Chapter Text
Anaheim - February 2021 - All Star Weekend
Shane liked to be the last one in the locker room. It helped him decompress after the cumulative overstimulation of a game – or, in this case, the All Star Skills Competition – followed by press and often rowdy teammates. It could be… a lot. No one took the skills competition too seriously, but All Star weekend was exhausting in general, and Shane liked to stick to his routine. He’d been looking forward to a few quiet moments.
But, no. Dallas fucking Kent had to ruin that. Why the fuck was he still here? Shouldn’t he be out partying with the rest of the team, celebrating his win in the shot accuracy contest, and pretending he’s not a disgusting fucking rapist?
Shane could barely conceal his contempt for Dallas. He wanted that guy to be punished for what he’d done, but Shane felt powerless. Troy had already called Dallas out, and look how much good that did: none. The League still supported Dallas despite the mounting sexual assault allegations. Instead of pressuring Dallas to, I don’t know, maybe stop committing rape, the Commissioner had put pressure on Troy to stop posting about sexual assault charities and victim’s resources. It was all so fucked. And nothing Shane said or did would change that. It would just get Shane into more trouble with the Commissioner. So he did his best to ignore Dallas.
Ilya was ready to go, but first, he wanted to steal a kiss. Of course Shane would think it was too dangerous, but Ilya was determined to pull him into a secluded room or hallway, push him against a wall, and kiss him breathless. Then, he would leave Shane wanting more while Ilya enjoyed a beer at the hotel bar with their teammates. Shane had already decided to skip the bar to rest for tomorrow’s game. No one else took the All Star Game seriously, but Shane took everything seriously. Ilya couldn’t wait to help him unwind and make him forget his worries for a while. Ilya would fill Shane’s pretty little head with lust and make him wait. By the time Ilya came back to the room, Shane would be begging for it, but Ilya would take it slow, rewarding Shane for his accomplishment in the skills competition with patient, luxurious licks and caresses across his entire body before finally giving him what he needed. He deserved it.
So, Ilya texted Shane from a lounge down the hall in the arena while Shane finished his routine. He would have preferred to have stayed in the locker room with him. After all, they’d only gotten to share a locker room a few times in their careers, and Ilya loved taking advantage of the opportunity to tease Shane. Ilya had chirped him relentlessly that night, provoking his adorable angry kitten face. He’d snarked back bitchily that Ilya was just bitter about losing to him in the fastest skater competition, as if Ilya cared about that.
Ilya eventually laid off after Wyatt and some of the other guys had wondered aloud how they could possibly run their charity together if they couldn’t even share a locker room without driving themselves and everyone else around them nuts. Then, Dallas fucking Kent decided to join in, which immediately ruined the entire experience. Dallas seemed to have thought Ilya would enjoy ganging up on Shane, which frankly disturbed Ilya. Ilya told him to get fucked, which baffled and enraged Dallas, but he backed off quickly so Ilya let it go.
A dopey grin crossed Ilya’s face as he imagined the day they would share a locker room as husbands. Once everyone finally understood they were in love, Ilya could be a real menace, teasing Shane lovingly and openly. He couldn’t wait.
But even then, there would still be some things that wouldn’t ever be appropriate for the locker room…
Ilya: Watching you skate tonight… so fucking sexy. You deserve a reward. I have a few ideas... 🍆🍑👉👌😩💦
Shane: 🤭Oh yeah? You aren’t too mad about getting your ass kicked?
Ilya: Was basically a tie.
Shane: Uhuh. Well a win is a win. I don’t care what you say. The clock doesn’t lie. I fucking beat you.
Ilya: .13 seconds!!! This is nothing! All of those Christmas cookies you missed and you are barely faster at all. Worth it!
Ilya: Fine, you are the fastest and most boring skater, congratulations.
Ilya: You are also very beautiful. Those freckles and your hair… I have so many things I want to do to you. How do you want to be rewarded?
Ilya: Be careful sneaking to my room. Like the old days 😏
Shane smiled down at his phone and wondered where Ilya was texting him from. Shane hoped he was out enjoying a beer with Wyatt, not waiting to steal a kiss here. It was too dangerous. Since their engagement, Shane had been trying to loosen up a bit, but he was still way too paranoid to be kissing inside the arena during the All Star competitions, even if it seemed like everyone else had left.
Well, almost everyone. At that moment, Dallas fucking Kent strolled in from the showers. Long before the allegations came out, Shane thought Dallas was an asshole and knew he was a bigot. He had flung plenty of homophobic and racist slurs on the ice, acting like they were any other chirp. They weren’t just chirps to Shane, but Dallas was far from the only player to use that kind of language, and Shane had become somewhat numb to it over the years. If he got worked up every time he was called a cocksucker or a fag on the ice, he wouldn’t be able to do his job. But still, Dallas had always been especially nasty.
Shane felt oddly relieved he hadn’t been stuck in the showers with Dallas, and he wondered why. Showering and being naked around other guys had been a normal part of his life since he was a kid. Sure, since Shane had come out to his team a few years ago, he’d felt a little more self-conscious, but once his teammates worked through some initial awkwardness, they had been supportive and eventually the locker room felt the same as it always had. Sure, Dallas was a next-level homophobic asshole and a disgusting rapist, but Shane had played with plenty of assholes, and it’s not like Shane was in any danger from him. He might talk shit, but he wouldn’t hurt a teammate. Nonetheless, unease crept into his gut as Dallas strolled past him to his stall, just two spots down from Shane’s.
Shane tried to shake it off, determined to ignore him. He looked back down at his phone, remembering about the absolutely ridiculous number of cookies Ilya ate over the holidays and formulating a response about how, yes, that was why Shane had won. Then, he read the next few texts and felt a blush heat his face and chest.
He felt Dallas’ eyes on him and suddenly remembered he was still just wearing his towel. He felt suddenly and strangely vulnerable. He glanced up and found Dallas smirking at him with a predatory gaze. Shane shifted uneasily, put his phone down on the shelf in his stall, and reached for his clothes.
Dallas scoffed, "I can't believe they let fags like you in the locker room."
Shane tensed. He wasn’t surprised Dallas had heard the rumors, and he may be overly accustomed to ignoring slurs on the ice, but this, here, alone in the locker room, was different. And it wasn’t just the slur that made Shane’s stomach drop. His comment was a common trope in conversations about gay athletes – a thinly veiled excuse for bigotry. It hit Shane harder than he would’ve liked, but he reminded himself that words can’t hurt him, especially from someone he didn’t care about. And he sure as hell didn’t give a single fuck about Dallas fucking Kent.
“Fuck off, Dallas,” he retorted. Not exactly original, but oh well. He knew he should leave it there, but he couldn't help himself. His blood was boiling. As he bent into his stall to grab his clothes, he grumbled quietly under his breath, “At least I’m not a fucking rapist.”
With his head in his stall, he didn’t see the hit coming. Dallas tackled Shane, and Shane’s head bounced off the stall divider. His head rang, the room swam, and he tried to make sense of what was happening. Was Dallas really attacking him? In the locker room? Sure, he was known for fighting on the ice, but this was insane.
Shane threw an elbow across his face, and was rewarded with the sickening but satisfying crack of a broken nose. At the impact, Dallas’ grip loosened, allowing Shane to take a step back. They locked eyes and ice cold fear flooded Shane’s body as he processed how much danger he was in. Dallas looked possessed with wild eyes and blood running into his mouth, staining his teeth a sickening red. They were the last people in the locker room, maybe some of the last people in the building. Dallas was bigger and more experienced in a fight. And now he was pissed.
“You’re going to regret that,” Dallas growled, then wiped the back of his hand across his face and glanced down at the blood.
Shane took advantage of his brief distraction and threw a punch across Dallas’ jaw. It connected and drew a satisfying grunt, but it wasn’t enough. Before Shane could get his hands up to protect himself, Dallas hit back.
The next thing Shane knew, the ceiling of the locker room was spinning above him, cold tile chilling his back. Dallas loomed over him, and Shane desperately aimed a kick at Dallas’ crotch while the room continued to spin. Unsurprisingly, Dallas easily avoided the clumsy strike. To Shane’s horror, Dallas straddled his chest, kneeling into Shane’s upper arms, all while Shane was too disoriented to put up meaningful resistance. As he realized how thoroughly Dallas had him pinned, Shane let out a pathetic grunt of frustration.
Dallas huffed out a horrible laugh, which churned Shane’s stomach. His thoughts raced as tears stung his eyes. How could I let this happen? How could I have been so weak? So stupid? Why had I even been alone in a room with this guy? Why the fuck had I provoked him?!
Dallas gripped Shane painfully by his hair, leaned down and breathed into his ear, “I bet Montreal takes turns with you. How many of their dicks have you sucked? Now it’s my turn.”
At those words, a new kind of terror rushed over Shane, and he struggled futilely. Between Dallas’ weight on his chest and the panic overtaking him, he could hardly breath. Dallas laughed again as he pulled back slightly and dug a knee into Shane’s ribs, right into a contusion from a few games ago that hadn’t fully healed. The pain, combined with his spinning head, lack of oxygen, and violent nausea left Shane feeling utterly helpless.
Dallas’s towel had fallen off in the altercation, and his erection was right in front of Shane’s face. Shane’s mind dissociated briefly as he considered Dallas’s size. If only everyone knew how small his cock was. He almost laughed, but he was choked by fear and shame.
“Don’t even think about fucking biting me, or I will beat you until your season is over, maybe even your career,” Dallas demanded as he inched himself toward Shane’s mouth.
Shane and Ilya had been texting back and forth pretty rapidly when Ilya shot off that chirp about the cookies, not to mention his more provocative texts. He knew Shane well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist responding. So why hadn’t he? He looked again to confirm the “read” receipt on the text thread.
Ilya waited a few more minutes, tapping his phone against the palm of his hand and pondering what else he could text Shane to rile him up. He checked it one more time, then sighed and stood. He had done enough. He would let Shane have his quiet time. They would have plenty of time later. The sooner he went out for drinks, the sooner he could be back in his hotel room, kissing the hell out of him and rewarding him for his “win” in the fastest skater competition.
Shane loved to be rewarded for his accomplishments, and even though this one was kind of bullshit, Ilya relished the excuse to remind Shane that he was the best. He was even considering admitting Shane was the better hockey player. It was true, and Shane didn’t need to win a silly skills competition to prove it. As Ilya sauntered down the corridor, he imagined other ways to remind Shane of his greatness, fantasizing about taking Shane in his trophy room or maybe blowing him while he watched a highlight reel of his best shots.
He took a circuitous route to pass by the locker room on the slim chance he might catch Shane on his way out. He considered popping his head in, but that might seem weird if other players were still around. He didn’t have a valid reason to go in. He racked his brain for one… anything he left in his locker that he could use as an excuse? Not really.
As he passed, he peered at the door longingly. God, he really was becoming kind of disgusting, but honestly, he didn’t really care. He was in love, and love is gross. Oh well.
A few steps past the door, Ilya paused when he caught a hint of a low voice on the other side, and while he couldn’t make out the words, the tone didn’t sound right. Then, Ilya heard the unmistakable sound of Shane’s sob. Hot rage and cold dread flooded Ilya’s body.
Again, Shane’s mind started to drift away from this terrible moment as he dimly considered whether he would be able to play in the All Star game tomorrow. A lot of players didn’t take the game seriously, but Shane always enjoyed it, especially when he got to play on a line with Ilya. Oh, Ilya! For a brief moment, he wished Ilya were here. But no, he didn’t want Ilya to see him like this. The shame might swallow him whole.
The door slammed open, and Dallas immediately started to scramble off him. Shane took advantage of the opportunity to finally dig his foot deep into Dallas’ scrotum, earning a groan of anguish that Shane relished.
Hunched over, clutching his balls, Dallas looked up at whoever had walked in. His eyes wide with terror, he tried to straighten despite his obvious pain. He started saying, “It’s not–” and Shane wondered how he planned to finish that sentence. Maybe, “It’s not what it looks like.” Did he mean, it's not as gay as it looked? Or did he mean it’s not assault? Which one embarrassed Dallas more?
He would never know because Shane’s new best friend shut him up by bashing his head into a wall.
Shane hoped Dallas’ assailant would forget anyone else was in the room. A confusing series of emotions twisted inside Shane – relief, gratitude, shame. And, honestly, a little bit of glee as he heard Dallas grunt, whimper, and even beg as the beating continued. It almost made Shane crack a smile. Almost.
He should probably try to get up, but his head still felt heavy and fuzzy. Throwing that kick from his back had taken all of the coordination he could muster. And he didn’t want to bring attention to himself. He pleaded silently with the ground to swallow him whole.
Somewhere in his logical mind, Ilya knew he had to stop. A manslaughter charge would probably interfere with their wedding and the playoffs. But more importantly, Shane needed him. Logic battled with rage as he battered Dallas, but ultimately his concern for Shane won out. Dallas was knocked out but still appeared to be breathing, so Ilya tore himself away from his murderous rage and threw himself on the floor next to his boyfriend.
Shane recognized Ilya’s touch immediately. Both his relief and shame redoubled.
“Are you okay?” Ilya panted stupidly as he ran his hands over Shane’s body, trying to evaluate his injuries. He knew it was a terrible question. Obviously Shane was not okay. But the words came out of him like a reflex.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Shane sobbed over and over again.
Ilya’s heart broke, his stomach twisted, and anguish shot through him. “No, no, nonono, moya lyubov, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he wept while trying to hold Shane everywhere at once. He wasn’t sure what to do, where to touch him, what he needed at that moment. He wanted to surround him, protect him, sooth away this pain, but how?
Shane was vaguely aware of Ilya whispering words of comfort, telling him he hadn’t done anything wrong, this wasn’t his fault. But, how could that be true? He should’ve been stronger, more careful. Did he even shout for help? Did he… even… say “no”?
Ilya didn’t know what to do, but he knew Dallas fucking Kent would wake up soon, and then what? As much as he wanted to, Ilya probably shouldn’t actually kill him. But he couldn’t leave Shane like this either.
Sometimes Shane would get overstimulated and it helped when Ilya gave him clear, simple directions he could follow without having to think. This situation wasn’t exactly the same, but maybe it would help. In a gentle but firm voice, Ilya instructed, “Shane, I need you to sit up.”
Shane complied slowly and carefully, hunching slightly over his bruised ribs and holding his own head. Ilya continued talking Shane through the steps of getting dressed.
When Dallas stirred slightly, Ilya gave him a lazy kick, then turned back to find Shane staring at his crumpled form on the ground. Pain, shame, fear, uncertainty, hatred, disgust, and some more emotions Ilya couldn’t identify flashed rapidly across Shane’s face. Ilya put a hand on his shoulder. Ilya’s heart crumbled even further, but he had to get Shane through this.
“Look at me.”
Shane’s gaze shifted to Ilya only briefly before darting down to his chest. Ilya gently lifted Shane’s chin, to which Shane responded by squeezing his eyes together, desperate to disappear. Ilya cupped his cheek and stroked his freckles until he finally fluttered his eyes and settled his gaze on Ilya’s face, still not quite making eye contact. Ilya had never felt so helpless.
“I need you to hear me. This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. This is very scary, but you are brave and strong, and I love you. Please let me take care of you now.”
Shane’s freckles crumpled in anguish and he fell forward into Ilya’s chest, his arms dangling loosely at his sides as Ilya clutched him tightly.
Nothing was more beautiful than watching Shane’s freckles crinkle in laughter. But that night, Dallas fucking Kent had caused those beautiful freckles to bare Shane’s pain. Ilya silently added that memory to a growing list of reasons to end Dallas fucking Kent.
Ilya held him and took deep, loud breaths, hoping Shane would catch on. Eventually Shane took a shuttering breath with him. Then another. After a few more, Ilya pulled back to look at Shane. He still looked distant and empty, but he seemed more stable.
Ilya gathered their things, and guided him gently but firmly by his shoulders toward the exit. As Ilya reached out to open the door, Shane hesitated, furrowed his brown, and darted a quizzical look between Ilya and Dallas, an unspoken question etched across his face.
Ilya took another deep breath. “He is probably going to wake up soon. I don’t want to be here when he does.” He doesn’t add, because I would kill him. He doesn’t want to scare Shane. “We should find security and let them deal with him.”
Shane tensed. “No, please, we can’t tell anyone.”
Ilya searched Shane’s face and saw the terror etched across it. “Okay, if that is what you want. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. Is your choice, but please, we need to leave this room. We go to my car, da?”
Shane nodded and let Ilya guide him away from the terrible scene.
Shane’s mind raced as they left the arena. No one can know. No one can ever know. Shane would be a laughing stock if they knew he had almost been one of Dallas Kent’s… victims? Is that the right word? Shane didn’t feel like a victim. He felt like a fucking loser.
Shane glanced over at Ilya, who had kept a hand on his shoulder since they’d left the locker room. Disgust and shame churned Shane’s gut, but at the same time, gratitude blossomed warmly in his chest. Ilya was taking control of the situation, which Shane desperately needed, and he was also listening to what Shane wanted instead of pushing him to tell anyone. Oh god, I hope no one finds out. But, Ilya knows. He is still here. For now…Once he processes everything, will he realize he doesn’t want to marry a weak loser? He tenses at the thought, but Ilya gently squeezed his shoulder in response and continued to lead him to safety.
Shane kept his head down as they walked to the car. He was dimly aware they should be more careful. They shouldn’t be seen like this – Ilya’s arm wrapped protectively around Shane. But he couldn’t summon the energy to say anything, and he knew that without Ilya’s arm around him, he would collapse into a puddle and never make it out of there.
Ilya helped him into the car and placed a gentle kiss on his temple. Shane flinched. The pile of sand that had once been Ilya’s heart churned miserably in his chest.
Ilya started the car but didn’t start driving. He knew Shane needed help, but he also had to make sure Shane was in control, especially after the way Dallas had brutally ripped away his autonomy. At the thought, hot rage flashed through Ilya again and his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel until pain throbbed through his hands, bringing him back to the present. He was surprised to discover how bruised and bloody his hands were, the right hand possibly broken. Ilya wanted to go back into the arena and beat Dallas until nothing but bloody stumps remained. But Shane needed him here.
Ilya took a steadying breath and turned to Shane, who was staring blankly at the floor boards. He reached out, then hesitated, his hands hovering a few inches from Shane’s arm as he remembered how Shane had flinched away from his kiss. Did he want to be touched? Sometimes, he was sensitive to touch when he got overstimulated, but Ilya was almost always the exception. He dropped his hand to the console, unsure.
“Muya lyobov… Shane…” he started. Shane didn’t react. He tried again, “I will take you back to the hotel if you want.” He hesitated before continuing, “But you need to see a doctor. You probably have a concussion.”
Silence stretched until Ilya wondered whether Shane had heard him. Abruptly, Shane ripped open the car door and retched onto the pavement. Ilya reached out and gripped Shane’s shoulder. This time, Shane didn’t pull back, so Ilya kept his arm there, desperate to provide any comfort he could. Shane leaned back into the car and wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. This simple action alarmed Ilya. Shane hated mess, and he certainly would not wipe vomit onto his own sleeve under any circumstance that Ilya could’ve imagined until now.
Finally, Shane tilted his head back against the headrest, squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “I don’t want anyone to know.”
“Okay, how about this… I take you back to hotel. We go through side door. My room is close, a few doors down, so we can avoid everyone. I will call the team doctor. They come see you in my room. No one else needs to know.”
Shane put his head down, his arms on his knees and palms digging into his eyes, breathing too fast.
Ilya rubbed Shane’s back, speaking quietly and steadily. “You don’t have to tell them what happened. Tell them you were mugged, whatever. They do not need to know, if that is what you want.” A note of pleading crept into Ilya’s voice when he added, “Please, sweetheart, please let someone look at your head.”
Shane took a deep, shaky breath and nodded once, almost imperceptively.
They got back to Ilya’s room without running into anyone, and Shane finally breathed a sigh of relief. Eventually, people would see him and his injuries and ask what happened. Oh god, his parents were here. They would freak out.
Ilya called the team doctor while Shane sat on the couch, staring expressionless into the middle distance. For All-Star weekend, the local team’s doctor was on-call. Shane had never met Anaheim’s team doctor, and he dreaded a stranger touching him and asking him questions. But Ilya was right. He needed to be checked out. This concussion could be serious, not to mention his other injuries. He was just starting to register how much Dallas fucked him up. His lip was split, his jaw swollen and achy, and a dull pain in his ribs prevented him from taking a full breath. He’d thrown up again when they got to the room, but he wasn’t sure if that was a concussion symptom or a reaction to the trauma and anxiety. How could I have let this happen?
Shane wasn’t sure how much time passed before a knock came. Ilya opened the door to reveal a short, stocky middle aged woman with a grey bob. Shane was surprised to feel relief wash over him. He didn’t know Anaheim’s doctor was a woman, and he’s not sure why it mattered, but he felt more at ease. Ilya stepped into the hallway with an encouraging nod to Shane.
How does Ilya always know what to do, even now? Shane never knew what to do, especially now.
The doctor didn’t seem surprised by Shane’s injuries. Shane wondered what Ilya had told her. Ilya had been sitting right next to Shane when he called, but he hadn’t processed any of it. She introduced herself warmly, pulled up a chair across from Shane, and asked simply, “How are you feeling?”
Shane let out a huff. The doctor – he’s already forgotten her name, god he’s such an asshole - smiled sadly. “Right, clearly not very well. Tell me what is hurting.” He answered her questions in as few words as possible, worried that if he kept speaking, his tight voice would crack into a sob and then he might never stop crying. She listened closely and asked to do a physical exam. Every single time, she asked permission before touching him and waited for him to verbally consent. Shane thought it was a bit much, but he was grateful.
The kind doctor concluded that he did, in fact, have a concussion. He would not play tomorrow, but thankfully, none of his injuries were severe enough to demand a trip to the hospital. It could have been worse. She instructed him to stay off screens, rest, and follow up with his team doctors in Montreal. He nodded. It was all the response he could muster.
She shifted her weight to stand up, then paused, and turned back to Shane. When he registered the concern in her eyes, he quickly dropped his gaze. “If you decide to report this.” Shane inhaled sharply, and she hesitated before continuing. “It’s your decision, but in case you do decide to report it, I’ve taken detailed notes which can serve as a record of your injuries.” Shane must have looked a bit confused because she clarified, “As evidence. You may want to consider taking some photos as well.” Shane cringed. “I know” she said, her voice soft with sympathy, “I know that’s the last thing you want to do right now, but if you decide to report it later, you may be glad you have them. Either way, you will have a medical record, which is better than nothing. And if you need help making a report, I’m happy to help however I can.” She concluded by simply reminding him again – “It’s your choice.”
Shane didn’t look up. He nodded while keeping his eyes fixed on his hands. She took a deep breath, stood, collected her things, then placed a business card on the coffee table before leaving.
When the doctor came out, Ilya longed to ask her about Shane. He wanted someone to tell him Shane would be okay. To tell him what to do. But he knew she wouldn't disclose anything about his medical status to Ilya. Legally, Ilya was no one to Shane. He has no right to his medical information. Again, Ilya desperately wished they were already married.
Instead, he gave her a quick nod and stepped past her to open the door, but she lingered as if she had something to say, so Ilya paused and turned back.
“You did the right thing. Calling me, I mean. I can check you out, too, if you want.” She glanced down to his swelling, bloody hands.
He quickly tucked them into his pockets and declined politely before walking back into his room.
Shane sat in the exact same spot, staring at the carpet. Ilya noticed the business card on the coffee table abd tucked it into his wallet, knowing Shane wouldn’t keep track of it in his state.
Ilya stood in the middle of the room like an idiot. What do I do now?
He strode over to the couch and sat next to Shane, close enough to easily reach him but not quite touching him. He waited. He would wait as long as Shane needed. He would just… be here. That’s all he could do.
Shane felt Ilya’s warmth, even though they weren’t quite touching. It was comforting. He waited for Ilya to ask him what happened. To demand an explanation. He must have been wondering how Shane could’ve let this happen, how he could’ve been so stupid. Maybe he was wondering why Shane couldn’t fight Dallas off himself. Maybe he was thinking Shane should have fought harder. Shane braced himself, but Ilya just sat there. Waiting… for what?
Silence stretched between them. Shane sat eerily still. Ilya fidgeted with the gold cross on his neck, running it across the chain over and over again, side to side, soothing himself with the rhythmic motion.
Finally, Shane couldn’t take it any more. Ilya deserved an explanation, even if he wouldn’t ask.
“I was just trying to wait everyone out. You know, to decompress. I never thought he would… But I shouldn’t have been there alone with him.” His voice cracked and he faltered.
“Shane, of course you didn’t think he would hurt you. He is asshole, yes, but no one would think a teammate would do something like this. Is crazy! You did nothing wrong. Please, sweetheart, please hear me. You did nothing wrong.” He paused and added again, even more firmly, “Nothing.”
Shane snapped, “He’s not just an asshole, Ilya! He’s a fucking rapist, and we all know it. Of course I should have known better than to be alone with him.”
“He should never have been allowed in the locker room in the first place.”
Shane huffed, “yeah, well actually, he said the same thing about me. Right before…” Shane trailed off, unable to continue.
Ilya tried to process what Shane was saying. Why would Dallas…Oh.
“Because you are gay?” Ilya asked in his blunt way.
Shane nodded slowly, almost to himself.
“That fucking pig. I will kill him,” Ilya growled.
Shane didn’t argue. He just kept nodding.
“You know that is bullshit, yes?”
Shane nodded again. More silence enveloped them. Ilya’s mind was racing, trying to figure out how to best help his sweet, suffering boyfriend. Shane’s next words were almost too soft for Ilya to hear.
“I don’t think I even told him to stop…”
Before Ilya could find the English words to properly persuade him that this wasn’t his fault – apparently his last effort was unsuccessful but he would never stop trying – Shane curled into himself, his head in his hands, and rocked slightly back and forth muttering, “Why didn’t I tell him to stop? Why didn’t I call for help? What is wrong with me?”
Ilya wrapped himself around Shane, bracing for him to reject his touch, but Shane leaned into him. Ilya held him and they rocked together while Shane cried.
“Maybe because you were too busy breaking his nose.”
This actually made Shane snort out an odd, sharp, broken sound. Not quite a laugh but not a sob, so…progress?
“Yeah, I guess I did, didn’t I.”
“Yes, you did. You didn’t need to tell him to stop because you did it with your fists.”
“Well, actually, I think it was my elbow.” Shane stopped rocking and peeked up at Ilya. Ilya grinned back at him.
“And I think you caused permanent damage to his balls. A service to the rest of the world! You should be very proud.”
Finally, Shane smiled. It was a small, weak smile, but Ilya felt his heart start to knit back together as he looked at Shane’s beautiful face. It was bruised and swollen, but his dark eyes were stunning and his freckles breathtaking, as always.
Shane leaned into Ilya, and for a while, they just held each other. The air in the room felt a bit lighter. Nothing was actually better. Dallas Kent was god knows where facing zero repercussions while Shane was here, hurting. But, Shane was starting to come back to himself, so Ilya enjoyed the small win.
“I don’t want anyone to know,” Shane repeated. “But, what if he hurts someone else because I didn’t say anything? We already know he’s hurt a lot of women. Their stories didn’t change anything. Do you think it would be any different if I…” he trailed off as he searched for the right word, “filed a report.”
Ilya considered for a moment before answering honestly. “I don’t know.”
“What would you do?”
“I don’t know. Not important. Is your decision, but you don’t need to decide tonight. Let’s take a shower and go to bed. You are so tired.”
A shower sounded wonderful to Shane. He felt so dirty after… he tried to steer his thoughts away from… that. He nodded gratefully.
Ilya helped him undress and shower, then wrapped him in a hotel towel that honestly was not soft at all. Why are hotel towels always so terrible? Shane didn’t seem to mind, though. Ilya helped him into boxers and a soft t-shirt and tucked him in. Ilya got in beside him and hesitated, unsure how much Shane wanted to be touched, if at all.
“Do you…”
“Yes,” Shane answered before he could get out the question.
Ilya shifted until his body was flush with Shane’s back, Shane’s head tucked under Ilya’s chin and Ilya’s top arm wrapped across Shane’s chest. Engulfed in Ilya’s familiar warmth, Shane finally felt safe. He knew he would have a lot of big decisions to make tomorrow, but for now, he was happy to let everything fade away into blissful darkness.