Chapter Text
Shane Hollander had fucked up. Not in one of the tiny ways he fucked up every day, but really, truly, spectacularly fucked up.
First, he'd been offered...something by Ilya Rozanov. Something in the form of a warm nap and cold ginger ale and a hot tuna melt and his first name on Rozanov's lips. Something Shane hadn't even realized he wanted, and something he wished he didn't.
So he'd fled. Literally ran out the door, after awkwardly changing back into the clothes he'd discarded in the bedroom. Left Rozanov sitting on the couch, a look on his face that made Shane feel like he'd kicked a dog.
Then, Rose had appeared.
Rose hadn't been on purpose. If they hadn't met, maybe he'd have reached out to Rozanov, offered an olive branch, and things could go back to normal. Their normal, at least.
But Rose was nice. She was easy to talk to. She was pretty, in the way Shane knew was supposed to matter to him. She liked him.
She liked him enough that she not only let him down very gently but also helped him finally come to terms with the two huge truths about himself he'd been trying to bury: He was gay, and he was fucking in love with Ilya Rozanov.
It was a nightmare.
So Shane made a plan. He'd see Rozanov—no, Ilya—in Tampa for the All-Star Game. He'd apologize, tell him how he felt, beg for forgiveness, and they'd figure out things from there. Shane thought it was a pretty good plan.
At least it might have been, were it not for Tatyana.
Tatyana came out of nowhere, or it seemed that way to Shane. There were always paparazzi photos of Ilya with women. Maybe not as many as in years past, but the gossip sites still liked to tie him to whatever woman he happened to be seen with.
Shane saw Tatyana, a tall, dark-haired woman, on one of these sites, and other than the small twist of jealousy he felt whenever he saw Ilya getting cozy with someone who wasn't him, he thought nothing of it.
Then he got to Tampa and everything went to hell.
Because when Shane went down to the hotel bar for the players' mixer, where he knew Ilya would be, Tatyana was there too, hanging on Ilya's arm, laughing at Ilya's jokes, looking at Ilya like he belonged to her.
Shane stood near the entrance of the bar, unable to move, staring at Ilya, who looked...Shane wasn't sure. Ilya was smiling, but it wasn't the smile Shane knew. Or not the one only Shane knew.
He stared for too long, because piercing, bright blue eyes suddenly met his. Ilya frowned, and Shane looked away.
He spent a torturous hour gladhanding his teammates for the weekend and avoiding Ilya, until he no longer could.
"Hollander," Ilya said, sliding up next to him at the bar.
Shane glanced over at him and fought the urge to fix the collar of the ridiculous red Hawaiian shirt he was wearing.
"Rozanov."
"Where's your movie star girlfriend?"
Shane huffed out a breath and looked at Ilya. "There's no movie star girlfriend. We broke up."
Ilya's eyes widened.
"She's great, but—" Shane swallowed hard. "We're just not compatible, I guess?"
The look on Ilya's face was completely indecipherable.
"What about you? Where's your—" Shane broke off, unable to bring the word "girlfriend" to his lips.
Ilya began to say something, but was interrupted by the girlfriend in question.
"Hey, baby," she said sweetly, sliding in front of Ilya with her back to Shane.
Ilya's eyes darted to Shane. "Ah, hi. Tatyana, this is—"
"I want to go swimming," she said, and Shane couldn't see her face, but heard the pout in her voice.
Her Russian-accented voice.
Shane felt sick.
"Later, Rozanov," he muttered, sliding off the stool and heading for the door.
***
Shane couldn't stop thinking about Tatyana. Was she someone Ilya knew from Russia, or someone he met recently who just happened to be Russian? Maybe she was a friend of his friend Svetlana? The timing of it all made Shane not want to examine it too closely.
Google was no help. There were photos of Ilya with Tatyana here and there, but the accompanying captions offered no info. They didn't even include a last name.
Social media was no help, either. The only woman on Ilya's Instagram was who Shane assumed was Svetlana.
There went Shane's plan to torture himself by learning everything he could about the woman who had apparently replaced him.
That night, Shane decided to beg off from the evening celebrations and hide out in his room. He'd spent dinner studiously avoiding Ilya's gaze, but was pretty sure Tatyana had caught him fucking yearning at one point when he watched Ilya head toward the bathrooms.
So when a text from "Lily" came through just before eleven, Shane panicked, thinking Tatyana said something to Ilya. He half-expected the text to say something along the lines of "leave me the fuck alone forever, Hollander" text, but the message was just a mishmash of digits: a room number and a time.
Shane spent a good few minutes pacing and chewing his bottom lip, staring at the text as if it might disappear before his very eyes.
He shouldn't go. Why would he go? Ilya's fucking girlfriend was here. Ilya, who Shane couldn't remember ever bringing a woman to an MHL event, had brought a woman to an MHL event, so it had to be serious.
Shane let his eyes shift from the text to the tiny clock in the corner of his phone screen.
He had 23 minutes to actually calm down and get to Ilya's room.
***
In the elevator, Shane glanced at his phone again, triple-checking he had the right room number. A new text had come through: "Door's open."
The hallway leading to Ilya's room was mercifully empty, and the swing bar lock had been set to prop open the door.
Shane let out a shaky breath and pushed the door forward just enough to slide inside. He took a few steps into the room until he was a few feet from the bed.
"Ilya?"
But a woman's voice responded instead. Shane's heart plummeted.
"I fucking knew it."
Tatyana stood across the room from him, near the window, looking a sick mix of disgusted and victorious.
"I knew something was going on with you two," she said, staring coolly at Shane. "I've seen how you've been looking at him today. All moon-eyed, like you're in love with him."
Shane was frozen to the spot. He needed to turn and leave, be anywhere but there, but he couldn't make himself move.
"For someone with so much to hide, he doesn't protect his privacy very well," Tatyana continued icily, gesturing toward what Shane recognized to be Ilya's phone on one of the nightstands.
Shane's cheeks were hot, but not with embarrassment. He was pissed. Who the fuck did she think she was? Even if Ilya didn't have a passcode on his phone, which Shane knew for a fact he did, because he'd pointedly watched Ilya set it, she had no right looking at their messages.
Shane was so angry he couldn't even attempt to form a denial or explanation.
"You're pathetic," she said suddenly, crossing the room to get in his face. "Pining after him, when you were never more than a fucking hole. Something easy to play with when he was bored. I promise you, he doesn't give a shit about you."
As Shane stared at Tatyana, his fury gave way to something else. The only time he'd been close enough to her to notice, her back had been to him. But now, barely a foot between them, he realized they had something in common.
Freckles. Tatyana had fucking freckles scattered across her face, just like Shane's.
Well, not just like Shane's. The placement was more or less the same, but hers were lighter, despite her presumed afternoon out by the pool.
Ilya's rebound was a tall brunette with freckles.
A strangled laugh escaped Shane's lips.
"What the fuck is so funny?" Tatyana snapped, eyes narrowed.
Nothing. Nothing was so funny. Shane's world was crumbling down around him. Nothing made fucking sense, except—
"What's so funny," Shane hissed through gritted teeth, "Is that you think you know shit about him. Or me. And I promise you—you'll never make him feel the way I did. You can't love him like I do, because no one fucking does. You could fuck him every night, you could marry him, you could even have his fucking children, and he'd still be thinking about me when he was inside you."
Her eyes narrowed, and she looked so furious Shane thought she might slap him. Whatever her next move was, though, was interrupted by the sound of a door clicking into place.
Shane froze. He'd never actually closed the door behind him. Now, Tatyana looked at something over his shoulder.
"Hollander."
When Shane was finally able to force himself to turn around, he saw Ilya standing in front of the door, a stony, inscrutable look on his face.
The silence stretched as he stared between Shane and Tatyana.
"Get out," Ilya finally said.
Shane and Tatyana's eyes met again, and his stomach twisted at the triumphant look on her face.
I was wrong, he thought dully.
He crossed the room, every step feeling like lead, and made to leave, but Ilya caught his arm. Shane kept his eyes on the floor, wondering if Ilya would tell him off for speaking to his girlfriend that way. Tell him everything she said was right. Tell him he never wanted to see him again.
"Not you," Ilya said sharply. Shane lifted his gaze until their eyes met. He couldn't quite read the look on Ilya's face, but it wasn't anger, or disgust. Whatever it was turned the feeling in Shane's gut to hope.
"Ilya," Tatyana said suddenly, a strained caution in her voice. "Ilya, did you hear what he said to me?"
"Yes," Ilya said. He turned his face toward her, but kept his eyes on Shane. "And I heard what you said to him. Now get out."
She just stood there for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a trout.
"Why—"
"Потому что он, блять, правBecause he's fucking right!" Ilya snarled, finally looking at her. "А теперь съёбывай отсюдаNow get the fuck out."
She flinched as if she'd been hit, then brushed past them and toward the door.
"Tatyana."
She turned back toward Ilya, a hopeful gleam in her eye.
"Ты будешь держать рот на замке, если знаешь, что для тебя лучшеYou'll keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you. ," he said, voice low and dangerous.
Tatyana let out an angry huff and whipped open the door, muttering under her breath in Russian as she stalked away.
Ilya watched her for a moment, then moved toward the door. For one terrifying second, Shane thought he was going after her.
But Ilya just pulled the door shut, twisting the lock, and turned back to Shane.
Neither of them said anything at first, just stared at each other, until Shane couldn't take it any longer and looked away.
"Ilya," he said, fidgeting slightly. "Why—"
"Because you were right," Ilya said quietly. He moved toward Shane until only a few inches of air remained between them, and gripped Shane's jaw, gently tilting it until their eyes met again. "Every time I fuck her, I think of you. But it never feels the same. It never feels right."
A combination of relief and victory and warmth and want bloomed in Shane's chest.
Ilya leaned forward, his lips brushing Shane's cheek, and asked, "And you? Every time you fucked your movie star girlfriend, you thought of me, yes?"
"Yes," Shane breathed out, already feeling the familiar daze that came with Ilya's touch. "It was just a couple of times, but it didn't—it never helped."
If Ilya guessed that Shane meant both times had been a fucking disaster, he didn't let on.
"And what about the other thing, hmm?" Ilya asked instead. "What was it you said? You cannot love him like me, because no one fucking does?"
There it was. That had not been how he wanted to tell Ilya. He hadn't even been sure he could bring himself to do it, at least not this weekend.
And yet.
"No," Shane finally said in a cracked voice. He was about seven seconds from bursting into tears, but he made himself lean back to look Ilya in the eye. "No one. I—fuck, Ilya, I love you so much. Sometimes it scares me how in love with you I am. I know—"
Ilya swallowed Shane's words in a kiss. Not the hard, rushed sort they usually shared when too much time had passed. It was soft and gentle and sent Shane three years into the past, when he sat in a stairwell, starry-eyed as he clutched Ilya's coat.
Ilya pulled away from him as he had that night, but this time, there were tears in his eyes.
"Я тоже тебя люблюI love you too," he murmured, letting his forehead fall against Shane's. "I love you too. It's fucking terrifying."
Shane laughed around a sob. "It really is."
They stood there for a few moments, tangled up and sniffling into each other's shoulders.
"Fuck," Shane sighed. "What're we gonna do?"
"Fuck?" Ilya replied, pressing himself closer to Shane, who gave him a Really? look. "What! Will clear our heads. We cannot plan future together when you are desperate for my cock."
"Then I guess we'll never be able to," Shane shot back, so pleased by how delighted Ilya looked that it took a second to register what Ilya had actually said. "Wait, future together? You want that?"
"I mean, I think so," Ilya said, trying and failing to sound casual. Then he sighed, resigned. "Probably. Yes."
Shane couldn't stop the smile that cracked his face open if he wanted to. "Me too. So bad."
Ilya's eyes darkened. He crowded Shane, forcing him to walk backwards until he fell backward onto the bed.
"Good," Ilya murmured, bracketing Shane's thighs with his knees and leaning down to ghost his lips over Shane's throat. "Will start with immediate future. First, I plan to make you beg to be—"
"Jesus, you're a fucking tease," Shane whined. "Can you just—?"
"Wow, took less time than I thought," Ilya said with a grin, and began peeling off Shane's clothes.
***
Later, after they'd cleaned up the mess they'd made of themselves, Shane nuzzled into Ilya's side and pulled the blanket over them. They were quiet for a while, content to listen to each other's breathing. Shane couldn't keep his brain from rebooting forever, though.
"Will she—" Shane glanced at Ilya. "Do you think she'll tell anyone? About us?"
"Tatyana?" Ilya hummed. "No. She has no proof, and anyway if she tries blackmail, I have mud on her."
Shane stared at him. "Mud?"
"Yes, I know things about her she would not want others to know."
"Oh," Shane said, realizing what Ilya meant. "You have dirt on her."
"Yes," Ilya said. "She is...not such a great person." He scoffed. "I didn't even invite her here this weekend, she just showed up."
Judging from the amused look on Ilya's face, Shane was sure he hadn't managed to keep the look of horror off his own.
"Why—" Shane began to ask Ilya why he'd gotten together with Tatyana, but he was pretty sure he knew the answer. The first photos she'd appeared in were taken not long after the first photos of Shane and Rose hit the internet.
"How did you meet her?" Shane asked instead.
"At a club," Ilya said, averting his eyes. "It was, ah, same night I saw you with Rose Landry. After you left with her."
Shane felt a pang in his chest, his suspicion confirmed. He sat up and looked at Ilya.
"I'm sorry," he said, running his finger's through Ilya's curls. "For all of it, for running away, for Rose—well, for dating Rose. I'm glad I met her, because it probably would've taken me even longer to accept how much I wanted to be with you."
"Is okay," Ilya said, pulling Shane's hand from his hair and pressing a kiss to his palm. "I will send her fruit basket."
Shane snorted, remembering all of Rose's gay boyfriends and thinking about the message a literal basket of fruit might send. He shoved at Ilya's shoulder. "I'm trying to be serious over here. I don't—I don't want you to think I don't care that I hurt you. I just got scared."
The tenderness in Ilya's eyes was enough to make Shane's well up.
"I know," Ilya said. He sighed. "I think maybe I tried too hard, that day at my house? I wanted—" He drew his hand over his face. "What is it in video game, when you try to get through levels very quickly?"
Shane frowned, then let out a huff. "Speedrun??"
"Yes," Ilya said, looking a little nervous now. "It felt like we'd been doing—" He gestured vaguely. "—this is for too long for how, ah, not serious it was?"
Shane knew what Ilya meant. They'd been together, to some extent, for nearly a decade. Yes, it had mostly been casual, and they had their on-and-off periods, but it was safe to say they were each other's longest running romantic relationship. And yet, that day at Ilya's house, just a few months ago now, had been the first time they'd even slept next to each other or shared a meal together.
Shane's eyes stung. No matter what, these too-short moments with Ilya, spread out over years, would never feel like a waste, but it was hard not to feel like they hadn't wasted time by not being honest with each other.
Ilya brushed at the tears now quietly sliding down Shane's cheeks.
"Is okay," he said, pulling Shane in for a kiss. "We have time now, yes? Maybe won't be easy—"
Shane snorted again, and Ilya gently pinched his arm.
"—Okay, it definitely won't be easy," Ilya continued. He swallowed, something like uncertainty etched over his features. "But...you still want?"
The meaning of the question was clear: If this is too much, if it's too hard, if I'm not worth it, if you don't want me enough, you can still back out. It doesn't have to be this difficult, you can still change your mind.
The way Ilya had done so many times to Shane, Shane lifted Ilya's chin up until their eyes met.
"I still want."