Chapter Text
Ilya landed in a freezing Montreal. Five hours had passed since he made the decision that he had to talk to Shane, and he had quickly booked a ticket on the next available flight. The only thing he did before booking was double-check that Shane was actually in the city and that the Metros didn't have an away game that evening. He hadn't even eaten anything, and throughout the entire flight, his adrenaline had been skyrocketing. The thought of facing Shane and potentially being rejected terrified him. The only thing that scared him more was becoming like his father and living his whole life in a lie.
He walked out of the airport and got into a taxi. He gave the driver the address to Shane’s apartment, hoping he wouldn't be recognized. His knee bounced up and down while he drummed against it with his index and middle fingers. He had tried to come up with what to say to Shane, but every word that came to mind fell flat. He knew he had to confess what he was feeling, but he didn't know exactly how much he would dare to share. When the taxi pulled up outside the back door of Shane’s apartment building, he paid the driver and stepped out. It was really late and bitterly cold outside, and the wind had started to pick up. He walked toward the door, and it suddenly hit him that Shane might not even be home. Could he wait for him? How long could he stand out here before freezing to death? He pulled his phone from his pocket, struggling to get one of his gloves off.
Ilya: I’m in Montreal. Need to talk to you.
Ilya: I’m downstairs. Backdoor. Please Open.
It didn’t take long before he got a text back.
Jane: Are you fucking insane?
Ilya: Probably. Open please. Is cold.
Jane: I'm not home. The game just ended. I’ll be home in 10 minutes.
Ilya: Ok.
Ilya slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket and moved further into the corner, hoping the wind wouldn't hit him as hard there. He leaned against the wall. Even though Ilya was used to the cold, having grown up in Russia, this cold felt different. It seeped right under his skin, making him feel raw. He stood waiting for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly, a sound echoed from inside, and the door swung open. Ilya pushed off the wall. Shane looked out and locked eyes with him.
“Get in!” Shane snapped, and Ilya stepped into the stairwell. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Told you. I need to talk.” Shane’s eyes were dark, glaring, and intense. Ilya scanned his face, his chest tightening at the sight of Shane's freckles. His cheeks weren't flushed from the cold, so Ilya guessed he had parked in the building's garage before coming to open the door. His hair was still a little damp from the Post-game shower, and even from a distance, Ilya could catch the scent of Shane's soap. Fuck. Ilya cursed internally. Shane was absolutely breathtaking. Ilya didn't know how much longer he could keep himself from breaking apart.
"Can we talk in your apartment?" Ilya asked.
"Fine." Shane exhaled, turning to head up the long flight of stairs, and Ilya followed close behind.
Once inside the apartment, Ilya shut the door behind him and looked straight at Shane.
"What the fuck do you want, Rozanov?" Ilya flinched at the sound of his last name. He didn't want to be Rozanov anymore. Not with Shane.
"I'm sorry for just showing up here. But I need to talk to you."
"Yeah, you said that. Talk."
"I need to tell you something." Ilya shifted uncomfortably where he stood in the hallway. "Can I come in? Is okay?" he asked, gesturing toward the living room.
"Fine. Take off your shoes."
"I know," Ilya said with a faint smile, sliding his shoes off before approaching Shane. "Can we sit on couch?"
In response, Shane walked over to the couch and sat down at one far end. He pointed to the opposite side, making it clear he wanted Ilya to stay there. To keep his distance. As Ilya sat down on Shane’s couch, it was impossible not to be reminded of everything they had done together in this exact spot. He suspected that was precisely why Shane wanted him to keep his distance. Ilya had kissed him here. Touched him, sucked him off. Bent him over the armrest and... No. Focus, Ilya.
Ilya blinked and cleared his throat. "I have to tell you something. It is a long story."
"Okay..." Shane said, sounding hesitant.
"I'm sorry to dump this on you. But I need you to understand. Forgive me if I say things wrong. English is hard right now." Ilya looked away from Shane and closed his eyes. "My mother died when I was twelve. She didn't want to live anymore. I found her. She swallowed a whole bottle of pills. I lost my beloved mama, and I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone about it. My father is a mean man. He was not kind to her. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone how she died. She died 'by accident'."
Ilya dared to open his eyes again and looked at Shane. Shane's eyes were wide, filled with a deep sorrow. His mouth was slightly open, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what. Ilya kept going.
"My brother hates me. He has never said it straight out, but he thinks mamas death is my fault. He suspects that I am queer, and he is a cop."
"Oh" Shane said quietly
"He hates me for who I am and thinks I am only useful for money. I always thought my father hated me. He is an angry man. Also a cop. I was only good enough when I had success he could brag about." Ilya paused for a moment, looking down at his hands. He reached into his pocket with his right hand and pulled out the letter. "I thought he hated me. Until I got this letter."
He explained what the letter said since it was written in Cyrillic. He watched as Shane’s eyes anchored onto the paper, his breathing growing strained as Ilya translated the words into English. Shane closed his eyes when Ilya reached the end of the letter, keeping them shut as Ilya continued to speak.
"My father loved a man, but his pride and his fear wouldn't let him fight for Ivan. It made him bitter and unhappy. I do not want to be like him. He let me grow up in a cold home without affection. If I think about it, he abandoned me long before my mother died. My father, my brother, my mother. They all left me in their own way." Ilya’s eyes burned, and he fought with everything he had to press back the tears threatening to spill.
"All of them left me, and I know why. But I don't understand why you left me. Please tell me what I did wrong. Because I can't stop thinking about what I did wrong. Why did you start seeing me the way my father and brother do?" Ilya’s voice trembled and cracked.
Shane’s eyes snapped open, and he surged up from his end of the couch, quickly moving to sit right next to Ilya. He pressed a hand to Ilya’s forearm.
"I don't look at you the way they do. You have to believe me. That's not why I left your house that night in October. And it's not why I started dating Rose or why I didn't text you." Ilya gave a weak nod.
"Then why? I'm sorry to ask. But I cannot be coward like my father. I need to know. Please."
"First of all... I need you to understand that what happened to your mother was not your fault. Not at all. You were just a kid. Second; thank you for telling me about your family. I know how hard that must have been. But I'm grateful that you trusted me with this, because I feel like I understand you better now." Shane took a breath. "I left because I panicked. You said my name, and it made me realize that everything between us was more than just sex for me. And I didn't think you felt it too.. How much things had shifted between us."
"I did," Ilya said softly. Shane’s hand was still resting on his forearm, and Ilya’s entire body burned from the contact. He knew he would have to pull away before he did something stupid, like throwing himself into Shane's arms.
"And I think I realize now, after everything you just told me, that maybe it was more than sex for you too?" Shane began to slide his hand down toward Ilya’s clasped hands. When he took one of Ilyas hands into his, Ilya couldn't help but look at him. Shane was holding his hand. Ilya had just laid bare his ugliest family secret, and Shane hadn't responded by pushing him away. He was holding his hand. Staying. Telling him everything was more than sex to him.
"Is more than sex for you?"
"Yes. So much more" Shane said quickly. Firmly.
Ilya interlaced his fingers with Shane's, looking him dead in the eye.
"Are you sure?" Ilya asked.
"Yes," Shane said again, this time looking Ilya right in the eyes to underscore the weight behind the word.
Ilya’s hands flew to Shane’s face, and he crashed his mouth into his. They kissed hard and desperately. Ilya felt Shane’s hands pulling at his curls. Ilya deepened the kiss, tasting Shane’s tongue. He felt a wave of pure euphoria before reality suddenly jarred him.
"Rose?" Ilya asked against his lips.
"Oh." Shane breathed heavily. "We broke up five days ago. Not compatible." Shane smiled and kissed Ilya again.
"Compatible?"
"Yeah, we don't fit together like that."
"Ahhh," Ilya said, his trademark crooked smirk returning.
"Fuck off!" Shane laughed, giving him a playful swat on the shoulder. "She actually helped me accept that I'm gay."
"You sucking my cock was not a clue?"
"Fuck you, you're not gay," Shane laughed, shaking his head.
"No, not completely," Ilya smiled.
Suddenly, Shane looked into Ilya’s eyes with an intensity that stole his breath away. Ilya felt Shane's hand slide to the back of his neck, stroking gently.
"Well, I know I am. Completely," Shane whispered.
Ilya’s mouth met Shane’s again, and they kissed slower this time. It felt as though the words they had just exchanged held far more meaning than what was actually said. It was as if they both knew they wanted more time together. Suddenly, Ilya’s phone rang. He tore himself away from Shane’s lips and glanced at the screen, hitting 'decline' in the exact same second. He absolutely did not want to talk to his brother right now. He threw the phone onto the floor, lunged back toward Shane, and kissed him again.
Shane lay back on the couch, pulling Ilya down on top of him. Ilya kissed Shane’s neck and his Adam's apple. His hands trailed over his body, wanting to memorize every muscle, every dip and curve. Ilya began to kiss his way down Shane’s stomach until he reached his slacks. He pulled them down along with his boxers over his hips, and his perfect cock popped out. Shane was already rock-hard, leaking precum. Ilya licked down the length of his shaft and kissed the head before taking Shane into his mouth. Shane groaned loudly, his hands finding purchase in Ilya’s hair.
"Fuck! Oh my god."
Ilya hummed, and the vibration made Shane groan even louder. Ilya increased the suction, picking up the pace. With Shane’s hands gripping tight into his curls, Shane came right in Ilya’s mouth, crying out as his head rolled back. Ilya swallowed around him and licked him clean. Shane abruptly sat up, pushing Ilya back onto the couch and pulling down his pants. He quickly wrapped his mouth around Ilya’s painfully hard dick. Watching and feeling Shane come in his mouth had been nearly enough to make Ilya ruin his underwear right then and there. He was grateful he’d managed to hold back so he could experience the sensation of Shane’s tongue swirling around his shaft. Ilya closed his eyes, feeling Shane take him deep and hard, so incredibly eager to be good for him.
"Da, like that," Ilya rasped, opening his eyes to watch Shane suck him off.
But seeing Shane's freckled face bobbing up and down over his cock made him lose all composure. He reached up and gripped Shane's hair.
"Can I fuck your mouth?" he breathed heavily.
Shane nodded.
"I need words, Hollander!" he groaned through clenched teeth.
Shane let go of Ilya’s cock just long enough to gasp, "Yes!" before taking him back in.
"Tap my leg if you need to stop."
Shane pulled back slightly, looking him in the eyes. "Yes. I promise."
He leaned back down over Ilya’s flushed, hard cock and opened wide. Ilya held onto Shane’s dark hair and began to thrust into his mouth. Shane took him so incredibly well; it felt amazing. So fucking good. Hollander gagged slightly, saliva and precum slipping from the corners of his mouth. Ilya fucked Shane’s mouth while staring at his freckles. Shane was perfect. So willing. So beautiful. He trusted Ilya enough to completely surrender to him. The sight of Shane, his freckles, and his sheer eagerness to do this for Ilya sent a burning wave of heat straight to his core.
"Fuck, I'm coming!" Ilya roared in warning, releasing his grip on Shane's hair so Shane would have time to pull away.
But instead of letting him pull back, Shane picked up the pace, sucking hard. Ilya came in an absolute explosion down Shane’s throat. The world around him went black, and all he was aware of was the best orgasm of his life. As he started coming back to reality, he could hear Shane humming as he sucked him completely clean.
"Holy fuck, Hollander," Ilya panted.
Shane crawled up, lying flat on top of Ilya and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Both of them still had their shirts on, with their pants bunched down around their ankles. Ilya stroked Shane’s back, his hand wandering down to squeeze one of his butt cheeks. Shane giggled against his skin.
"Was that a giggle, Hollander?" Ilya asked.
Shane lifted his head and looked at him. "Say my name again."
"Hollander," Ilya said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips.
"No, I mean..." Shane locked his eyes with him and Ilya could feel in his core what Shane meant.
"Shane," Ilya whispered.
Shane placed a hand on his cheek, looking deep into his eyes.
"Ilya," Shane replied.
In that exact moment, they both knew exactly what the other meant. Shane leaned down and kissed Ilya hard and deep. Suddenly, Ilya’s phone began to ring again, vibrating against the floor where he had tossed it.
"Leave me alone," Ilya called out to the empty room, and Shane smiled at him affectionately.
The phone stopped ringing, and they went back to kissing. Slower this time, Shane's hands wandering over Ilya’s body, leaving a trail of warmth. It felt as though he wanted Ilya to feel that he was everywhere, that he wasn't going to leave again. They parted slightly, and Shane once again rested his face in the space between Ilya’s neck and shoulder. Ilya knew that everything they had said to each other carried a much heavier weight underneath, and that Shane wanted him just as badly as Ilya wanted Shane. Ilya was still terrified of the consequences. The league, Russia, his brother—and despite the letter, his father; could all cause an immense amount of damage if he and Shane got found out. He didn't know how they were going to solve this impossible situation. But he finally knew that he wanted to. He wanted to do what his father hadn't dared to do. Even though he was still afraid of his father's reaction, the letter had given him the push he needed to talk to Shane.
The phone started vibrating on the floor once more. Ilya sighed.
"I’m going to put it on silent. I’ll be right back."
He slipped out from under Shane’s embrace and picked up the phone. Just as he did, a text rolled onto the screen.
Alexei: Call me. NOW ILYA!
An icy dread flooded Ilya’s stomach. Alexei had called three times in the span of just a few minutes. And he was desperate to get ahold of him. Ilya’s head began to spin, and his peripheral vision started to blur. He could vaguely hear Shane trying to reach through the fog.
"Ilya, what's wrong?"
Shane’s voice sounded like it was miles away, and the room seemed to tilt as the phone began to ring yet again. He answered it, pressing the device to his ear.
"Alexei..."
"Father is dead."
Ilya’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.