Work Text:
August 2017
Ilya stays longer than two weeks.
He can’t extend his stay by much, but they scrape up every inch of free time that their grueling schedules allow them. It still doesn’t feel like enough and when the clock is inching closer and closer to the time he has to get Ilya to the airport, Shane is doing everything to avoid the goodbye.
“Do you have your passport?” Shane asks as he putters around the kitchen, turning off lights and making sure the burners are off. He loops back around to check the patio door, as if he’s locking things down for the winter and won’t be back this afternoon.
“I need my passport?” Ilya deadpans, and Shane ignores him.
“And don’t forget to text my mom when you land,” Shane requests. No matter how many times he has flown in his life and regardless of his age, his mom always wants to know if he made it safely. He has no doubt that overbearing concern will be extended to Ilya as well, and Shane would rather Ilya let her know right away than be on the receiving end of a line of questioning and have him regret his choices. “Welcome to the Hollander family. We’re all a ball of nerves,” he jokes awkwardly as he rounds the island to where Ilya is standing.
There’s a soft smile on his face, and Shane ducks his head, blushing at referring to Ilya as being part of the family already. “Yes. She will be my second text.”
Shane bites his lip, stepping closer. “Who will be your first?” he fishes.
Ilya purses his lips, pretending to think. “David, I think. My new best friend.”
Shane huffs, shaking his head. “I thought you said he was boring,” he argues, as if it doesn’t light him up inside to know that not only does Ilya have his parents’ numbers, but that he wants to know them as people beyond just Shane’s parents.
“Yes. I like boring.”
Here comes the blush again. Maybe one day Shane will stop doing that to half the things that come out of Ilya’s mouth. “Shut up,” he mumbles.
“No,” Ilya fires back before their mouths meet.
It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, both of them pressing closer. It gets to a point where Shane doesn’t even know if what they’re doing could be called kissing, just a mashing of mouths and trying to crawl into the other’s skin.
Shane can’t kiss him at the airport. Can’t kiss him in the car either. This will be the last time he can put his hands all over Ilya for nearly a month. It’s hardly the longest amount of time apart they’ve been, but that was different. That was before everything that transpired here.
“Shane,” Ilya whispers softly as his thumbs spread across Shane’s cheeks. Shane hadn’t even realized he let his tears fall. “Please don’t cry.”
Shane buries his face in Ilya’s neck, sniffly softly. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no.” Large hands rub up and down his back. “You will make me cry.”
Shane’s laugh comes out wet and pained and he clings tighter. “We’re a mess.”
“I will see you soon, yes?”
“Three weeks,” Shane confirms. He’s already carved out a long weekend where he can be away from Montreal, before preseason really gets underway.
“You will come to my house. I will make you dinner. It will be nice,” Ilya tells him, like it could be so simple.
Shane considers making a joke—asking if tuna melts will be on the menu again—but he doesn’t want anything more than reassurance and confirmation that seeing each other again in Boston will feel just like this moment now.
“Nothing’s going to change.”
Ilya’s brows pinch together. “What?”
“Not—” Shane shakes his head, pulling Ilya closer and pressing their foreheads together. “Obviously this will be different from other seasons. I mean us. What we built here, just… promise me the real world won't change it.”
Ilya nudges their noses together before sealing their mouths. His hands rub up and down the muscles of Shane’s back, where there is a smattering of marks left from Ilya last night. “I love you. I’m not going back to how it was before,” he says firmly, and Shane nods.
“One more year.”
It’ll be different when Ilya is in Ottawa. Easier. They can drive to see each other instead of flying. They can take advantage of a single night off instead of having to wait for a few in a row. They’ll be friends, or at least acquaintances, to the public eye. It’ll be easier.
“Yes. One year and then you’ll see me so much you will be sick of me.”
Shane smiles softly despite the deep ache in his chest. He misses Ilya already and he’s right here. He doesn’t know how he’s going to come back here tonight and sleep in the bed that has only known Ilya’s warmth for weeks. “Impossible.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” Ilya tells him again, so different from the first time he said it in the car, but still so similar. “For being brave.”
“Thank you for coming.” Shane pulls back to look at him, to really look at him. His skin is tanner and his hair is lighter, but most of all he seems… happier. Shane did that. Shane makes him happy. He hopes more than anything that he keeps doing so because now that Shane knows a world where he can have Ilya, completely and fully, he doesn’t ever want to go back. “Ilya.”
“Shane,” he exhales, and then they’re kissing again.
October 2017
Ilya should cast his phone to the flatscreen TV in his living room, because this tiny screen isn’t giving him as good of a view of Shane’s ass as it should.
It’s a wonderful ass, and it looks even better as Shane works his fingers inside himself. Ilya’s watching the screen like he’s studying film, like he’s going to be quizzed later on the exact way to finger Shane until he moans so prettily. It’s not like Ilya needs to study. He’d ace that test any day of the week. Still, he’d like a better visual of his boyfriend fucking himself on his own fingers.
“Make sure you do a good job,” Ilya purrs, palming his own hard cock but not quite stroking himself. He’ll get there. This is about Shane right now.
Shane looks over his shoulder at the camera. “I know. It’s bigger than you.”
Ilya swears. “No, it’s not.” It scoffs at the mere thought. Nothing will ever compare. Shane chuckles and turns around, going back to fucking presenting himself to Ilya as he works a third finger in. Ilya squeezes his own cock a little harder and fuck it, he’s waited long enough. Except before he can get a hand around his own dick, Shane’s phone falls forward and his view is obstructed by a sea of darkness.
“Wait, Shane,” he says urgently. “I can’t see anything.”
“Oh.” There’s some rustling, and then shuffling, and then Shane has the phone by his chest like he’s a boomer taking a selfie. A moment later, it’s propped up against something on the nightstand and Ilya is watching Shane stretch out on the bed like a cat. “Uh, is that better?”
Ilya hums. He can’t really see how Shane is touching himself, but he can see Shane's beautiful face. He can work with that. “Yes. Much.”
Shane smiles softly at him and then arches his back as he begins to touch himself again, and Ilya gets back with the program.
“Wish you were here,” Shane cries as his face pinches up in pleasure.
“Yes.” Ilya breathes heavily, stripping his cock faster at the thought of taking Shane apart in his bed instead of jerking off in a hotel room a thousand miles away. “Would make you beg for it.”
“I can still beg,” Shane gasps, and everything outside of Shane’s body on his phone blurs.
“Could you?”
“Yeah,” Shane whines. “Please. I need something more than my fingers.”
Ilya hums. “No, I think you can wait.”
He eyes the dildo lying beside Shane on the mattress. It’s not the original one from all those years ago. This was a gift from Ilya, their second month apart after the cottage. It’s more comparable to Ilya’s cock than what Shane had before, but it’ll still never be enough to satisfy him the way Ilya does. Ilya gets high off the thought of being the one thing in the world that can get Shane Hollander moaning so prettily.
“Oh, fuck.”
That’s not the tone Ilya wants to hear those words in. It’s annoyed and a little panicked. Followed by Shane reaching for the phone, Ilya knows something’s wrong.
“Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing," Shane groans as he falls back to the mattress again.
“Did you come already?”
Shane shoots him a look. “No, idiot. My mom called.”
Ilya frowns. Okay, yes, he understands why thoughts of Yuna would briefly halt the mood, but he doesn’t know why that would be embarrassing. “What? Could she see you through your camera like a spy?”
“No.”
Ilya grins until Shane buries his face in his hands. “Shane, it is not as if you’re fifteen and she caught you masterbating."
“Not helpful,” Shane mumbles.
“She has no idea what you’re doing right now. You will call back much later.”
Shane groans. “Right, yeah. Sorry, where were we?”
Ilya purses his lips and tilts his head. “You were begging for my cock, I think.”
Shane hums. “I don’t know, doesn’t sound like me.”
Ilya grins widely. “Sounds exactly like you.”
Shane blushes and slowly trails his hand down his body again. Ilya’s rapt attention is on the flush of his chest and the way his hips fall open. He would fill his phone with hundreds of screenshots if he knew Shane wouldn’t kill him for it. He’ll just have to memorize the view now, for the next time he’s alone and missing Shane. So tomorrow, likely.
Shane’s body begins to writhe on the bed, and Ilya studies him, waiting for just that right moment when Shane gets close to the edge so Ilya can tell him to pull his fingers out.
And then the stupid low battery notification pops up and blocks his view of Shane.
“Shit,” Ilya swears in Russian as he gets rid of it. “You have to finish quickly because my phone will die.”
Not for the first time tonight, Ilya wishes they were in person. If not so he could touch Shane then at least so they don’t have to deal with all these stupid interruptions and technicalities.
“Wow. Sexy,” Shane deadpans, and Ilya grins wolfishly.
“I will make you finish quickly. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Cocky.”
“More like speaking from experience.”
Shane doesn’t have a comeback to that. True to his word, it doesn’t take long for Ilya’s words—and the dildo—to work Shane to his orgasm, and Ilya quickly spills over his fist shortly after. He only allows himself a moment to bask before he’s half-assed wiping off his hand and reaching for the charger. He finally gets the phone plugged in when it’s at 3%.
“Cybersex is way too technical,” Shane huffs as he settles back into bed.
Ilya bursts out laughing. “Cybersex? What the fuck is this? A PSA to not corrupt innocent, Canadian youth?”
Shane flicks his phone screen as if he’s pinching Ilya. “Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, but Ilya is still laughing.
“Rule one. Do not show hole to strange man on Internet.”
“You are a strange man,” Shane mutters. “A pervert. I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“No. Noooo,” Ilya whines, clutching his phone as if it’ll keep Shane with him. “Do not go. I want to corrupt you.”
Shane takes a second to respond, and then he softly, in amusement, says, “Corrupt.”
“Yes. Corrupt,” Ilya doubles down. It’s become a thing between them. Shane repeats English words he’s surprised Ilya knows and Ilya repeats Russian words he wants Shane to know. “I learned that word very quickly. I should invite Shane Hollander to do commercial with me. I want to corrupt him.”
Shane smiles. “See. Pervert!”
Ilya sighs, collapsing back to his bed dramatically. It would be so much better if Shane was here. If he could kiss those rosy cheeks under his beautiful freckles and tease him until Shane was forced to kiss him to get him to stop. He supposes it’s up to himself to turn his teasing into something sweeter.
“No,” he corrects, meeting Shane’s eyes on the screen again. “Embarrasing.”
Shane frowns adorably. “Embarrasing?”
“Yes. I did not invite you to commercial for a booty call.”
Shane gives him a look of disbelief. “You so wanted to get into my pants.”
“Okay, yes. Maybe. But listen. I also had a hopeless crush on boring, too fucking nice Canadian boy. Embarrassing."
Shane stares at him, so soft and so fucking sweet. “It wasn’t hopeless.”
Ilya’s heart squeezes in his chest. “No. I guess not.”
November 2017
Montreal and Boston don’t meet until a few weeks into the regular season, and Shane wants to curse every single person who designed their schedules.
He’s practically vibrating in the back of his Uber on the way to Ilya’s place. The driver has given him more than one strange look, probably thinking Shane’s either going to throw up in his car or rob him. Shane doesn’t care. Ilya was on fire tonight and it’s an entirely different experience to watch his boyfriend kickass on ice. Shane might have more of a competency kink than he realized.
His driver drops him off at the end of the driveway, and Shane throws his backpack over his shoulder and jogs his way to Ilya’s door. Unlike the last time Shane was here, he doesn’t have to ring the doorbell. Ilya is already there, swinging the door open with a smile on his face.
“Fuck, come here.”
Shane darts inside, dropping his bag. There’s not a whole lot in there he actually needs. What he does need is Ilya. Right now. He feels a little slutty with the way he practically starts humping Ilya in the hallway, but when Ilya grasps his thighs and hoists him up, he decides he doesn’t mind. Shane moans unabashedly as Ilya carries him across the house. He bypasses the couch and, thank god. Shane wants to be thrown down on Ilya’s big bed. He wants to be fucked with every inch of his life. When his back hits the mattress, he barely has a second to breathe before Ilya is pouncing on him, kissing his jaw, his throat, his collarbone.
“Missed you. Missed you so much.”
Shane’s eyes flutter shut and he fists his hand in Ilya’s curls. “Yes. Me too. Fuck me.”
“Eager."
“Very.”
Ilya hums, pressing one last bruising kiss to Shane’s mouth before wrangling him out of his clothes. Within a matter of seconds, they’re both naked and Ilya is sucking at Shane’s hipbone while teasing his hole.
“No—” Shanee gasps, arching his back. “No marks,” he manages to get out.
Ilya clicks his tongue in disappointment as he lets up, and Shane has a second to catch his breath while Ilya digs out the lube. “Condom?” he asks, and Shane shakes his head.
“Fuck no.” If he doesn’t get to feel claimed by Ilya after this, feeling his release dripping out of him for the rest of the night, he might actually go insane.
“You want me to come inside you?” Ilya asks him, eyes laser-focused on Shane and mouth open in a pleased grin.
Shane can barely see before his eyes roll back into his head again as Ilya’s mouth finds his hole. “Yes, yes, fuck yes.” Shane pants, his heart racing and his body growing overheated as he presses down onto Ilya’s mouth. He works that tongue like a fucking pro and Shane worries he’s going to finish before Ilya even gets inside of him. “Oh, holy shit, Rozanov.”
He pops up, grin back in place, but this time accompanied by a spit-soaked mouth. He looks debauched and it only turns Shane on that much more. “Fuck me. Fuck me, please.”
Ilya must be just as desperate because he doesn’t have some witty retort. Instead, he makes quick work of opening Shane up on his fingers before that feeling is replaced by his cock. Finally, finally, Shane thinks as Ilya bottoms out. He feels fucking torn apart, lit up from the inside out. Ilya’s strong body pins him to the mattress as he begins to piston his hips at a brutal pace.
“Yes,” Shane cries out. “Fucking take me, Ilya. Oh my god.”
“You missed this?” Ilya growls into his ear. “You missed being filled?”
Shane nods rapidly. “By you. Only by you.”
That earns Shane another growl and Ilya’s hand reaches up to smack the headboard. The whole bed creaks and Shane has a brief moment to worry about whether they’re going to break it or not before he decides he doesn’t care. He’ll sleep on the floor tonight if it means Ilya keeps fucking him like this.
He hitches his legs up higher before Ilya takes matters into his own hands. He grips behind Shane’s knees, bending his legs up so Shane is practically in half. Shane isn’t sure what sound comes out of his mouth, but he doesn’t even feel like he’s in the room anymore. It’s a chore to open his eyes, but one that’s well worth it to see Ilya’s sweat-soaked body towering over him. The chain dangles between them and Shane second-guesses himself for half a moment before he sucks it into his mouth.
Ilya lets out a string of Russian that Shane is in no way coherent enough to begin to translate, but he knows what the stutter in Ilya’s thrusts mean.
He’s close too, teetering on the edge as Ilya nails his prostate and mouths at his neck and he’s right fucking there, shooting between their bodies as Ilya spills deep inside of him. Ilya collapses onto him when they’re done, and then he chuckles into Shane’s neck. Shane can’t help but smile too, lazily and unabashedly as he slowly blinks at the ceiling. He’s sweaty and sticky, but the warmth of Ilya pressed up against him is way too good to consider moving right this second anyway.
Ilya’s the first to break the silence. “Way better than cybersex.”
“Fuck off,” Shane groans, and Ilya smiles before kissing him into the mattress.
January 2018
Shane
Ilya.
You are so boring
This is not news to you.
Yes, but I have discovered new ways in which you are boring
And what is that?
Where are you?
Attachment: Image [Shane Hollander, age 8, dressed in hockey gear with a trick-or-treat bag in front of him as he stands on David and Yuna’s porch]
You dressed as yourself for Halloween. I thought costumes were supposed to be scary. You are not scary
I did not dress as myself. I was Wayne Gretzky.
You dressed as hockey player. That’s the same thing
Oh, all hockey players are the same? You’re saying you and Scott Hunter are the same?
Shane. Take that back. I am your boyfriend, you are supposed to love me, not compare me to the 7th best player on the nursing home hockey league
How did you even find that picture? Did my mom send it?
She did not send it. She is sitting next to me. Says hi.
You’re at my parents’ house?
Yes, they invited me over for chicken parmesan. Very delicious. Now they’re showing me baby Shane pictures
Oh my god
A hockey player every year, Shane? We need to change that
We won’t be together on Halloween. And we couldn’t dress up together anyway.
Stop changing the subject. I didn’t know you were doing dinner with my parents.
They invited me, I said yes, here I am. What is there to explain?
Nothing, I guess
I’m glad you’re there. I wish I was too. I miss you.
Miss you too, moya lyubov. Baby Shane is cute but I miss adult Shane
If you wanted to dress as a hockey player again this year, I have an idea of whose jersey you could wear 😈
🙄
Maybe
February 2018
“Roz. We’re going to grab lunch. You in?”
Ilya looks up from the four numbers Shane had just texted him. “No.”
Cliff gives him a weird look. “What? You’re gonna hang out here instead?”
Here, is a hotel lobby in fucking Columbus as they wait to get their room keys. When Ilya has his in his hand, he grabs his suitcase and smirks. “I did not say that.”
Cliff eyes him and then shoots his brows up. “Oh. You have plans. That’s fast. Even for you.”
Ilya hums, making his way towards the elevators so he can drop his bags in his room. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“How do you already have a fucking girl ready for you here?” Cliff calls out, and Ilya spins, taking a few steps backwards as he continues his journey towards the elevator.
“I know picking up girls is a difficult concept for you.”
Cliff flips him off. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Cliff has no idea that his plans include the exact opposite of that. He grins to himself as he makes his way upstairs. He drops his bags and is down the back stairwell a few minutes later, not wanting to be seen getting off the elevator on the seventh floor, where Montreal is staying. Shane assured him the hall was clear though, and he quickly darts to room 718. He doesn’t even have to knock before the door opens and Ilya is being yanked inside.
“Hi,” Ilya murmurs right before Shane is attaching himself to Ilya.
“Hi,” Shane echoes, and then their mouths meet, hungry and desperate.
“How long do we have?”
“An hour until we leave for the airport,” Shane tells him.
“Ah. Like old times, Hollander.”
It wasn’t that weird for Montreal to be playing Columbus two days before Boston does, but it was sheer luck that their time in the city overlapped. It’s even more lucky that their teams ended up at the same hotel. It’s a little pathetic how giddy that detail made Ilya when he first found out.
Just like old times, Shane drops to his knees right there by the door.
April 2018
“Shane! Come here!” Ilya whines from the couch.
He hears Shane puttering around in the kitchen, probably making sure every last dish is put away. Ilya thinks they’re perfectly fine in the drying rack and would rather have his boyfriend by his side on the couch.
“Coming, coming,” Shane hushes him as he enters the room, approaching him with a bowl of popcorn and a ginger ale.
Ilya perks up. “Are you going to share?”
Shane pecks his cheek as Ilya lifts the edge of the blanket up for Shane to slide under. “Popcorn, yes. Drink’s all mine.”
Ilya hums, accepting the offer. With one hand, he picks up a few pieces of popcorn while his other hand finds the remote. But when he begins to chew, he wrinkles his nose.
“Hollander, what is this?”
Shane barely spares him a glance, too busy opening his soda and tucking his feet under the blanket so they don’t get cold. “It’s unsalted.” Ilya resists the urge to groan out loud, but Shane reads his mind anyway. “If you want salt, go get your own bowl and add some.”
Ilya frowns like it’s the most ridiculous idea he’s ever heard. He has no desire to get up, not when he’s been waiting all week for this moment. “No, no. I will eat your bird seed.” He focuses his attention back on the TV. “Okay. Season finale. Davai.”
Shane briefly tenses beside him before relaxing again. “Oh. Uh, yeah.”
Ilya freezes, turning to face the man beside him. His anticipation and excitement to watch the finale of the show they’ve been watching together just popped like a sad balloon. “You watched it already,” he accuses.
Shane frowns. “No, I didn’t.”
Ilya would think his Shane would have learned how to lie by how. It’s a miracle no one has found them out just from how Shane looks away and tries too hard to keep his voice even when he’s not telling the truth. Then again, maybe Ilya just knows him better than anyone. Which means he knows that he has been betrayed.
“Liar. Yes, you did.”
“No, I—”
Ilya rears back, looking at Shane like he’s an enemy in his home. He might as well be. “Oh my god, Hollander. You betray me and lie to me.”
“Betray seems like a strong word,” Shane mutters, avoiding Ilya's gaze. God, he is still such a bad liar.
“No. Is too kind, I think,” he decides before creating space between them. “You are traitor.”
“Ilya—”
“You do not consider your boyfriend’s feelings, who has been waiting all week to watch this with you. No, I must wait for Shane, I tell myself. And Shane is busy betraying me.”
Shane rolls his eyes and huffs. “Oh my god.”
Ilya stares at his traitor boyfriend for a prolonged second before shrugging his shoulders and settling back against the cushions. He snatches the remote from where it lays abandoned between them. “Okay, I will watch. You can go read boring book or whatever.”
“No. Ilya, we can still watch.”
Ilya absolutely refuses to look over at Shane’s pout. “I don’t want to watch with a lying traitor.”
And then Shane is there, attaching himself to Ilya’s side and kissing his jaw. “Tough. I want to watch again.”
“I did not invite you,” Ilya says matter-of-factly, hating himself for caving so easily and relaxing under the weight of Shane’s head on his shoulder.
“Yes, you did.”
“I do not think so.”
Ilya is absolutely not expecting the pillow that smacks him in the chest, or the slightly shy, but more so challenging smile that Shane sports.
“Oh? You play dirty when you know you are losing the argument?"
Shane laughs, already holding his hands up in defense as Ilya’s fingers curl around the edge of the pillow. “I’m not losing anything.”
Ilya fake gasps and flings himself at Shane. The pillow gets one good hit before they’re rolling to the floor, a chorus of grunts and laughs falling from their lips. “You lie to me again!”
Shane squirms underneath Ilya, his cheeks red and his eyes glossy and happy. “Ilya,” he protests, but Ilya grabs his wrists and pins them above his head.
“Shane.”
“Stop it,” he exhales, somehow breathless from their little tussle. Ilya expects it has more to do with the hardness he feels pressing against his inner thigh.
“You started it. Apologize.”
“What?”
“Say you will never watch another show without your boyfriend ever again.”
Shane rolls his eyes. Then, dutifully, he says, “I will never watch another show without my boyfriend ever again.”
“And that it was so, so boring to do it alone.”
“It was,” Shane tells him. It’s not the exact wording, but Ilya lets it slide. “I wanted to watch it to feel close to you.”
It’s sweet, but it’s a cover. “Liar. You could not wait. And you say you don’t care."
“I don’t,” he fibs.
Ilya sighs dramatically, rolling off to the side. “I’m in love with a liar. Is terrible day for me.” He splays the back of his hand against his forehead.
“Yeah, so awful.” Shane snuggles against Ilya’s chest, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Put on the show.”
May 2018
The light is on in the living room when Shane steps into his apartment.
He’s been gone for almost two days, clinching a game six win to move onto the next round of playoffs. He could’ve sworn he had the place completely locked down before he left for Pittsburg, but maybe his parents came over in case they were back here tomorrow for game seven?
He carefully abandons his luggage in the entryway and takes a few slow steps forward. “Mom?” he calls out.
Instead of Yuna’s voice, he hears heavy footsteps bounding down the stairs. Not Yuna, then. He has no idea who else it could be and it causes his heart rate to tick up. There’s nothing close by for him to grab as a weapon, and even if there was, he doesn’t have time to find anything before a figure appears at the bottom of the stairs.
Except it’s not an intruder.
“Ilya? What are you doing here?” he gasps.
Ilya gives him a smirk. He looks so… homey, with his sweatpants and old Adidas shirt. His bare feet shift on the floors and he shrugs. “We lost.”
Shane knows that Boston played at home this afternoon, a game they needed to win to stay alive in the series. Shane didn’t really have time to text him about it before he was playing his own game, and then getting back on a flight to Montreal. He was going to call him tonight, but he supposes he doesn’t have to now. “I– I know. I’m sorry.”
Ilya shrugs again. “Means I have no reason to be in Boston tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day, really.”
“I have to—”
Ilya holds up a hand, waving him off. “I know, I know. You fly out on Tuesday. But you can be mine until then.”
“Yeah, I—” Shane exhales. Ilya is here. This distance suddenly feels unsurvivable and he quickly makes his way to where Ilya stands at the bottom of the stairs, burrowing into him. “Yeah. Yes, Ilya. Hi. Oh my god, you’re here.”
“Yes.”
Ilya cups his face, capturing Shane’s mouth in a deep kiss that he eagerly returns. Their noses brush and their hands scramble for any available skin they can find and Shane wishes somehow, some way, that he could come home to this every day for the rest of his life.
He holds Ilya’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry you lost, but I’m so glad you’re here.”
Neither of them mention what the loss really means. They’re not naive. They both know Ottawa is nowhere close to being a cup contender. This was Ilya’s last real shot at a second cup for a long time. And now he’s knocked out of the running while Shane is still in it. He’ll likely still be in the running next year, living his same life while Ilya tries to rebuild a team again. He did it once before though, Shane reminds himself. Ilya’s a great captain—he assumes, never having witnessed it first hand—and Shane thinks it won’t be long until their teams are competing at the same level again.
While Shane is having a spiral, Ilya's mind has evidently drifted elsewhere. As have his hands. He palms at Shane’s ass, pulling him closer and letting their pelvises start a slow grind together. “You’re not one of those superstitious ‘no sex during playoffs’ players, are you?”
Shane isn’t big on superstitions. He likes a routine, yes, but he doesn’t think not washing his socks will make a difference. But he’s never been around Ilya during playoffs and he’s definitely never bothered to find someone during this time of the season. He supposes inadvertently, he has partaken in this one. “Never had a reason not to be before.”
Ilya smirks at him. He kisses his mouth before trailing across his cheek to his ear. “And now?”
Shane melts into his boyfriend’s touch. “If you think I’m spending three days with you without getting my hands on you, you’re wrong.”
July 2018
Shane doesn't have to pick Ilya up from the airport this time. He drives—first from Boston to Ottawa and then Ottawa to the cottage.
It feels weird to be in Ottawa alone, looking at a few listings that are going to be both his and Shane’s home in every way except on paper. They haven’t even announced charity yet, however. There’d be no way to explain why Shane Hollander is house hunting with him, especially since Ilya’s trade hasn’t been finalized yet.
He’s not like his boyfriend. He doesn’t have a million and one questions about the architecture and when the water heated was last replaced. He figures if it craps out, he’ll buy a new one, an incredible luxury to have. Which is why it doesn’t take long for him to get through the tours and back on the road to where he really wants to be. With Shane.
The cottage looks the same as it did when he left last year. It feels wrong to have spent a whole year away from the place that made them them, Ilya thinks. With him being in Ottawa this year, maybe they’ll make their way out to the remote property more. He would love to see it in the winter, with frosted windows and Shane in front of the fireplace.
Now, though, he meets Ilya on the driveway in his linen shorts and sandals, looking more relaxed than Ilya has seen him in a long time.
“Welcome home,” he calls out as Ilya steps out of his car.
Ilya hums, wrapping his arms around Shane’s waist and breathing him in deeply. He smells like coconut sunscreen, and Ilya can picture him out in the yard this morning. He wants to lick it off of him.
Before he can let his fantasies get too far, Shane asks, “How were the houses?”
Of course Mr. Real Estate wants to talk property. Ilya has other plans. “Good. Nice.” He seals their mouths together in a deep kiss. “Inside.”
Shane lets himself be led into the cottage, but he’s not trying to rip off Ilya’s clothes like he had hoped.
“Nice?” He asks with a laugh as Ilya drops his bags just inside the door. “It’s a house, not a new toothbrush.”
Ilya raises a brow. Shane is just so easy to tease sometimes. “You describe your toothbrush as nice?”
“Ilya, tell me about the houses,” Shane insists, grabbing his hands and jostling him like a little kid. Ilya doesn’t really know what to say, though. They were houses. They had good security, privacy, and a shower big enough for two. That’s all he really needs.
“You saw pictures. They look the same in person. I will probably put an offer in on one.”
“You should do that now.”
Ilya’s about to laugh before he realizes Shane is being serious. “Uh, no. I haven't seen you in weeks. I am not doing that now.”
He tries to kiss Shane again, but Shane’s hand lands on his chest, keeping him from doing so. Ilya absolutely does not pout. “What if someone else puts in an offer first?”
“Then I find a new house,” he says simply. “It’s not my dream home, just a place to live.”
Something flashes across Shane’s face, like Ilya has disappointed him. It hits Ilya right in his chest, turning him into a six year old boy who doesn’t know what he did wrong. That doesn’t happen much these days. Ilya thinks he’s a good boyfriend, but he’s also never been a boyfriend before. He knows he still has days where he could do better.
“Right.” Shane nods, and finally, he lets Ilya kiss him. Ilya’s hands roam all the places on Shane’s body he’s been daydreaming about touching since they last met at the awards in June. He cups the back of Shane’s hair, tugging at the slightly longer strands there before making his way to the muscular plains of Shane’s back. As he walks them backwards towards the living room, Shane mumbles, “But you want to live there, right?”
Ilya frowns as if a bucket of ice water got dumped over him. “What? Of course.”
Shane’s not meeting his eyes. He’s biting his lip and looking out at the backyard. When he finally does make eye contact, there’s uncertainty there.
“Okay. It’s just that I thought you’d care a little more about making sure you have a place to live in Ottawa. You know, so you can move there.”
Ilya tilts his head. “I don’t think all of Ottawa real estate will be snatched up if I take an hour to fuck you first.”
“Okay, but what if all that’s left is something you don’t—”
“I do not care about the house,” Ilya says firmly. He’s not Shane. A house is a house. It does not matter to him. Being here with Shane right now is what matters to him, and it’s what he wants to get back to.
Shane, of course, reads into that. His face falls and Ilya feels like a piece of shit. “Oh.”
In a driftless region between the kitchen and the living room, Ilya cups Shane’s cheeks and forces their gazes to meet. “This is our house, yes? I need the house in Ottawa, I know, but this is our home, da?”
Shane softens. “Yeah, this is home,” he murmurs. “For the record, I like the first one you sent me the best.”
“Yes, me too."
They meet in a hug, somehow apologizing and reuniting all at once.
“You should put an offer in,” Shane whispers, and licks under his ear.
Ilya groans and tips his head back. “Hollander, you are killing me.”
Shane chuckles and buries his face into the spot where Ilya’s shoulder meets his neck. “I know it won’t be the place that’s most important, but we’ll still spend a lot of time there. I want us to love it.”
Ilya’s heart stammers. I want to live there with you. All the time. Don’t ever leave. I want you in my house and in my bed every night. On my team. I want a home with you that’s not miles from civilization. It’s too much to say out loud.
“I love you,” he says instead.
“Call your guy,” Shane tells him before he backs away. A smirk grows on his face as he starts to shimmy his shorts down. “I’ll get started.”
Cruel. His boyfriend is a cruel, cruel man. “What— Shane!”
“Better hurry up!” Shane sing-songs before he disappears into the bedroom.
Despite the torture he’s enduring, Ilya pulls his phone out of his pocket with a wide smile. It’s good to be home.