be back in the gym in the morning.”
A soft smile flashes across Ilya’s face. “I’ll be there,” he agrees. “Goodnight, Shane.”
“Goodnight, Ilya.”
He glances back as he climbs the stairs up to the deck, but Ilya’s further down the beach, silhouette sharp in the dark as he continues down the sand.
“Morning,” Shane greets a little hesitantly as he steps inside the cool, air-conditioned gym.
“Good morning,” Ilya replies with a professional smile.
“I, um, was wondering if you’d be free to spot me again today? I was gonna hit legs, so if you don’t mind while I squat?”
“Of course,” Ilya replies easily. “I will set up rack while you warm up? What is your usual weight?”
Shane tells him, and goes through his usual pre-workout stretches and warms up, tries not to blush as he meets Ilya’s eyes through the mirrored glass of the wall as the PT finishes setting up the squat rack.
Shane’s well-used to having someone spot him while he squats but it’s never been anyone he feels as instantly attracted to as Ilya. He focuses on the burn of his legs, on pushing himself a little deeper than he’d usually go. He’s keeping the weights a little lighter than his max again, upping the reps but making sure that every movement is perfect.
Ilya hovers a respectable distance behind him, the soft ‘good’ and ‘yes’ as Shane lifts just as intoxicating as they had been yesterday.
He’s almost bereft as he finishes his sets and no longer requires a spotter for the rest of his workout.
“Nice job,” Ilya compliments as Shane sips his water, thanks him again for his help.
“Hey, do you have any recommendations of stuff to do?” Shane asks as Ilya re-racks the plates on their usual storage stands. “Rose and I have done your yoga class, obviously, and we took the jetskis out yesterday. We’re taking it in turns to pick stuff to do so I don’t get too bored, but there’s like, almost too much to choose from, so.”
Ilya leans one hip against the rack and Shane has to tear his eyes away from the long line of his legs.
“Depends what you like,” Ilya replies thoughtfully. “The spa is nice, if you want relaxing. The island hopping tour is pretty, and lots of nice spots to anchor and have lunch or dinner and snorkel or swim. Can charter a boat, if you’d rather not do full tour, too.”
“I’ve never been snorkeling,” Shane admits, “Is is worth it?”
“I love it,” Ilya says, and something in his eyes goes bright at the thought. “Am also certified lifeguard, so could take you out, if is something you wanted.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you out,” Shane finds his mouth saying even as his brain screams at him to say yes. He’s not sure he’d survive Ilya topless and in swim shorts though, and swallows just at the thought.
Ilya shrugs, “Is fine. This job is nice, but no-one comes to resort like this for working out so I am usually pretty free. I have maybe three yoga classes a week, but otherwise is just hanging around the gym, so. Would be happy to help.”
“I- that actually sounds amazing,” Shane agrees. “Maybe tomorrow? I think it’s Rose’s turn to decide what we do today, but if you’ve got time tomorrow we could do that?”
“Sure,” Ilya agrees. “Have yoga session at 10am, but could do any time in afternoon.”
“Maybe we do lunch on the boat, then, and the early afternoon?”
“Okay,” Ilya agrees. He promises to work with the chef to set up the picnic, and he’ll meet Shane and Rose at the main reception at 12 tomorrow to set off.
Shane thanks him, excited and slightly consternated that he’s agreed to spend more time with Ilya. Rose is going to tease him incessantly the entire afternoon, but Shane can’t quite find it in himself to regret it.
Rose smiles at him as he joins her in the pool after his workout, relieved for the cool water on sweaty skin.
“Good workout?”
“Yeah,” he grins at her. “How was the rest of your evening?”
“Mm,” she stretches luxuriously. “Pretty good. We’re going on a date tomorrow afternoon,” she admits, “He’s promised the baby animals at the zoo over on the next island are well worth a visit.”
“Oh,” Shane blinks. “Sounds good.”
“That’s okay, right? You don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” Shane shakes his head truthfully. “I was thinking of our next activity, is all, but I can plan something else.”
“Oh, of course! Sorry, Shane,” Rose reaches over and squeezes his hand in apology. “We can do whatever you want to today, instead? I’ll admit I got distracted last night so I haven’t planned anything.”
“No, that’s okay. Is there anything you wanted to do?”
“Well…” Rose looks a little sheepish, “maybe the spa? I wouldn’t mind getting my nails done before tomorrow.”
Shane thinks back on Ilya’s words, that the spa was nice, and shrugs in agreement. He’s had massages and things, as part of his physio routines, but he doesn’t think any have been just for relaxation, so it’ll be nice to see if it’s any different.
They book a couples massage, since Rose wants a massage anyway and it makes more sense than splitting up all afternoon. It leaves him feeling loose and relaxed as knots are dug out of muscles. Rose goes to get her nails done after while Shane makes use of the sauna and steam room, since he’s here anyway and in the mood to sit around for a bit longer for once.
He’s just exiting the sauna when he bumps into another person, and his mouth goes dry as he takes in bare broad golden shoulders coated in freckles, tapering down into a tiny waist with a trail of dark gold hair he wants to follow with his lips.
“Sorry,” Ilya murmurs with that fucking accent and Shane grips the towel around his waist a little tighter as if it would help him cling to the edges of his sanity.
“No, my fault,” he forces out, and steps to one side as he realises he’s blocking the door. “Didn’t see you there.”
“No worries,” hazel eyes meet his and Shane has to immediately look away before he takes a step closer, drawn to the other man like a moth to a flame. “How did you find spa?”
“It was really good,” Shane replies, glad he could use the lingering heat of the sauna as an excuse as his cheeks stay bright red. “Rose’s just getting her nails done for tomorrow, so I figured I’d see what else was here and it’s been a while since I’ve been to a sauna. Are you, um, you’re-”
“No more appointments today,” Ilya replies as Shane loses track of his question, too distracted by all of the golden skin on display, “So thought I would also relax.”
“Right. Right. Of course. Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Shane says as his eyes catch on one pec and is that a fucking piercing running through his nipple? He swallows, backs away hastily and by the grace of whatever gods are out there doesn’t fall on his face. “Um, see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Shane,” Ilya sounds half amused as he hotfoots it down the corridor towards the changing rooms, the image of the little barbell in his chest burnt into his eyelids every time he blinks.
They laze around in the apartment for the evening, have one of the private chefs come and cook for them so they don’t have to move. Shane takes the opportunity to call his parents briefly, as Rose checks in with her manager and social media.
It’s nice, and they stick on a film to while away the rest of the evening until they both turn in early, Rose excited for her date tomorrow, and Shane trying not to think of how much time he’ll get to spend one-on-one with Ilya.
Shane goes through his stretching routine at the gym the next day, so doesn’t need a spotter at all. He’s not sure if Ilya is disappointed or not, isn’t sure whether he wants Ilya to be disappointed or not, and pushes the thoughts away as he focuses on his routine.
As he leaves he greets Ilya properly and mentions that Rose won’t be joining them today, if Ilya’s okay to just take Shane out still? He declines the offer to reschedule, unless Ilya would prefer to do so? Ilya shakes his head, and they agree to meet at the same time as previously arranged.
He showers, wishes Rose luck on her date as she leaves before him. He debates for longer than necessary about what to wear, changes a couple of times before giving up and finds a linen shirt that sort of matches the blue of his swim shorts, and shoves a spare set of clothes into a bag just in case.
Ilya’s already waiting for him, in his usual black shirt over black swim shorts and Shane feels his mouth go dry as anticipation and nerves and excitement all war for first place inside him.
He follows Ilya as the PT smiles at him and leads him down to the dock where a little sailboat awaits.
“Mind your step,” Ilya warns as he hops down, and Shane accepts the hand held up to him as he follows, sparks igniting in his fingers where they touch.
“You can sail, too?” Shane asks in disbelief as Ilya starts unfurling the sails, hoisting them up to catch the wind.
Ilya grins at him, “Mm, fully qualified,” he promises. “Can show you some today, if you are interested.” He points out some of the things for Shane to mind while they’re on the boat, and once Shane nods to show he’s ready Ilya unties the boat, the wind catching in the sails and pushing them away from the harbour.
The wind slices nicely through Shane’s hair as he sits at the prow of the boat, grinning back at Ilya as he steers them out and around the edge of the island.
“Will be maybe twenty minutes,” Ilya tells him, “until we reach first stop.”
Shane nods back, glad his sunglasses can hide his gaze as he ends up watching Ilya more than he does the stunning scenery around him.
They pull to a slow stop as they come within swimming distance of the next island over, and Ilya collapses the sails as they drift into stillness, lowers the anchor as Shane picks his way back around the edge of the boat to the little deck at the rear.
“This is amazing,” Shane compliments as he takes a seat at the edge of the boat, staring down into crystal-clear waters.
Ilya smiles at him as he sits by his side, offers an ice-cold can of ginger ale.
“I heard from advert somewhere is your favourite?”
Shane laughs and shakes his head, cracks the top to take a sip. “It is,” he admits. “Thanks.”
“So, Rose did not want to come?” Ilya asks, and Shane glances over to see Ilya frowning at the shoreline not too far away.
“She’s got a date,” Shane shrugs. “They’re going to the, uh, wildlife sanctuary, I think?”
“A date?” Ilya repeats, and even Shane can hear the shock in his voice. “But, you and she- you are not?”
“Oh,” Shane realises the impression Ilya must have been under. “No. No, we’re just friends. I’m, like, fully gay.”
“Oh,” Ilya blinks at him, sunglasses pushed up on his head so the full force of those hazel eyes hits Shane like a check into the boards. “I see.”
“Yeah,” Shane suddenly feels the need to explain, “She’s recently broken up with her last boyfriend. We, um, we did actually date, a few years ago, when I was still in denial about… about liking men. But we’ve been really good friends ever since, and when she asked if I’d come with her so she wouldn’t be alone on vacation I couldn’t really say no, so.”
“Good friends,” Ilya repeats again, so softly Shane almost misses it under the noise of the waves lapping at the side of the boat.
“Yeah,” Shane replies softly, throat suddenly thick as tension seems to boil over between them. “I, um, I’m single.”
Ilya’s eyes catch his again and Shane finds his breath catching as it almost feels like his gaze strips Shane bare, stomach fluttering with everything he can’t quite make himself say.
“Can we swim, here?” Shane asks, suddenly desperate for something to quash the heat building in his gut and a dip in the ocean sounds like just the thing.
“Yes, is safe,” Ilya nods, and Shane stands, setting his ginger ale somewhere safe out of the way. “Ladder is on other side.”
Shane strips his shirt off, steps over to the ladder.
“Or you can jump,” Ilya offers, as he stands and takes his own t-shirt off. “Is deep enough.”
“I-”
Ilya flashes him a grin that’s brighter than the sun glinting off that fucking chest piercing that has Shane’s tongue feeling thick in his mouth, and dives neatly off the edge of the boat, barely making a splash as he cuts neatly into the water, surfacing a couple of metres away with a shake of his head and a challenging grin.
Shane takes the bait - he can’t do anything else - and follows with a leap, heading feet-first instead since he’s not sure he could be half as graceful with a dive.
The water is practically freezing compared to the warmth that had soaked through his t-shirt as they’d sat but it feels good, cuts through some of the noise building in Shane’s head until he’s just focusing on floating in the sea and not losing sight of the boat or Ilya.
“Good?” Ilya asks him as he floats closer, looking like some kind of tempting siren as he slides effortlessly through the water.
“Yeah,” Shane agrees breathlessly, treading water and hoping Ilya will come even closer even as he knows his face is giving too much away.
Ilya does, he comes within touching distance and there they just pause, watching each other across the short metre of water between them as Shane meets Ilya’s eyes and knows Ilya’s reading all of his secrets.
“I am also single,” Ilya eventually offers and the swarm of butterflies in Shane’s belly riots once more. “And, ah, bisexual. I like both, women and men.”
“Right,” Shane nods automatically, flushes even as he does. “I, um, you’ve done this before?”
Ilya laughs softly, shakes his head. “No, Shane. I have never been so… attracted, to someone I have known for all of three days. Let alone someone I thought was already in a relationship.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“No, do not be sorry,” Ilya shakes his head, and Shane’s ninety percent sure it’s not his imagination that he’s drifting a little closer.
“I’m not out,” Shane blurts before he can stop himself, and Ilya seems to still in the water. “Like, publicly. I am in the league, sort of. In, like, I told my team and hockey players are the worst fucking gossips so I’m sure most of them know but.”
“You do not want to be? Out?”
“I- christ. It’s going to be a lot, if- when I do come out,” Shane sighs. “And fuck, we’ve- I don’t even know what we’re doing here, I don’t know why I brought this up-”
“You do,” Ilya interrupts him softly, but his eyes are intent on Shane’s face. “And is okay, Shane. I would not want a… vacation-only fling, or whatever, with you. There would be much to talk about, many logistics to work out. But, if you wanted, we could… talk, about these things, for as long as you are here.”
“I’d like that,” Shane admits softly, pulse thrumming in his wrists. “Sorry. I just… I’ve never, um, really done… anything like this before. So.”
“Okay,” Ilya soothes softly, and Shane blinks as warm fingers wrap around his wrist in the water. “We can go as slow as you need.”
“Um, maybe not that slow,” Shane suggests, eyes dropping to Ilya’s mouth which curls into a knowing grin.
They drift closer, legs bumping briefly as the water lightly pushes them around. Shane can’t take his eyes off Ilya’s plush lips as they draw closer, until his eyes shut and Ilya’s mouth covers his, warm and soft.
Shane sinks into it, slides one hand through the water until his palm is against the taut line of Ilya’s obliques. One of Ilya’s hands is cupping his jaw, holding them steady as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, the other hand at Shane’s lower back, gently bringing him closer until they’re a single line together in the water.
Lunch is a collection of sandwiches and salads and fruit, and he and Ilya splay across the front of the boat, drying off under the sun as they pick at the bits and pieces. They talk a little, about Shane’s usual hockey day-to-day, Ilya’s work; about previous relationships and Shane’s surprised at just how easy it feels.
Ilya listens to him, makes his interest in what Shane has to say obvious and Shane in turn is fascinated by all of the little tidbits that offer an insight into the other man.
He learns that Ilya’s perceptive and pretty funny, in a snarky kind of way and he thinks he’d be an excellent chirper if he were still playing hockey. He also learns about Svetlana, Ilya’s best friend and the new owner of the resort, and how they’d grown up together in Russia. She’d been who Ilya had followed to the U.S., Ilya admits, and had helped him work out his career path as a PT.
Conversation is easy, in a way it’s often not when Shane talks to other people, although he can feel the tension bubbling up between them as he keeps getting distracted by the lines of Ilya’s abs, the breadth of his shoulders as he reaches over for another crisp or grape.
“Come here,” Ilya says eventually, as Shane can’t pull his gaze from his mouth, wants to feel it on his again, having spoken enough for now.
Shane can’t do anything but as he’s bid, leans across the gap between them on the decking and groans softly as a firm hand cups the nape of his neck and draws him in for a hot kiss.
It deepens quickly, and Shane gives in entirely as Ilya takes the lead, letting him take the kiss wherever he wants. He slides a hand up Ilya’s sun-kissed torso, pulls him closer until they’re pressed together top-to-tail and Shane revels in the feel of all the bare skin against his own.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groans as he eventually pulls away. “You are killing me.”
Shane huffs a rueful laugh of agreement. He wants more, wants to touch, to press his mouth to all of that glorious bare skin, to see if the rest of Ilya tastes as good as his mouth, but maybe in a less exposed venue than on the deck of a boat in the middle of the ocean.
They agree to sail onto the next stop instead, and Ilya shows Shane a few of the key points of sailing, how to steer and use the sails to their best advantage. They take the boat around the smaller island, until Ilya steers them to another gentle spot and pulls out the snorkeling equipment.
It’s absolutely stunning, the vivid colours of the reefs and the wildlife within and Shane can barely contain his joy as he and Ilya swim through the shallows and see things Shane’s only ever seen in documentaries before.
“That was amazing,” he tells Ilya as they finally turn the boat back to the main island. “Thank you, Ilya. Seriously.”
Ilya grins at him and leans down for a gentle kiss. “You are welcome.”
It takes less time than Shane would like until Ilya’s guiding them back into the port, tying the boat securely to the dock and carefully helping Shane step out of the boat, though he doesn’t really need the assistance.
“Can I take you for dinner?” Ilya asks, as he stands on the dock next to Shane.
“Yes,” Shane replies, maybe too quickly but Ilya simply smiles, pleased.
“Tonight? I can come by your villa at seven?”
“Sounds perfect,” Shane agrees, heart thumping heavily in his chest, and Ilya’s smile brightens again as Shane heads back to his villa to shower and get ready.
“Shane!” Rose squeals and throws herself at him for a hug as he recounts the afternoon for her. Her date has also gone very well, she tells him, though not quite well enough for dinner again this evening. But she’s happy to eat on her own, and then maybe go sit at the bar with the bartender for a while while Shane gets busy.
He laughs as she waggles her eyebrows at him, but sinks into the sofa with a soft smile.
“Fuck, I’m not jealous but god, Dan doesn’t have a butt nearly as good as Ilya’s,” Rose teases, and Shane groans but the smile doesn’t fade.
She hovers in the living room as Ilya turns up just before seven, dressed in smart trousers and a silky burgundy shirt. Shane flushes as Ilya offers him his arm, but accepts and follows him down to dinner, offering his middle finger back to Rose as she calls after them to be safe.
The meal is fantastic, the company even more so, and Shane doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone take such good care of him for as long as he can remember. Ilya’s attentive without being suffocating, funny and challenging without pushing it too far, and Shane’s never been so captivated.
He follows Ilya back to his villa for the night, lets him spread him out on cool linen sheets and take him apart until he can barely remember his own name. He falls asleep with Ilya wrapped around him, happier than he can say that Rose had brought him with her on this vacation.
The next few days pass in a peaceful kind of bliss Shane doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before. He spends the early mornings in the gym with Ilya, and finally gets him to teach the yoga flows so he can use them again in future. He and Rose then usually grab lunch together and pick a few more activities over the days where Ilya works. Otherwise, Ilya takes them both out again on the boat one afternoon, and Dan joins them all for a double-date in the middle of the second week.
He and Ilya talk about what they’ll do afterwards, too, although things aren’t quite as clear-cut as Shane would want in an ideal world. He’ll be leaving before Ilya, who’s promised Sveta he’ll stay until September to cover the rest of the busy season and to offer handover when the usual PT returns.
But they can call, or FaceTime, and whenever Shane is in Boston for a game he can crash at Ilya’s or they can meet for dinner. That won’t be as often as he’d like, but when he’s nearby like in New York they could travel to each other, and can take whatever time they can together as and when it appears. Ilya can come and visit for a week or two at a time as well, whenever Shane has a longer stretch at home during the season, and they can see how things work as they go.
It’s a rough plan, but it is a plan, and Shane ends up staying most of the remaining nights in Ilya’s bed to make the most of them being in the same place. Ilya’s a quick study when it comes to finding out all of the things that take Shane apart, and Shane gives as good as he gets, including getting to test out all of the ways that playing with Ilya’s chest piercing can make him groan.
He's sad when he has to leave, Ilya watching from the edge of the runway as his plane gears up for takeoff. Shane waves out of the window, gets a lifted hand back as the plane starts moving, and watches for as long as he can until Ilya disappears out of sight.
Shane sighs and sits back in his seat, and squeezes Rose's hand gratefully when she wraps her fingers around his in comfort.
"It's not the end," she promises softly, "he's so fucking obsessed with you he's literally booked to come see you before he goes home."
That's true; Ilya had booked a flight back to Boston connecting via Montreal so he can spend a couple of days with Shane. While it's still a few weeks away, Shane's already planning all of the things they can do around Montreal (and at home) and they have plans to FaceTime regulalry in the meantime. It's been a good enough last week that he's not worried about their connection, but he can't help but be anxious about how the distance might stretch it.
They land in L.A., where Shane is crashing at Rose's for a night before flying back to Ottawa.
He turns airplane mode off and his phone immediately pings, and the first message to come through fills him with a mixture of relief-joy-excitement.
14:22 | From: Ilya Rozanov ❤️
sappy, but I miss you already
please let me know when you land
hope you had a safe flight
call soon 🖤
Two Years Later
“I give myself full credit,” Rose grins as she lifts her champagne glass into the air in front of all of their friends and family, “for dragging Shane to the resort, and introducing him to Ilya through that yoga class. I had no idea that I was leading them into a relationship that is both the sweetest and most competitive thing I’ve ever seen, but at the end of the day I am just so, so happy for you both, and wish you all the joy and happiness and love for your marriage forever.
"And, as my wedding present to the happy couple, Svetlana and I have reserved another villa for you for two weeks at the resort. Happy Honeymoon, boys!"