Work Text:
April 2014
Shane downloaded Grindr with a promise (read: a lie) to himself that he was only going to look.
Unfortunately it turned out he would need to make his own profile even just to look. He spent an inordinately long time trying to decide what to put in it, which was silly, given that most of the questions were not rigorous: name, age, weight and height. He hesitated over the name for a few minutes before deciding it would be insane to use a fake one. Lots of guys were named Shane, probably. He just wouldn't use his last name. No one would immediately think he was Shane Hollander, captain of the Montreal Metros. And he would not add photos of his face. He would take some tasteful selfies with no identifying details in them (not like he had any tattoos or birthmarks or whatever but still). If he ended up talking to someone (a big if, considering he had sworn he was only downloading the app to glance at the options), he would make sure whoever it was knew absolutely nothing about hockey. He probably wouldn’t even message anyone. Probably.
He reminded himself that he couldn’t even start looking until he finished setting up this stupid profile. He was overthinking it maybe but knowing that didn’t help him move forward. He nearly texted Jackie, just to get some guidance, but he rejected that idea almost as it formed in his mind. He was barely ready to admit to himself that he was gay; he definitely wasn’t ready to tell his friends. This whole app thing was just an experiment, anyway, to see if he was totally gay or just gay for the hottest hockey player he had ever met. Not that he was going to get to keep experimenting with Rozanov. The guy had been very clear in Sochi: they weren’t anything to each other. Shane had to move on. The idea of dating a woman simply did not appeal, he was willing to admit that to himself at least. But maybe if he hooked up with another guy, it would erase the memory of Rozanov’s hands and mouth and–
Focus. Back to the profile.
It kept staring at him, empty of everything except his name, age, height, and weight. That information appeared to be all he knew for sure. At a loss for what else to write, he turned to the internet. He spent an embarrassingly long time browsing subreddits like r/gaybros and r/grindr, eagerly reading the advice and experiences of strangers to help him figure out the best way to go about this. Redditors advised caution about how much information should be shared online and what kinds of pictures were both discreet and appealing. Shane found he enjoyed reading about other people’s experiences more than he was interested in focusing on his own. It was deeply embarrassing but also shockingly helpful and in the end it helped him finish the stupid thing.
Lastly, he took a couple of photos, leaving his face out of them. He used the mirror in the hotel gym the team stayed at during their last roadie, sneaking out of his room late at night after Hayden had fallen asleep. He did not let his mind wander to draft night and the other hotel gym that had started all this shit. Instead, he focused on taking reasonably well-lit faceless selfies until he had a solid one for the app. Redditors had also been clear about the pitfalls of not showing any part of his face at all so he compromised with a photo from his smiling mouth down (he wore a shirt for that one). He had been told he had a nice mouth, by Rozanov, of course. It was embarrassing that any thoughts he had about his body immediately evoked the image of Rozanov. He tried to remember anyone else’s reaction to his body or face and could only conjure up a memory of Jessica, his high school girlfriend. She had said it once too, that he had a sexy mouth, though he had only managed to stare at her in awkward silence after she said it. She had kissed him then and he had mostly felt disappointed. That should have been a first clue, probably.
Anyway! Enough down memory lane. He uploaded the two pictures: a shirtless gym selfie and a clothed picture from his mouth to his waist. He hoped it would be enough.
Headline
Looking to meet discreetly. No sports fans please.
About
New to this, wanting to take it slow and be discreet. I have an intense work schedule with lots of travel but can make time for the right person. Likes include working out, yoga, and outdoor activities.
Social Media
None
Within the hour, he had to turn off the notifications.
At first, the flood of messages was a relief. There were men everywhere, it seemed, who wanted to hook up with him. Or at least talk dirty to him, which he found he liked very much. He immediately blocked the creeps who asked for more explicit photos and the ones who demanded they meet immediately for anonymous sex. No judgment, that just wasn’t his thing, he didn’t think. He didn’t know, actually. It was all kind of overwhelming. He tried to put it out of his mind altogether but that didn't work. After a few days, he adjusted to a new routine: he checked the app for messages while he had his smoothie in the morning, mostly deleting, blocking, or ignoring. Until he got a message from a guy named Jordan.
Hi, Shane!
I am definitely not into sports haha but love outdoor stuff. Are you a hiker?
The message was so normal, Shane almost didn’t know what to do. He stared in disbelief for several minutes before clicking on Jordan’s profile. He was cute: dark hair and light eyes, a nice combination. Decent body, solid and in shape if not ripped (not everyone was a professional athlete, Shane reminded himself. He did not need to meet another professional athlete).
Jordan
25 years old
5’ 11’’ 158 lbs
White
Fit (not athletic but active)
Single
Headline
Looking for a decent connection that could lead to something more.
About
I’m looking for someone interested in building a relationship (we can stay friends if it doesn’t work out). I’m an outdoors guy, into hiking and exploring the city. Let’s meet for coffee and see where it goes.
Social Media
The looking for a relationship thing made Shane hesitant at first but the rest of the profile seemed promising. He wouldn’t mind going on a hike with someone; that sounded pretty low stakes. He consulted Reddit again for tips about dating if you had never really done it before. He couldn’t imagine writing his own post but he found the search tool very useful. It turned out his situation was not wildly unique: a lot of guys his age were new to dating and had turned to the internet for advice. He wasn’t a freak, just inexperienced. Unlike Ilya, who Shane was sure had hooked up with half of Boston by now.
Enough. It was Jordan he would start thinking about, he decided, not Rozanov.
Hi Jordan. Should he add an exclamation point? Would that look desperate? Jordan had used one but maybe he was an exclamation point kind of person. Shane was probably not.
I do hike sometimes, when I’m in Montreal. My job is pretty busy this time of year. Did that sound like Shane was putting him off? No, he just wanted to set expectations. People liked that, he thought. Clarity was important. He had learned this the hard way.
What about you? Is your schedule flexible? There. Straightforward. To the point. Nothing like– nope. He wasn’t going to compare Jordan to anyone.
They exchanged a few messages that day until Jordan asked to switch to regular texting. No worries if not! But you seem like a nice guy and I hate talking on this app haha. I turned off notifications a long time ago.
Shane’s chest swelled with the feeling of being seen. Me too! It was awful. Without a second thought, he gave Jordan his phone number.
They texted over the next few days, until Jordan asked if he could call and ask Shane out on a proper date. Or hang out, whichever you’re more comfortable calling it :)
Shane smiled at his phone. This was so nice! Jordan was so normal and communicative and not at all confusing or demanding or sexy… Maybe he would be sexy in person, Shane assured himself. You can’t be sexy over text.
Though that was not exactly true, in his limited experience.
That’s sweet, he answered. I should tell you something though. It’s not bad exactly, it’s just that no one knows I like guys. It could affect my job if it got out. So I really have to be discreet.
Jordan’s reply was quick, which Shane took as a good sign. I get it. Would it be okay to meet up and see what happens? We can take things slowly and keep it between us for now if that helps you feel more comfortable :)
Relief flooded Shane’s body. This was easier than he thought it would be. Are you free tomorrow morning? I know it’s a weekday but you said you could start your day later sometimes?
For sure! :) A perk of working remotely. There’s a great hiking spot near me, let me send you the info.
And just like that, Shane was going to go on a perfectly normal first date. With a guy.
He was not going to panic about this at all.
***
Jordan was not really 5’ 11” but otherwise he looked like his photos. He was actually better looking in person, which was a relief. Shane had sent him a full picture of himself back once he had ascertained that Jordan did not follow hockey even casually. That way they would recognize each other when they met at the trail near Jordan’s house.
Shane had wondered how they would greet each other. They weren’t strangers exactly; they had been texting a lot and Shane felt like they knew at least the basics about each other. Jordan was a little more forthcoming, of course. Shane assured himself he would share more when they were together in person. It was just too weird to share a lot of details about himself over text. He had mostly tried to gauge if there was any chance Jordan would be able to figure out who he was before they met. The other guy had been true to his word, though, as far as Shane could tell. He didn’t even know when hockey season started. Shane would have thought that was like, illegal in Canada.
Jordan grinned when Shane walked up to him and easily pulled him into a quick hug, solving the greeting problem immediately. It was a weekday morning so the trail would probably be pretty empty, save an older couple who were milling about in the parking lot. Shane didn’t think he would be recognized but he kept a ball cap pulled low over his face just in case.
“Ready?” Jordan asked and Shane nodded. You have to speak, he told himself. What do people talk about on first dates? Luckily Jordan took over. “Have you ever been here?”
“Uh, no. I live closer to the Bell Centre.”
“Right on. This was a little bit of a drive for you, then.”
Shane shrugged. “It was fine.” He tried smiling naturally but feared it came out more like a grimace.
Jordan smiled back. “Don’t be stressed,” he said gently. “We’re just gonna hike. No pressure.”
Shane forced his shoulders away from his ears. “Right. Thanks.”
Despite the kind of awkward start, it wasn’t as difficult as Shane had thought it would be. It was just talking to someone while they walked the trail. No pressure, exactly as Jordan had said. Shane seldom had to engage in conversation that wasn’t about hockey but it was kind of refreshing to talk about other things, he found. Maybe he could tell Jordan more about himself at some point, when they knew each other a little better.
They paused at the summit of the trail, which was blessedly empty. They sat on a rock and Jordan let his fingers idly move closer to Shane’s, threading them together. Shane tried to look around subtly to make sure no one could see, which Jordan clocked with amusement.
“Is this okay? I don’t think anyone’s going to come out of the woods and take our picture,” he teased.
Normally Shane didn’t like being teased but Jordan was cute and his eyes looked kind. He smiled at the other man and took stock of the way their hands looked together. This was nice, just holding hands with someone. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just not used to…”
“Holding hands? Dating?”
Shane blushed, feeling like a virgin even though he was definitely not one. He decided he didn’t want to go into detail about what he wasn’t used to so he took a chance and leaned forward instead.
The kiss was nice. It did not light him on fire the way kissing Rozanov had but he pushed that thought out of his mind. The point was, he liked kissing Jordan. He liked the way his stubble felt on his face. He liked when the other man rested his hands gently on his waist, not pulling or pushing, just resting. He liked being able to kiss someone without feeling drunk with it. He liked that he felt like he could stop whenever he wanted to.
Jordan pulled away, smiling. “I hate to do this but I do have to start work at some point today.”
“Oh! Yeah, of course, sorry.”
“No, no, don’t apologize! You’re very cute, I wish I could stay here and make out with you instead of going back to my spreadsheets.”
Shane smiled. “Spreadsheets are fun, though.”
Jordan laughed (Shane chose not to tell him that he was being serious; he loved a good spreadsheet). “Not as fun as kissing you, though.” Shane blushed. “Come on,” Jordan said, pulling Shane to his feet. “We can walk back down and you can tell me when you’re free again.”
It was a promising start overall. They took another hike together a few days later, this time in the afternoon (Shane had morning practice that day). Shane seriously considered giving Jordan a blowjob on the trail but talked himself out of it, too afraid of getting caught. He did not want that to be something that turned him on. Connecting sex with lowkey danger made him think of Rozanov and he was determined that this thing with Jordan would be completely different. Which was why, for their third date, Shane invited Jordan to his condo for dinner. It was then, over chicken broccoli stir fry and brown rice that he decided he trusted Jordan enough to tell him about his actual job and life.
“So, uh, you’ve been really cool about not asking about what I do for work,” he started.
Jordan smiled at him. He had a nice, natural smile that appeared easily and frequently. “I have theories.”
Shane grinned. This was kind of fun. “Oh, yeah? Tell me one.”
Jordan sat back in his chair and considered Shane. “Well, at first I thought spy, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“But that seemed a little far-fetched.”
“A little?”
Jordan shrugged. “I don’t know, if you were a spy, I think you’d have a better cover story.”
“That’s a good point, actually.”
“The sports thing is probably a clue, right? You do something in the sports world that would be too hard to do if you were out, I guess?”
“Uh, yeah, actually.” He ducked his head, suddenly very interested in his chicken and vegetables. “Do you have friends that are into sports? Like. Hockey specifically.”
Jordan laughed. “No, my friends are decidedly the artsy kind of queer. You do something for hockey teams?”
Shane bit his lip. “Um, yeah. It’s kind of an old-fashioned community, you know? Like I’m already a minority there.” Jordan nodded encouragingly so Shane went on. “And dating is kind of new to me, honestly, so I don’t even know–”
“Shane.” Jordan reached under the table and squeezed Shane’s knee. “I get it. Coming out is a very personal thing. You have your reasons for not wanting to, I can respect that.”
Shane smiled, exhaling the breath he had apparently been holding. “Thanks. Thanks for that.”
After dinner they sat on the couch to allegedly watch a movie and instead made out for a while. Jordan slid his hands under Shane’s shirt and moaned when he touched his abs. Shane blushed and sank to his knees, glancing briefly up at Jordan to make sure this was okay. Jordan carded his fingers through Shane’s hair. “You look extremely hot like that,” he whispered. Shane smiled, pleased by the compliment. He gave Jordan his best work, trying the whole time not to compare the experience to anything from before. When they switched so Jordan could return the favor, Shane focused on the top of his head and his shoulders and the feel of his mouth and bit his lip to keep from saying the wrong name out loud.
***
When the Metros secured their playoff spot, Shane texted Jordan, who answered, awesome! Shane didn’t necessarily need him to know or care about hockey but he did appreciate the enthusiasm. He had tried to explain some of the nuances of the game but Jordan had clearly not been that interested, preferring to talk about the movie they had just seen together or a restaurant he wanted Shane to try. He hoped Jordan would be patient with him during the playoffs, when Shane would be way less available.
He liked hanging out with Jordan. He didn’t worry about being seen together at the movies or a restaurant. Friends did stuff like that and there was nothing to indicate they were anything more than just two guys doing friend things together, like Shane did with Hayden all the time. They never touched in public, keeping all their physical contact behind closed doors. They hadn’t graduated to actual sex yet though. Shane was too nervous to ask if there was a reason for that and Jordan seemed interested in taking things slowly for Shane’s sake. Maybe after the playoffs were over, Shane thought vaguely, things would get more serious between them. Or maybe not.
It’s not that he didn’t think about Jordan while they were apart. He did. They texted throughout the day. Shane brought him stupid souvenirs from the airport sometimes: a magnet from Dulles International in DC or a maple leaf keychain from Toronto. When the Metros got knocked out of playoff contention, Jordan invited Shane to come over and gave him a lengthy massage, which was very sweet. Not exactly helpful, but sweet.
He even offered to watch the Stanley Cup finals with Shane, though he was shocked to hear that it would potentially be seven games long. “Hockey goes until June?” he asked with such sincerity that Shane had to laugh.
“I’ll watch with my teammates,” he told Jordan. “Then I have to go to Vegas for the MLH awards so I guess I’ll… see you when I get back. For a little while, anyway.”
“What’s a little while?” Jordan wanted to know, which was fair.
“Oh, I’m um… I usually visit my parents in Ottawa during the summer. At their cottage.”
Jordan nodded, looking thoughtful. “For the whole summer?”
“No! No, just for a couple of weeks.” He kissed Jordan on the shoulder before he got up to get dressed. “I’ll only be in Vegas for a couple of days, though. After the season is totally over. It’s just a short trip. Nothing special.”
He almost believed it, saying it out loud.
Shane watched the Cup final with his team at Hayden’s, just as he had told Jordan he would. He watched Rozanov raise the Cup over his head and then to his mouth to kiss it once before lifting it again, tears streaming down his face the entire time. Shane didn’t want to smile but found he couldn’t help himself. Rozanov looked so happy. Shane was sure the Raiders captain was yelling something about Mama and he wondered if Rozanov’s mother was watching all the way in Russia. Shane wondered if Rozanov shared his curly hair with her. He wondered if the Rozanovs had traveled to Boston to watch Ilya lead their team to victory. Was he close with his family? It had never occurred to Shane to ask. It turned out Shane had not asked a lot of things he wondered about Rozanov.
He clinked his beer with Hayden. When the other man turned to him and said, “Next year, yeah?” Shane smiled at him and nodded. Someone else changed the channel. He stood up to help Jackie get rid of some of the empties. Next year. Next year it would be him on the ice holding the Cup. He would make sure of it.
June 2014, Vegas
Shane stood backstage at the stupid award show that he did not particularly want to be at, breathing slowly and evenly while he waited for Rozanov to appear. He checked his watch for the fifteenth time and tried otherwise not to fidget. He smelled Rozanov’s preferred cologne before he registered his physical form, standing next to him like he had been there all along.
“You’re late,” Shane hissed, unable to stop himself.
“I have–” Rozanov made a show of checking his own watch. “--thirty seconds before I am late, Hollander.”
Shane bit his tongue. He wanted to get this over with and get out of this tuxedo as soon as possible. He had sent Jordan a photo of himself in it, which seemed like a thing you should do for someone you’re dating. He guessed that had been the right move when Jordan replied, daaaamn, very sexy!
It did not escape his notice that Rozanov squeezed the back of his neck when he pulled out his phone to take the stupid selfie that the stage directions demanded. Shane tried to focus his attention on the teleprompter instead of the feeling of Rozanov’s hand trailing down his spine. Un-fucking-believable. Rozanov had gently and considerately fucked Shane into the mattress months ago and then just forgot he existed, apparently. He hadn’t returned a text from Shane since before Sochi and now he was putting his hand on the back of Shane’s neck like it was a normal thing to do? Shane didn’t understand what the game was here and that irritated him. He stalked off stage when they were done, walking directly into the men’s room to splash water on his face.
Of course Rozanov followed him in there. He locked the door behind him, which stirred something low in Shane’s belly he decidedly ignored. He dried his face and hands and turned to face Rozanov, who was smiling at him like the fucking cat that ate the cream.
“Rozanov,” he said, silently pleased he did not let his voice shake when he said it. Being on stage with him was one thing. Being locked in a bathroom with him was quite another. He reached into his pocket and glanced at his phone, silently wishing Jordan would call at this moment so Shane could walk out of the bathroom with a quick excuse. He would have to walk past Rozanov to get to the door.
“Hollander,” came the reply, the R at the end rolling lightly in the way that Shane had always found so sexy. “Did you come here to suck my dick?”
“Fuck you,” Shane hissed before he could stop himself. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I think you like it,” Rozanov answered, taking a small step toward him.
Shane stepped around him, reaching for the door. Rozanov placed a hand on his arm, which Shane abruptly shook off. He unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway. He would go back into the ceremony now, applaud politely, smile when the camera pointed in his general direction. He would not speak to Ilya Rozanov again tonight.
They both had to go to the party afterward. That was part of the deal: go to the party and shake hands with people they were supposed to be interested in. Shane was not interested in talking to anyone. He wished he had scheduled a redeye for his return flight so he could sleep in his own bed tonight. He wished he was staying in a different hotel, one he didn’t have to share with Rozanov and his gigantic ego and his warm, calloused hands and whatever bullshit he was up to tonight, glancing over at Shane during the party every time Shane looked his way. Shane forced himself to make conversation with someone from the Commissioner’s office who wanted to practice her French. He kindly complimented her accent and her ever-expanding vocabulary before he stepped out into the hallway to check his phone. He had two texts waiting for him, both from the same number.
Penthouse.
I will slip you key if you let me get near you tonight.
Despite himself, blood rushed to his dick. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He would not feel guilty for having a physical reaction to the idea of meeting Rozanov. He couldn’t control what his body did. He could, however, choose how to deal with it, which was to ignore it altogether. He would simply go upstairs, get undressed, and text Jordan goodnight. Easy.
He made it as far as the elevator before Rozanov appeared behind him. “You are avoiding me,” he said quietly. Shane looked around reflexively. Rozanov snorted. “No one is here, Hollander. You are so paranoid.”
“I’m not,” Shane insisted.
“Not paranoid? Or not avoiding me?”
Shane took a deep breath before he answered. There it was again, Rozanov’s smell: cologne and cigarettes and probably very expensive vodka, but also something underneath that was just Ilya. Shane nearly shuddered, thinking about his mouth pressed in the crook of Rozanov’s neck, his hands unbuttoning his dress shirt. When he chanced a look at his face, Rozanov wore a carefully neutral expression. Shane could never get a read on what the other man was thinking. It was a perfect reminder of why he had decided to move on.
“I’m not avoiding you,” he answered petulantly. “Though could you blame me, if I was? You’ve been ignoring me for months.”
Ilya flashed the half smile that (used to) drive Shane crazy. Used to, used to, used to. Not now. He would not be driven crazy by it now. “Ah, you are disappointed in me, Hollander? Not proud? First Cup for Boston in a long time.”
“Congratulations,” Shane answered flatly. “Have a good time celebrating.” Without me, he added silently.
Rozanov’s face briefly registered surprise–maybe even disappointment–before returning to its neutral stare. “You will not join me? MLH’s most valuable player?”
“I can’t,” Shane said. He stood an inch taller. “I’m seeing someone.”
“Ah. Hollander has a girlfriend now? I did not know this.”
Shane looked around. The hallway was still deserted. “Not a girlfriend,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’m seeing someone in Montreal. It’s not serious but I don’t–he’s the only person I’m–whatever.”
“He,” Ilya said, raising an eyebrow. “You are, what, out now?”
Shane shook his head, hard. He wanted out of this conversation. He had already revealed too much. Something about Rozanov did that to him, made him share more than he intended. “No. He’s discreet.” He moved toward the elevator but Rozanov blocked his path, like he had done in the bathroom earlier. “What,” Shane spat out, meeting Rozanov’s gaze.
Rozanov hesitated for a moment, searching Shane’s eyes. “Nothing,” he said finally. “Good night.”
It was Shane’s turn to hesitate now. Why did he feel like he should be apologizing for something? It was ridiculous, how Rozanov made him feel things he didn’t want or expect to feel. He held out a hand like he would to anyone who had just won the Cup and MVP. “Congratulations. Again.”
Rozanov smirked at Shane’s hand but took it in his own after a second. He nodded at Shane before releasing his hand and turning back to the party. Shane stepped on to the elevator. He made it all the way back to his hotel room before he collapsed, just inside the door, and put his head between his knees.
He stayed that way for a long time before he had the energy to stand and strip off his tux. He hung up each piece in the garment bag he had left in the hotel room closet earlier that evening. He carefully folded the dress shirt and boxer briefs he wore and placed them with the other dirty laundry. He gently stuck the unraveled bowtie into the pocket of his suit jacket. Then he made his way to the shower.
He and Rozanov had showered together once. Before that experience he would have grimaced in disgust at the idea of sharing a shower with someone else. He had showered in front of other people most of his life. It was embarrassing as a kid and then annoying as an adult, mostly because the overlap of echoing voices chirping and laughing was overstimulating. The shower was a place to relax; he couldn’t do that in the rink showers with all the noise and smells. The water pressure was shit there, too.
Showering with Rozanov had been different: sexy and warm and exciting. Everything with him was different. That was Shane’s problem, ultimately. If he could be honest with himself–and he could be, alone in the hotel room shower, forehead pressed against the wall in defeat–everything with Rozanov was better.
He tried to console himself that maybe he just hadn’t found the right guy yet. Jordan was great: he was kind and patient and good in bed. Shane could breathe around him, he was comfortable. Comfortable was good, he thought.
Comfortable was maybe not enough.
He stayed under the spray until his fingertips were raisins. He texted Jordan good night, though it was three hours later in Montreal and he was surely already asleep. Phone in hand, he went back to his texts with Lily.
Penthouse.
I will slip you key if you let me get near you tonight.
Shane couldn’t help himself: what would have happened in the penthouse tonight? Rozanov had won MVP. He wanted to celebrate. Shane couldn’t help but wonder what such a celebration would entail. If Shane wasn’t seeing Jordan, would he have gone up there? He let his phone fall facedown on his chest, defeated when he realized that of course the answer was yes. If there was no Jordan innocently asleep in Montreal, Shane would definitely be in Rozanov’s bed, doing whatever he wanted.
And then what would happen? Six more months of nothing? The summer stretched before them, Rozanov all those timezones away, Shane in his parents’ cottage, pretending he wasn’t lonely. He never felt lonely before he met Rozanov. His life had been simple then. He missed it.
He must have fallen asleep because suddenly he was startled awake by a banging on his door. He checked the time: 3:57 a.m. Who the fuck would be at his door in the middle of the night? The banging continued. He stumbled out of bed and threw the door open to find Rozanov on the other side, eyes glassy and red rimmed, reeking of vodka and cigarettes. “What the fuck?” Shane hissed, pulling the other man into the room.
Rozanov laughed. Shane nearly decked him.
“Hollanderrrrr,” he slurred. “I am lost."
Shane stared at him. Rozanov was not just drunk. Shane didn’t have much experience with other drugs but he had been around plenty of drunk teammates and this was not the same. Rozanov’s eyes were glassy, his pupils huge and empty. Fear sliced down Shane’s spine. He had never seen Rozanov like this. He knew the other man had a reputation for partying but the expression on his face lacked the shameless joy Shane had seen in tabloid photos. The Rozanov standing before him was barely hanging onto control, shifting from foot to foot in Shane’s hotel room, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Shane could not kick him out of his room when he was like this. Rozanov was an asshole but Shane did (reluctantly) care about him. He sighed and took Rozanov’s hand, leading him to the edge of the bed.
“What happened?” Shane asked quietly.
Rozanov laughed, mirthlessly. “What happened, nothing happened! I am lost, I told you, cannot find my room.”
Shane grit his teeth. “How did you find mine?”
“Girl at front desk was very easily persuaded to tell me so I could prank my good friend Shane Hollanderrrrr. Hockey tradition.” This time the grin did reach Rozanov’s eyes, apparently delighted at his own cleverness.
Shane scoffed. “That’s what this is?”
Rozanov’s eyes narrowed, the grin disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “You know what this is.”
Shane stilled. He would not ask what Rozanov meant. He would not engage in whatever the hell this was. He would take Rozanov back up to his penthouse suite and then he would return to his own hotel room. He was just helping a colleague. He would do the same for anyone, any teammate or other player who had so clearly made a series of bad decisions and needed help.
“Come on,” Shane said gently. “Let me get you back to your room.”
Rozanov barked a laugh. “Your room is no good, Hollander?”
Shane ignored that remark and reached into Rozanov’s pocket to extract his room key. He also ignored Rozanov’s salacious grin and the way he licked his lips when Shane touched him. Wordlessly, Shane took his arm and led him back out into the hall and to the elevator bank. Rozanov continued to stare at him in the elevator but he kept his hands to himself. Thank God for small favors, Shane thought, knowing if Rozanov started touching him, it would be very difficult to remember why they had to stop.
The penthouse suite was beautiful of course, with floor to ceiling windows lining one entire wall. The view of the city was stunning, the way it ended abruptly at the edge of the desert, like they were in the last city on Earth. Shane glanced out at it as they passed the windows to enter the large en suite bathroom.
He considered, for a moment, leaving Rozanov there. His pupils were starting to look more normal as whatever he had taken apparently started to wear off. He was stumbling a little more, in exhaustion or drunkenness, Shane couldn’t tell. Primed for the worst case scenario as Shane’s brain usually was, he feared leaving Ilya alone (he couldn’t think of him as just Rozanov, seeing him like this). Alone in the shower he could slip and fall, resulting in a head injury or worse. It would be a tragedy to never play against each other again if one of them got injured in such a stupid and embarrassing way. Shane had to take care of Ilya Rozanov for the sake of hockey fans everywhere.
He turned the water on in the shower and pulled Ilya’s jacket off his shoulders. Without looking the other man in the eye, Shane focused on unbuttoning and untying: the shirt, which was halfway undone anyway; the trousers, which were luckily beltless; and the shiny dress shoes. Ilya stood before him clad only in his pants and underwear, a truly stunning sight that Shane could not bear to look at for a moment longer. He reached around him instead to fuss with the water temperature, telling Ilya, “Take those off unless you want them to get wet.”
Ilya snorted but complied: Shane heard the pants hit the floor. He turned, careful to look at Ilya’s chin instead of in his eyes or at his broad shoulders or his very kissable neck. “You are joining me, Hollander?” he purred. It was unreasonable that the man could look sexy even after an hours long bender.
“I’m just here so you don’t hit your head and die in a Vegas hotel room.”
“Ah, yes, Canada’s golden boy, too kind even to his arch rival,” Ilya sneered. Shane ignored him.
The shower seemed to help sober Ilya–Rozanov up again. Shane handed him a towel and looked at the ground while he dried off. Fortunately, Rozanov did not make a snide comment about this. When Shane chanced a look at him, he was searching Shane’s face, his expression strangely soft. Shane decided to ignore that, too.
“Come on,” he said gently instead, and pushed Rozanov toward the bed until he was safely in it. Shane resisted the urge to tuck him in, though he found it bizarrely tempting. Instead he took a few steps toward the doorway, at a safe enough distance to say goodbye without touching Rozanov. “See you next season,” he said quietly. Ilya’s eyes were already closed. Probably he had already passed out. Maybe he wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow.
Shane would, though.
***
September 2014
The summer passed with only two texts from Rozanov: one a few days after Vegas that said, sorry. And thank you. Shane didn’t know how to answer that. He considered leaving Rozanov on read, to give him a taste of his own medicine, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he wrote back, no worries. There was nothing after that for two months.
Finally, in mid-August, just before pre-season, another text: hope you did not work too hard this summer. I will win another cup before you. Shane had rolled his eyes and sent back a photo of himself flipping Rozanov off. He hesitated after he did it, wondering if he should ask him to delete it before deciding it didn’t matter. They weren’t anything. The Vegas thing was best left behind them.
The summer had been good to Shane despite the strange start. Initially he struggled with whether or not he should tell Jordan that he had helped his ex(?) take a shower in the least sexy way possible. In the end, he didn’t have the words to describe it so he kept it to himself. Just a few days later, Jordan asked him if the thing between them was going anywhere and Shane had been relieved to be offered a way out. Jordan was great about it, asking to stay friends and hang out once in a while. He even offered to introduce Shane to his friends, offering him some queer community, but Shane wasn’t ready for that just yet. Maybe in the future, when he felt more accepting of himself.
Though even that was getting better. He no longer could deny to himself that he was gay, though he wasn’t sure about telling people in his life just yet. Maybe if there was someone to tell them about. He wasn’t exactly looking, though he did find someone to hook up with when he was in Philadelphia for a brand meeting his mother had insisted was necessary to do in person. It was too far for just a day trip so he spent the night there, wandering the city like a lost tourist. He rounded a corner and found himself suddenly surrounded by rainbow crosswalks and Pride flags. It was silly how panicked he felt at first just by some rainbows. Even stranger, the panic dissipated pretty quickly, followed by a sense of calm when he realized no one was paying any attention to him. There were couples holding hands and people walking their dogs and groups smoking outside in front of bars. He walked up and down one of the streets a couple of times before deciding it was safe to get a drink somewhere. This was clearly not a hockey town. No one gave a shit who he was here, which was refreshing. Flush with this new sensation and feeling brave, he ducked into a bar called Woody’s (he shivered at the name but it had air conditioning and the guys standing outside smoking were hot) and ordered a beer at the bar.
Within a half hour, he found himself getting sucked off in the bathroom.
The setting was less than ideal but Shane found he didn't care. The sex with Jordan had not been life altering the way sex with Rozanov had been but the experience itself had changed something for Shane. He no longer feared this part of himself the way he had for so many years. He didn't have to rely on Rozanov’s hard to read moods or cryptic texts for all of his sexual needs. He could find other guys to hook up with, men who didn't care who he was or what he did for a living, who only cared about getting laid. Maybe he had more in common with his single teammates than he thought. Random hookups could be fun.
As much as he didn't want to get on his knees in the disgusting bathroom, he had just come in a stranger's mouth. It was only polite to return the favor.
Between that easy (and pretty hot, honestly, despite the setting) hookup and the short-lived thing with Jordan, Shane found he had just enough confidence so that when Boston came to Montreal for a preseason matchup, he did not feel anxious about seeing Ilya Rozanov again.
That is, until they met for their first face-off.
“Hollander,” Rozanov purred at him, his mouth guard hanging out of his teeth like he had forgotten what it was for. Shane focused on the ice between them, willing himself not to look at whatever the other man’s tongue was doing.
“Rozanov.”
“You had a good summer? Did cute couple things–”
“No,” Shane cut him off before he could say the word boyfriend in front of the ref, who seemed to be taking an inordinately long time to drop the fucking puck. “We broke up.” He didn't look up to catch Rozanov’s reaction but he did win the face-off.
The next time, Shane made sure to speak first. “You had a good summer, I guess.”
Rozanov grinned at him but shrugged. “Boring, mostly. You missed me?”
Shane smirked. “You wish.”
He debated with himself the entire third period about whether he would invite Rozanov over. He wanted to, that much was clear. He was actually half hard just thinking about having him naked in his bed again. On the other hand, the thing in Vegas had been unsettling. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea, opening himself up to the confusion of hooking up with the Russian again.
Nothing they did together was a good idea though. It had certainly never stopped them before.
He took his usual quick locker room shower after the 3-2 victory and begged off from celebratory beers. He walked out of the arena with his phone in his hand, opening Grindr to check his messages first. Maybe if someone else was interested tonight… But no. It was too dangerous to cruise at home. He had strict rules for himself about casual hookups: only in cities that weren't hockey-focused. No last names if possible. No sports fans. Truly the only safe hookup he could have in Montreal was with someone he already trusted. Someone who needed to keep the secret as much as Shane did. There was only one person who fit the bill. He sighed and opened his texts before he could think better of it.
Want to come over?
He sat in his car and counted to one hundred before a message came through.
No new boyfriend to replace me this time?
Shane rolled his eyes. Rozanov was impossible. Shane didn't want to play these stupid games. That was another personal rule he made: straightforward conversations only. Do you want to have sex, yes or no. Easy. Instead of ignoring the text and driving home with a pit in his stomach, he wrote back once more: I told you I'm single at the moment. But if you don't want to fuck, that's fine. See you next time.
He put his phone on silent and drove home.
It was a Herculean effort not to immediately check the text thread as soon as he pulled into the garage. He made himself wait until he was upstairs to look at his phone. He was rewarded with an answer from Lily: on my way.
Shane couldn’t help but smile. He felt like he was winning in the mysterious back and forth that had been going on since the night he met Rozanov at the draft.
That feeling quickly dissipated when he let Rozanov into the property.
First of all, he looked great. He had looked great on the ice but he was also fully kitted up in hockey gear so the effect on Shane had been dulled. Now though, standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of Shane, Rozanov looked delicious. His hair was damp from the shower and he wore only a tight black hoodie without a coat so Shane could fully appreciate his broad shoulders and strong arms. He was smirking at Shane, which was annoying but also very sexy; Ilya Rozanov had a beautiful mouth, objectively speaking. Shane could not resist him. He was only human after all.
They didn’t speak, which was a relief to Shane and probably to Rozanov too. They walked wordlessly up the stairs, not even touching until Rozanov had toed off his shoes in the entryway and crowded Shane against the wall. Only then did Shane allow himself to relax, leaning his head back to rest against the wall as Rozanov slowly ran his hands up inside Shane’s t-shirt. Shane leaned forward to be kissed but Rozanov leaned back, his hands still planted on Shane’s waist.
“When did you and your boyfriend break up?” Rozanov asked, the smirk gone.
Shane frowned. “Why?”
Rozanov shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “I am interested. I did not know you were…” He waved a hand around. “Dating.”
“What do you care what I do? You’re the one who told me we’re nothing.” He knew he was blushing but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was deeply irritated at Rozanov’s sudden interest in his life.
Rozanov searched Shane’s eyes. “You took care of me in Vegas.”
Shane looked down at the floor. He didn’t know how to respond to that. “You looked like…”
“Like what,” Rozanov pressed.
Shane shrugged. “Like you needed it.” He took a breath and looked up to meet the other man’s eyes. “I would have done it for anybody,” he said (lied).
Rozanov’s face shuttered. Whatever brief glimpse of openness Shane had spied before disappeared. Instead, Rozanov pressed his mouth against Shane’s (finally) and they made their way to the bedroom. Shane had already placed the throw pillows neatly on the floor to avoid snarky comments about his decorating. They broke apart just long enough to strip their clothes off, Shane folding his neatly before climbing into bed next to Rozanov. It was weirdly like the first time they had hooked up: they lay side by side for a minute, neither one speaking. Shane shook his head to clear the memory, rolling on his side to face Rozanov. The kissing resumed. Shane tried to erase everything from his mind and focus only on Rozanov’s mouth and hands and body. When Rozanov started kissing down his neck, Shane was relieved. This was familiar territory. Their bodies connected and communicated with ease, unlike when they tried to actually talk to each other.
Rozanov, of course, had to open his mouth and ruin it.
“Did you let your boyfriend fuck you?” he murmured into the crook of Shane’s neck.
“...What?”
Rozanov continued kissing a trail down Shane, stopping to lick around the spots that made Shane gasp with want. “This boyfriend, did he fuck you? Or maybe you fucked him?”
Shane rose up on his elbows just as Rozanov’s mouth made it to the line of his pubic hair. “I don’t… I’ve been safe, if that’s what you mean. I don’t like, have anything.”
Rozanov chuckled and licked a stripe up Shane’s dick, swirling his tongue around the head. Shane sank back into the pillows. “I am not worried about that,” he said conversationally.
Then why do you care? Shane thought but refused to say out loud. He was going to stick to his rules, the most important one being, do not ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. He did not want to know what Rozanov worried about. He had never once asked the other man who else he slept with, although he had a fair idea the answer was anyone I want. The thought made tears prick his eyes. This was probably a bad idea. He couldn’t stop it now though, not when Rozanov was taking him into his mouth and making his brain turn off. He loved the way it felt, being touched and sucked by this man in particular. Truthfully, while both Jordan and Philly guy were perfectly skilled, neither one had made him feel this way. He feared no one could make him feel this way except the inconvenient person who was currently in his bed.
Rozanov pulled off and made his way back up to Shane, grabbing his chin and kissing him wildly. Shane bucked up against him but Rozanov moved so he couldn’t get the friction he was seeking. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” Shane answered immediately, not even bothering to feel embarrassed by his wanton need. “Please.”
Rozanov smiled, reaching into the drawer for lube and a condom. He went back to work opening Shane up, blessedly silent while Shane squirmed and moaned beneath him. When Rozanov entered him, Shane nearly cried again, finally feeling full. It had been so long. He had missed this so much.
“It’s only me you want, Hollander, isn’t it?” Rozanov whispered while he thrusted into Shane with maddening slowness. “Only my dick you need so much, hm?”
A part of Shane’s brain was flashing red danger signs at him but he resolutely ignored that and answered instead, “Faster, please, Rozanov, yes I need it, whatever you want, please.”
“Whatever I want, huh? Say you only want me, Hollander. Tell me.”
Shane groaned, stupid with lust and also mildly confused at the sudden neediness he thought he could hear in Rozanov’s voice. “Okay, yes, only you, just fuck me harder, please.”
Rozanov grinned and set a faster pace, bending Shane’s legs back so he could hit the right spot harder and deeper. “Touch yourself,” he demanded and Shane did, blindly grabbing for his dick and making himself come in three quick strokes, Rozanov just behind. The other man collapsed on top of him, smearing cum and sweat between them, which Shane would feel weird about shortly. Right now it felt good, Rozanov’s weight on top of him like a blanket, their breathing slowing down together.
Before he could make sense of what had just happened, Rozanov pushed off him and said, “Come, we will shower,” as if that was a thing they did together normally. Shane stared for a minute at Rozanov’s retreating form. The other man glanced over his shoulder. “You want to stay sticky?”
Shane frowned but followed to the bathroom, where Rozanov had turned on the shower. It was big enough for both of them but they stayed pressed together under the spray for a minute before Rozanov lathered up a washcloth and handed it to Shane. Shane did his best not to look surprised at the consideration. He shouldn’t have been, maybe. Rozanov could be almost thoughtful when he wanted to be.
The rest of the season continued on as normal. Shane didn’t bother with Grindr, telling himself he didn’t have time. It could be a summer project, finding someone to hook up with regularly or maybe even someone worth dating–discreetly, of course. During the playoffs he and Rozanov didn’t see or speak to each other. No distractions. Shane wouldn’t say it out loud but he knew this was the Metros’ year. He didn’t cry when they won but he did take enormous pleasure in lifting the Cup above his head and kissing it in the same spot all the other captains had before. If he happened to think about last year’s winner, that was normal. Nothing to further question himself about.
He received a “congratulations” text from Lily and then nothing else. He celebrated with his team and left when Hayden did, to go home to a very new baby and frazzled wife. In June, Shane went to the MLH awards because he had to. Without Rozanov there, he downloaded the Grindr app and scrolled mindlessly. He could celebrate his win. There were plenty of hot guys in hotels all along the strip, it seemed. It would be his last chance this summer, before he went to his new cottage for a much-needed break. There were probably not a lot of opportunities in the middle of nowhere Eastern Quebec to randomly meet someone. He had briefly considered inviting Jordan and his friends to visit but the idea of a bunch of people in his private space made his skin feel tight. No, if he was going to get laid before next fall, he would have to do it tonight.
He looked through the app with intentions, narrowing his choices down to some guy named Frankie and another named Joe. He messaged them both, hedging his bets in case one of them turned him down. In a Hilton just two blocks down from his own hotel, he got fucked by the appreciative and perfectly polite Joe (no last names) and then promptly left to shower in his own hotel room. He didn’t feel as bad as he had when Rozanov ghosted him for six months but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t feel great either. He wondered what his goal was here: to add to his roster the way Rozanov did? Everything didn’t have to be a competition. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for casual sex. Maybe he was more of a relationship guy. Did he want that? An actual boyfriend? He thought about it all summer and finally decided that yes, it was time.
The only question was, how would he go about this?
October 2015
Hooking up with Rozanov again was incredible; Shane couldn’t lie to himself about that. He loved the way Rozanov touched him. He loved his perfect, huge dick and his big, capable hands. He loved the way he smelled. He felt like an addict, unable to give up his drug of choice even though he knew it was bad for him. He had to find a boyfriend before Montreal met Boston again. He could not keep doing this.
He thought about calling Jordan but that seemed shitty. They had barely spoken since they broke up, which was Shane’s fault. Jordan was good about keeping in touch; he seemed truly to want to be Shane’s friend. It was Shane who was late responding to texts, who didn’t have time to hang out, who never reached out first. He was consumed by other things: hockey, mostly, and helping the Pikes with the kids, since Hayden and Jackie always seemed like they were underwater and Jackie was pregnant again. JJ was constantly trying to set him up with someone, not knowing he was offering the wrong kinds of dates to his friend.
Actually. Maybe he could use JJ’s power of knowing everyone to his advantage. He wondered if the French Canadian could keep his mouth shut while he did it. It was worth a shot.
Shane asked JJ to hang back after practice one day, confusing Hayden and JJ both. Shane tried to think of a quick lie but couldn’t. He was a terrible liar. Instead he decided he would just tell them both at once. After the locker room had emptied out and Shane had checked the length of the hallway to make sure absolutely no one was nearby, he sat down hard on the bench in front of his stall, took a deep breath, and exhaled, “I’m gay.”
He couldn’t look up so he didn’t. He could only stare at his feet and listen to the sound of his own breath, encouraging himself not to have a panic attack. These were his friends. They would not hurt him. Probably.
“Is that all, mon ami?” JJ asked. His voice sounded normal so Shane managed to look up at him. He was grinning. “I thought you were going to give me tips about my backhand or something, this is much better.”
“You don’t–you don’t care?”
JJ laughed. “No, I don’t give a shit who you fuck, come on.” His face lit up. “Do you have a boyfriend, is that why–”
“Wait,” Hayden said. “What about Boston Lily?”
Shane shook his head. “It’s complicated. I’m trying to… not see him anymore. I kind of was hoping you could set me up, JJ.”
“Wait!” Hayden said again. Shane and JJ both stared at him. Was Hayden going to be an asshole about this? That was surprising. “Were you just gonna tell JJ and not me? What the fuck, Shane, I thought we were best friends.”
JJ snickered. “Your feelings are hurt, Pike?”
Hayden pushed him. “No. I’m just surprised is all.” He turned to Shane. “I guess that’s why you didn’t want to be set up with any of Jackie’s hot friends.”
“Yeah, not exactly what I’m looking for, Hayd.”
Hayden nodded, digesting this information. JJ pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his contact list. “I have the perfect guy for you, he is a personal trainer at my gym, super hot–”
“Okay but I’m not like, coming out to everyone. Would he be okay with that?”
JJ shrugged. “Ask him when he texts you.”
“Wait, you already texted him? What the fuck, JJ!”
“Is that not what you wanted, chum? I thought that’s why you just came out to us, no?”
Shane shook his head. “Yeah, no, I just… I thought this would be a bigger deal. To you guys.”
JJ put his phone back in his pocket. In Quebecois, he said to his friend, “You know I don’t use slurs like these other assholes. That shit is fucked up. You and I put up with enough racist shit, I wouldn’t add to it.”
Shane nodded and let himself be pulled into a hug. He hugged Hayden too, who didn’t fully follow JJ’s little speech but got the gist. “Thanks,” Shane muttered. His phone buzzed in his pocket and JJ grinned at him. Hi, Shane, this is Alex. JJ gave me your number. And your picture haha. I’m not a huge hockey guy but I’d love to hear about it sometime if you wanna get a drink or something.
Shane looked back at his friends, eyes wide. “This cannot be this easy.”
JJ shrugged. “When you are hot, it is easy to get whoever you want, Hollander. This is why no one understands why you don’t go home with the many women who flirt with you at bars.” He held up his hands before Shane could protest. “I get it, chum. I am just saying, maybe you don’t realize it is not so hard to find someone to fuck when you look like you look.”
Hayden looked Shane up and down with new appreciation. “Yeah, I get it,” he added.
Shane’s face felt so hot, he honestly wondered if he was going to burst into flames. “Okay, assholes, enough. Thank you for being cool about this but I’m leaving now and pretending this conversation never happened.”
The two laughed before Hayden made his expression serious again. “It’ll stay between us, Shane. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Shane nodded. “Thanks. Seriously.”
Safely at home, he texted back and forth with Alex for an hour. He was nice, at least over text, and open to being discreet as Shane kept saying (in different ways over and over until finally the other man said he got it and didn’t care). During that conversation, he gleaned enough information to feel safe. Plenty of guys, Alex assured him, chose not to be out because of their career or religious background or super conservative families. It should have made Shane feel bad maybe, that so many people were in his situation, but instead it made him feel almost normal. It was all enough for him to agree to dinner at Alex’s some night this week when he didn’t have a game and Alex didn’t have clients.
In three weeks they would play Boston again, on the road this time. He had to be seeing someone before that. This thing with Rozanov had to end. He crossed his fingers that Alex would turn out to be the guy.
November
Alex was probably not the guy but he was close enough for now. Close enough that when Rozanov texted and invited Shane to come over before the game, Shane replied that he couldn’t. He ignored the pit in his stomach when there was no reply. He ran on the treadmill in the hotel gym until his brain was quiet again.
The game was fine. Rozanov barely spoke when they faced off against each other, which Shane did his best not to think about. Boston eked out a win in overtime. Everyone was exhausted.
He was surprised then when he looked at his phone to see a text from Rozanov, inviting him and his teammates out. Winners are buying drinks for you, would be rude to say no. Shane frowned at his phone for so long that Hayden finally asked him what was wrong.
“Uh,” Shane said, looking up at his best friend’s bemused face. “Rozanov is inviting us for drinks.”
Hayden frowned. JJ appeared at his side, toweling his hair dry. “Rozanov wants to buy?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Oui, yes, we are going.”
Shane hesitated, which Hayden clocked. “We don’t have to,” Hayden said. “I know you can’t stand the guy. Wait, why does he even have your number?”
“Probably captain group chat, yes?” JJ answered before Shane could come up with a convincing lie (not that he ever lied convincingly). Thank God for JJ.
“Yeah, group chat. And yeah, he’s buying, since we lost.”
Hayden rolled his eyes. “He’s such an asshole.”
Shane blushed. He turned his attention to retying his shoe, even though it was fine. “He’s not that bad,” he mumbled.
“Pike, we are going,” JJ insisted, throwing his towel in the hamper and reaching for his clothes. “Capitaine never goes out, it is a special occasion!”
Hayden nodded, still looking thoughtful. “Yeah, right. Okay. Let’s go.”
Their other teammates had scattered already, which was just as well. The team's general mood was not great any time they lost, but it was especially awful when they lost in Boston. Shane thought if the entire team ended up in a bar with the Raiders, a brawl would ensue. He did not want to appear in some tabloid tomorrow. He and JJ and Hayden would make an appearance to appease Rozanov and then they would leave. Easy.
The Raiders met them with smiles and handshakes. They were a decent bunch, overall, Shane thought. They clapped backs and said “good game” to the three Metros in their midst, which is more than Shane thought some of his teammates were capable of. Rozanov was a good captain. Shane was too, but in a different way: quieter. More serious. Less social, for sure. Another reason it would never work between them.
Although maybe there was something about balancing each other out?
It didn’t matter. They were not anything. Rozanov had been the one to say it first. Shane was just following orders.
He was able to stick to that line of thought until Rozanov placed a ginger ale in front of him. He looked up to see the Russian’s face decidedly blank. “Thanks,” he muttered. Rozanov shrugged in answer and sat next to him. They were saved from their awkward silence when JJ reappeared with a beautiful woman in tow. It took Shane a second but even he recognized Rose Landry. He watched a lot of terrible movies when he traveled and she had featured in some of them. She somehow managed to be good even in the confusing, nonsensical plots she had to make seem real. He couldn’t quite believe she was standing there in real life.
“Gentlemen, it turns out Rose Landry is a big hockey fan. Make room,” JJ chided, pushing Connors out of his chair. Connors happily stood, absolutely starstruck. Shane heard him stage whisper a question to JJ, which JJ answered aloud, “She is here doing press for her new movie. I introduced myself and once she found out these two were here,” he gestured at Rozanov and Shane, “she insisted I introduce her.”
“Hi,” Rose Landry said brightly. She looked back and forth between Shane and Rozanov, grinning. “I can’t believe I get to see you both in the flesh. Hockey royalty.”
Shane blushed but Rozanov reached out his hand to shake hers, grinning like a wolf sizing up his prey. “Did you come to the game tonight to watch me murder Hollander?”
“You barely won, asshole,” Shane retorted.
Rose laughed. “No, my schedule sucked today. I snuck out of the hotel to get a drink and JJ accosted me. I don’t usually get recognized.” JJ grinned and shrugged. “My friend Miles is here somewhere but I think he’s chatting up some guy at the bar so I don’t feel bad ditching him.”
Shane blushed again. It was always a shock to him when other people were so open about their sexuality, like it was no big deal. Maybe for some people it wasn’t, like the mysterious Miles. He supposed being a gay actor was easier than being a gay athlete.
He tuned back into the conversation to find Rozanov charming the hell out of Rose Landry. Shane swallowed his jealousy and turned his attention to her as well. He may be gay but he could appreciate a beautiful woman, especially one who liked to talk hockey. The three of them went back and forth about stats and teams and legacies before they moved on to talking about Rose’s movies, which she claimed to be embarrassed either one had seen. After a while, Shane realized the three of them had been left to their own devices. He hadn’t even noticed everyone else drifting away. He was having a great time, arguing with Rozanov and entertaining Rose.
When Rozanov got up to get more drinks, Shane did his best not to watch him walk away. He must have failed though because when he turned his attention back to Rose, she was looking at him thoughtfully.
“What?” he said stupidly, wondering how long he had been staring.
She smiled. “You two are not what I expected.”
“Oh. In a good way, I hope,” he said, smiling back. She was so easy to talk to. Shane wished (for the thousandth time) that he could fall in love with someone like her instead of… whatever.
“Mmm, in a surprising way. You two are closer than the league makes it out to seem.” Shane blushed, cursing his face for always giving him away. He silently prayed Rozanov would return with drinks soon but saw he was at the bar talking to some (ridiculously hot) guy. Rose followed his gaze. “Ah, and there’s Miles.” She chuckled. “He’s a sucker for those curls.” She turned back to Shane. “Not a hockey fan, just an Ilya Rozanov fan.”
Shane nodded, forcing a small smile. Rose considered him again. “There’s some history with you guys?”
“What do you mean?” Shane fiddled with the straw in his drink rather than looking Rose in the eye.
“You seem to have a lot of chemistry for two people who are supposed to hate each other.”
He chanced a look at her. The weight of the secret was heavy on his tongue. He wanted to tell her, suddenly. He wanted to tell someone and she was right there, so intuitive and beautiful and easy to talk to. He glanced at Rozanov at the bar, who was definitely (if discreetly) flirting with Miles and then looked at Rose. “I’m gay,” he blurted out, blushing. “Rozanov is the first person I… came out to.” It wasn’t quite the truth but it was a necessary obfuscation.
Rose nodded. “I won’t tell anyone,” she promised, as if she could read his mind. “You have a thing for him?” She glanced over at the bar where Rozanov and Miles were laughing together, Miles’ hand on the other man’s arm. “Honestly, I get it.”
Shane barked out an incredulous laugh. “How did you–did I do something that–”
She shook her head. “No, no. There’s just something magnetic between you guys, you know? I don’t think the other hockey bros have even noticed,” she added, laughing. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry, I won’t say anything to anybody. I’ll be cool.” She grinned at him.
He nodded slowly, smiling back. “Yeah. Yeah, you are cool.”
“You are too, Shane Hollander. I’m glad I met you.”
Rozanov reappeared then, settling himself next to Rose and snaking an arm around her chair. “What are we talking about?”
She turned her sunbeam smile at him. “You met Miles, I see.” She craned her neck back towards the bar. “Where is he?”
“Ah, the guy he was talking to came back. I did not want to third wheel.” He picked up his drink and glanced at Shane. “Hollander can be third wheel now instead.”
Shane glared but Rose giggled. “As much as I would love to have two hockey legends fight over me, it is late. I have to collect my gay boyfriend and leave.” She stood, leaning over to kiss Rozanov on his cheek and then Shane as well. “What a weird night,” she said pleasantly. “Maybe I’ll see you two again. In fact…” She held out her phone to Shane first. “I don’t usually do this but you seem normal enough. Put your number in here. I'm going to be shooting something in Montreal pretty soon, it would be nice to have someone to hang out with up there.” She winked at him. Rozanov sneered into his glass. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re next. No dick pics, though. I’ve heard about you.”
Rozanov grinned at her. “We will see. Maybe you will want one when you get tired of being on the road all the time with only gay men for company.”
She laughed as Shane handed her phone back to her and she placed it in Rozanov’s hands. “Goodnight, boys. Tell JJ thanks for introducing me.” As if he had been summoned, JJ appeared beside her and started making the case for her to stay for one more drink. She took her phone back and let JJ walk her to the bar to find Miles. They lost sight of her after that.
Alone again with Ilya Rozanov. Just what he had not intended upon.
Shane cleared his throat. “I should go.”
Rozanov nodded. “Yes, you have to call your boyfriend to say goodnight.”
Shane stared at Rozanov, trying to decipher the look on his face. He wasn’t jealous, was he? “He’s not my boyfriend,” he answered. Stupid answer. Not what he meant to say at all.
It was weirdly worth it though, when Rozanov’s smile returned. “Not your boyfriend but you cannot fuck other people?”
“I could, I guess, I don’t know. I mean, we haven’t talked about it. It’s new.”
Rozanov nodded thoughtfully. “You have been dating a lot, Hollander.”
Shane scoffed. “It’s a normal amount.”
Rozanov leaned forward. “Not for you. I have never heard about you seeing people.”
“You know why,” Shane answered. “It’s not… I can’t do that. Publicly.”
Rozanov nodded slowly. “Yes, would not be good for your image.”
“Fuck off. Anyway there’s always pictures of you with women. At clubs and stuff.” Shane wished that he did not know this about Rozanov. He wished he didn’t jealously scroll through those photos when they appeared on Instagram or gossip sites. He wished he didn’t care.
Rozanov shrugged. “Meeting women at clubs is not like– Is different.”
“Different from what?”
“From dating. I am not looking for a girlfriend, Hollander.”
“Right, you just like to fuck around.”
Rozanov laughed bitterly. “Yes, that is my reputation, like Rose Landry says.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But it is not working anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“No matter who I pick up and take home, I am always thinking about this slow fucking hockey player with the beautiful freckles.”
Shane could not tell if his body was going to float to the ceiling or sink to the floor. His breath caught. There were suddenly no other sounds in the bar: no music or chatter or clinking glasses. There was only him and Ilya, staring at each other over a sticky bar table at almost midnight (way later than Shane normally stayed out), playing a game of chicken Shane was not prepared for. He willed himself to speak but couldn’t think of a response that didn’t sound insane. You think my freckles are beautiful? You want to forget me? You can’t forget me? Why didn’t you tell me this? What are we supposed to do now? Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.
When he didn’t answer Ilya stood, downing the rest of his drink. “Goodnight, Hollander,” he said gruffly, and stalked out of the bar.
Shane’s paralysis lifted just as quickly as it had descended. He hastily texted JJ and Hayden that he was leaving, pulling on his jacket as he pushed his way through the crowded bar and onto the street, where Ilya had stopped to light a cigarette. Shane stopped for a second, just to take in the sight: the curly head bowed, one hand cupped against the wind, flicking the lighter. Just like in Regina. How many years ago was that now, eight? Almost nine, he thought. “I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke here,” he said, echoing the past version of himself that lived inside him, that had been changed forever the day he first said those exact words to this exact person.
Ilya looked up, startled. The cigarette dangled between his lips. Shane was relieved it hadn’t been lit yet. He hated the taste of smoke, even though he tolerated it on Ilya’s lips. Gently, he pulled the cigarette out of Ilya’s mouth. “You shouldn’t be smoking, anyway. It’s probably in your contract.”
Ilya smiled, in spite of himself, Shane thought. “Of course you would be thinking about contracts. Mr. Business Man. Mr. Brand Deal.”
“Shut up,” Shane replied fondly. He handed the cigarette back to Ilya and shoved his hands in his pockets, unsure what to do now. “I think about you a lot, too.”
“Yes? You think about me and then you date people and flirt with Rose Landry–”
“You were flirting! I was talking, like a normal person.”
Ilya rolled his eyes. “I do not understand you, Hollander.”
“Me! You don’t understand me? You told me we were nothing–”
“--Two years ago, Hollander, Christ–”
“--And then you acted so weird in Vegas–”
“--Because you didn’t want me!”
His voice was so loud in the stillness of the night that someone across the street glanced over. Shane looked around nervously. It was late and it was a weeknight so the streets weren't exactly teeming with people but he didn’t want anyone to overhear what was so clearly a lovers’ quarrel. He was still trying to process what Ilya had said about Shane not wanting him. Of course he wanted Ilya, he wanted him all the time, that was the problem. He couldn’t possibly say that out loud though. They never said things like that to each other, except in bed and Shane thought (perhaps wrongly) that the words didn’t mean anything when they were exchanged in the height of passion. He didn’t know how to respond to Ilya saying something vulnerable to him, late at night, out loud. In the end, the only word that he managed to choke out was, “Ilya” but it was too late. Rozanov was rapidly walking away from Shane, leaving him bereft and alone on the street.
***
Back in Montreal, Shane paced.
He paced in his condo. He paced at the arena when he arrived too early for practice. He walked the aisles of the grocery store, even though he had his groceries delivered during the season and didn’t really need to buy anything. He went on long runs outside, no matter how cold it was. He heard Ilya’s voice in his head, calling him a slow fucking hockey player (rude) with beautiful freckles (surprisingly sweet) that Ilya could not stop thinking about.
It was that last part that Shane kept turning over in his mind.
He had never been great at understanding his feelings. Partly that was due to the low hum of anxiety he lived with all the time that shut out everything else. Partly it was also that he didn’t really care how he was feeling emotionally; his focus had been on his physical body since he was twelve years old and MLH scouts started watching him play. If he noticed his feelings, they were mostly related to hockey: stressed, disappointed, happy, excited. Meeting Rozanov–Ilya–whoever he was had introduced whole new feelings to Shane. He hadn’t known before that anticipation mixed with the possibility of getting caught could be sexy and exciting. He hadn’t known what joy felt like unrelated to winning something, or how it felt to be treasured and cherished by someone, like the night he and Ilya had sex for the first time. He hadn’t known how gut-wrenching it would feel to be treated like a stranger after that and ignored for months. He hadn’t known that hope could sneak up on you even if you wished it away or tried to ignore it. He hadn’t known that you could fall in love with someone even if you didn’t really understand him. He hadn’t known that you can’t stop yourself from falling in love, that by the time you realize it’s happened you’re already in so fucking deep that you’re stuck. He was surprised to find that he didn’t want to get unstuck. He wanted to stay here, even though he was in incredible pain, because he knew (or thought or hoped) that on the other side of the pain, true happiness waited for him.
All of this led to two conclusions. First, he had to break up with Alex. Second, he had to tell Ilya how he felt. Or some version of it at least.
The first part was surprisingly easy. Alex took it in stride the way Jordan had. Shane wondered, for the fiftieth time, why this thing between him and Rozanov was not easy like that.
The next part felt more complicated. He wanted to talk to Ilya but he didn’t know where to start or how. They would meet again at All Stars but that was almost two months away and he didn’t want to wait that long. Something had changed between them on the street in Boston but it was still precarious. He worried if he let it sit for too long he would lose the chance to figure out what it was. He seriously considered calling Ilya before he remembered they had never, not once, spoken on the phone. He would have to text instead, at least at first. Maybe they would work up to a phone call.
Texting turned out to be harder than he expected. He typed and deleted several messages. Did you mean what you said? And also what did it mean? I miss you so much. I tried dating to get over you but it’s impossible. No one makes me feel like you do. How could you ever think I didn’t want you? I have wanted you every minute since the first time I saw you.
Finally, he settled on the other subject they had in common besides sex: hockey.
You: Watched highlights from your game last night. That hit in the third looked terrible. You ok?
It was a cop-out, maybe, to talk about hockey instead of what they should be talking about but he had to start somewhere.
Lily: why are u asking
Shane sighed. He nearly ignored the response. He knew he shouldn’t read a tone in a text message but he was sure Rozanov's usual friendly playfulness was not there to soften the words. Shane had always been stubborn though and he wasn’t going to let Ilya blow him off that easily.
You: I wanted to make sure you’re ok.
Lily: why
You: Because you’re the only person in this league worth playing against. It would suck if you got injured.
You: Also I care about you. As a person.
This last one went unanswered for a long time before Shane's phone finally buzzed again.
Lily: I am ok. thanks.
Shane took a break after that, resolving not to reach out again for a few days so as not to seem desperate. He texted Rose instead–not about Ilya but just to chat. He had really enjoyed hanging out with her the other night. Her press tour was taking her all over but she would be back in Montreal soon for reshoots and happily agreed to have dinner with him. He lamented again that he was definitely, fully gay and therefore couldn’t publicly date a beautiful woman like his teammates did. He was relieved in a sense though. He was tired of pretending that anyone came close to Ilya Rozanov, in or out of bed.
He counted exactly three days before he texted again.
You: Do you celebrate American Thanksgiving?
Lily: not really but i go where i’m invited
Lily: why
You: Just wondering.
You: Like about your life in Boston. I don’t know that much about it.
Lily: what do you want to know hollander
Here Shane hesitated. He wanted to know if Ilya was still “casually” picking up women at bars. He wanted to know if Ilya slept with other men too. He wanted to know if anyone had ever come close to being a girlfriend or a boyfriend and if that was something that Ilya even wanted.
You: I don’t know, just what you do when you’re not at practice or in a game I guess.
There was a long pause after that. Shane wondered if he was being too boring again, trying to get Ilya to talk to him about normal things instead of just sexting each other or arguing. He gave up and went for a run, again. It was the only thing that helped besides skating. His thoughts were consumed with Ilya Rozanov and the upcoming All Star break. They would be on the same team for the first time ever. He was thrilled about that. He didn’t want to go into that weekend with this weirdness between them, potentially ruining what would be a career highlight for him. He wanted to be able to talk to each other without animosity. He wanted to be able to erase the memory of Ilya screaming you didn’t want me on the street in Boston. He wanted to fix things; he just didn’t know how.
Lily: probably same as you, work out, practice. when my friend Svetlana is here we go out. nice to speak russian to someone instead of always translating
Who the fuck was Svetlana? A friend or a friend with benefits? Shane texted Rose.
You: Hey, quick question: if a guy you’re seeing mentions he has a friend who’s a girl, do you ask any follow up questions?
Rose: Wow, I have so many questions.
You: For him?
Rose: No, for you! Who are we talking about???
You: No comment.
Rose: Ugh fine. In my fantasy it’s Rozanov. That would be so fucking hot.
Shane sputtered looking at his phone. He reread the text five times before he could understand that she thought she was making a joke and not accidentally figuring out who Shane was in love with.
Rose: Ok, I need more details before I can answer.
You: Like what?
Rose: You are so bad at this
His phone started buzzing. He smiled as he hit the answer button. Before he could say anything, Rose started. “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. I should have asked for screenshots but I got too excited.”
Shane chuckled. “It’s not that exciting. I just asked what he does… where he lives. You know, trying to make conversation I guess? I don’t know, we don’t really… talk when we’re together.” His face burned; he was glad they weren’t FaceTiming.
“Rrrrreeeeeaaaallllyyyyy.”
“Oh my God, Rose.”
She giggled. “I’m sorry, I am just delighted to be involved. And I’m dying to know who it is but I will help you anyway.”
Shane snorted. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You will not be disappointed, I’m good at this. Okay, so you asked him what he does in his city and he said…”
“Um, regular stuff, he works out and goes clubbing, which I knew. And then he said he has this friend Svetlana–”
“So Russian.”
“Right, he said it was nice to have someone to talk to in Russian. And that they’re friends.”
Rose hummed. “And you’re afraid they’re more than friends?”
Shane sighed. “I guess. He kind of has a reputation, he’s always out with some beautiful girl.”
There was a pause. “What city did you say?”
Shane hesitated. “I didn’t.”
“...Shane.”
“Rose.”
“I’m just… a Russian with a reputation for being a big clubber and womanizer? That sounds extremely familiar to me.” Do not panic, he told himself. She doesn’t know for sure unless you tell her. “Shane?”
“I’m here,” he said quietly.
He heard her inhale deeply. “Okay. Listen. We don’t have to talk about it right now. Can I google Svetlana though?”
Shane hesitated. “You really can’t tell anyone, Rose. Not even Miles. Not even–he isn’t out. Obviously.”
“I promise I won’t, Shane. Please believe me, I would never do something like that.” They sat in silence for a minute, Shane processing, still trying to figure out how she put all the pieces together. He wondered if anyone else had. He thought Scott Hunter had that time but in hindsight he thought he was probably overreacting. He would have to apologize to Hunter. Some day. Maybe.
“Okay. Yeah, of course I know you wouldn’t. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry! Let’s figure out who this girl is, I’m putting you on speaker, hang on.” He heard some shuffling on the other end. Within thirty seconds, Rose asked, “Svetlana Vertrova?”
“Wait, what, how did you–”
“I have the internet, Shane. I just googled their names together.”
“Vertrova like Vertrov?”
“...What?”
“Russian goalie. A great one. She’s his daughter, I guess?”
“Per the internet, yes.” Rose hummed again. “She and he-who-shall-not-be-named are photographed together a lot.”
Shane tensed, his jaw tightening. “Do they look like friends or like…”
“It’s hard to tell, they’re both so hot.” Shane snorted. “Sorry! But it’s true, they’re like sex on legs together.”
“Rose–”
“Okay, okay. Sorry.” She took him off speaker, her voice suddenly clearer in his ear. “Shane, listen. If you want him, you have to go get him. As much as I love internet stalking for drama purposes, this isn’t helping.”
Shane groaned. “But what am I supposed to do? He acted so weird when I asked him what he does in Boston.”
“Okay well, try something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, you both seemed to have a lot of fun talking shit to each other. Try that.”
“Chirping? Like in a game?”
“Yes. That is a thing you know how to do, unlike regular flirting.” Shane made a protesting noise and Rose laughed. “Know your strengths, babe.”
Shane sighed. “Okay. Thank you. And sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry! This is so fun!”
“Yeah, for you. I’m in hell.”
Rose laughed again. “Welcome to dating. It is a nightmare.”
“Tell me about yours.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I know how conversations work, Rose, I’m supposed to also ask you questions about yourself,” he teased.
“See, you can be funny when you aren’t trying! Do that!”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, don’t try.” As if I have ever not tried at anything in my life. “Your turn, now.”
She launched into a story about the last guy Miles had set her up with, who turned out to be rude to wait staff, a glaring red flag. They talked briefly about work and hockey too, and Shane finally felt more settled when they ended the call. Thank God for Rose. It felt good to have someone who knew, after all this time, about him and Ilya. It felt good to know, finally, what he actually wanted. He did better when he had a goal. The goal was: make Ilya Rozanov fall in love with him.
He had always achieved whatever goal he set for himself before. This time would not be any different. He texted Lily: You should teach me some Russian.
Lily: useful phrases only
You: Like?
Lily: please, harder, more
Shane snorted, wanting to be irritated but finding instead he was both charmed and horny. He was so fucked.
You: Fuck off.
Lily: no Hollander, phrase is please fuck me Ilya
You: Soon I hope 😉
Lily: Shane Hollander, are you flirting with me?
You: Maybe.
You: Is it working?
He held his breath until the reply came through.
Lily: maybe
He exhaled. Maybe meant yes, he was almost positive.
***
Forty-five days until All Stars. He would not make it that long.
They had three days for Christmas: eve, day, and Boxing Day. Shane didn’t think Americans did Boxing Day but there were enough Canadian teams (and Canadian players) that the MLH gave them the day anyway.
Shane didn’t care about Christmas all that much. He liked going to the cottage with his parents and whatever relatives and strays appeared there. He liked having a couple days off at this point in the season, to reset and recharge, though he still skated every day on his new practice rink at his own cottage. Skating was his favorite activity. He wondered if it was the same for Ilya.
They had been texting, sporadically but still: having normal conversations most of the time, even if they always ended up being about sex. Shane jerked off every day, which he had never done before, even as a teenager. He could not think about anything except Ilya. It was killing him.
It was also why, in a moment of horny-induced madness, he asked Ilya what he was doing for the holiday break.
Lily: going to vicky’s for dinner. Russian christmas is next month.
Shane filed that away for later.
You: Nice.
You: Three days off is pretty good at this point in the season.
You: There’s a town in Vermont that’s almost exactly halfway between Boston and Montreal.
No answer, which should have made Shane stop typing but he found his fingers moving before his brain could catch up.
You: There’s an inn there.
You: We could meet if you want.
Immediately, he wished there was a way to unsend messages. What the hell had he been thinking? They did not do this, they only met when they played each other, they didn’t make plans outside of that. They barely made plans, period. Maybe he was rushing things. Damn his stupid dick, thinking for him. He watched the three little dots appear and disappear three times before Lily finally answered.
Lily: send me address
Shane scrambled. He had not actually booked a room, almost positive Ilya would say no to this (admittedly insane) idea. He had the inn’s website up in a browser tab though, because he was nothing if not prepared for all possible outcomes. He sent the address and a proposed time (he was having Christmas day lunch with his parents in Montreal this year and could leave in the late afternoon. He would have to make some excuse about his plans for the rest of the break but that was a future Shane problem). He had no idea what time Victor St. Simon hosted Christmas dinner but he didn’t care. He couldn’t believe Ilya had agreed to this.
He wondered if they were both insane to do this. Then he decided he didn’t care. He absolutely could not wait until Tampa in January. He would lose his mind. He was possibly already losing it but what a way to go, wrapped in Ilya Rozanov’s arms on Christmas day. He could think of worse things.
***
The two and a half hour drive to Vermont was both interminably slow and way too fucking fast.
He checked into the unassuming little inn wearing a hat with his hoodie pulled up as well, which probably made him look conspicuous but he didn’t care. The old man at the desk said nothing to him when he handed over his ID and credit card, just smiled and wished him a merry Christmas, which Shane returned with a grim smile.
The inn was small, only ten rooms, most of which Shane had to assume were empty, considering it was a holiday in the middle of the week. He texted Ilya the room number anyway (4, which felt weird when all the room numbers in their text history were three and four digits long). He found himself pacing again but quickly gave that up since the room was small. Cozy, Shane thought. Romantic. He grimaced. He hoped Ilya wouldn’t freak out. Shane was freaking out and it was his idea.
The knock at the door made him jump out of his skin, which was crazy, because he knew when Ilya was coming. Maybe part of him had feared Ilya would chicken out, like Ilya had thought Shane would do the first time they hooked up. Shane almost had that time actually. It was terrifying, acknowledging that he was not only attracted to a guy, but that guy in particular. Now he couldn’t imagine what his life would be like if Ilya hadn’t come to his hotel room that night. It had always been Ilya for him, he realized now.
Seeing him in person again was like being kicked in the chest but in a good way? He couldn’t describe it. His brain went offline as soon as Ilya was in his proximity.
He yanked Ilya through the door and kissed him before he even said hello properly. He was starving for it, dying to get as close to him as possible. Ilya responded (thank God), pushing Shane against the wall like he liked, wordlessly stripping him of his t-shirt as Shane worked on getting both their pants off. They jerked each other off right there next to the closed door, kissing while they rubbed against each other, not speaking, barely making eye contact. When they were both done, Ilya rested his forehead on Shane’s shoulder and started laughing under his breath.
“What?” Shane asked, giddy with relief and out of breath from coming so hard.
Ilya shook his head against Shane’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas,” he rasped. Then they were both laughing, cackling really, naked and sweaty and covered in each other’s spend until Shane pushed Ilya off him and went to get a washcloth.
He returned to find Ilya lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, not smiling but not frowning either. Shane wordlessly handed him the cloth and laid down next to him. It was eerily similar to their first time together. This time would be different though because Shane was sure about what he wanted. He just had to find a way to get the words out.
“We should talk,” he managed.
Ilya did not turn to look at him. “So talk.”
Right. This was Shane’s idea. He had to keep reminding himself of that.
He turned on his side so he could look at Ilya, who turned his head if not his whole body to listen. “What you said in Boston…” If he thought this would get Ilya talking, he was wrong. The other man said nothing so Shane continued. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“I said many things in Boston,” Ilya answered, purposely obtuse as always.
“Fuck you, this is already hard, okay?”
Ilya sighed, turning so they mirrored each other. He rested a hand on Shane’s waist, a peace offering. “Yes. I am sorry. Talk.”
Shane searched Ilya’s eyes, trying to figure out what he was thinking. He could never tell, even after all this time of knowing each other. Ilya would have to talk too, but Shane knew that he wouldn’t volunteer anything on his own. Rose had been right: Shane had to do the heavy lifting here. He was ready. Maybe.
“You said I didn’t want you but that’s not–that’s not true. That’s never been true actually.” He huffed a laugh. “Which is why I was dating or whatever. To try to get over you.” Ilya said nothing so Shane continued. “It didn’t work. Obviously.”
Ilya grinned. “Obviously.”
“Fuck off,” Shane said fondly. “I thought… I thought I was just like, convenient for you. Or fun, or whatever, because it’s like, forbidden.” He shook his head. “I know it was a long time ago but in Sochi–” He took a deep breath. This was the hard part for sure. This part sucked. “You hurt my fucking feelings, okay? We had this like, incredible sex–or I thought it was incredible at least.” Ilya’s hand tightened on his waist, emboldening him to continue. “And then you ghosted me for like six months. So I tried to find someone else and then you were so… weird about it, like I had done something wrong but I don’t know what that was. I don’t know what I did to make you ignore me and then be pissed at me for not…” He trailed off, unable to explain any further. Ilya’s eyes were searching his but he still couldn’t read the other man’s expression. He bit his tongue to keep from talking. It was Ilya’s turn now.
Before Ilya said anything, he kissed Shane’s forehead. He kissed his nose, both cheeks, and his mouth, the most chaste kisses Shane had ever received from Ilya, from anyone really. This was dangerous, being cherished like this.
“Shane,” he whispered, his accent thick. “Shane.” He shook his head. “This is too hard in English.”
“Well I don’t know any Russian yet, so.”
Ilya smiled. “Yet?”
“Yeah, I mean, if we’re gonna–” He cut himself off. He would not be the one to say it. He had said enough. It was Ilya’s turn.
“Russia is complicated,” he said, finally. He closed his eyes. “My family is complicated. My brother, my father, they would not… I would not be able to go home again if anyone knew.”
Shane suddenly felt like an idiot. “Is that why–in Sochi, that’s why you were being so weird?”
Ilya nodded. “Was too dangerous to be seen with you in public. Someone would have noticed.”
“Noticed what?”
Ilya swallowed. “The way I look at you.”
Shane’s heart swelled. He knew he was smiling like an idiot, even as Ilya was telling him that his home country and his family would disown him for whatever they were doing. “You can’t keep saying romantic shit like that to me, Ilya,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “I might get my hopes up.”
Ilya smiled. “What is it you are hoping for, Shane Hollander?”
The question pierced him. He knew the real answer: he hoped beyond reason that they could be together, for real, not just in stolen hours in hotel rooms or random Vermont inns. But still, even after Ilya called his freckles beautiful and said he couldn’t stop thinking about him, still Shane was afraid to show too much, to ask for too much. He kissed Ilya instead of answering, not wanting to say something wrong and ruin this beautiful moment between them. Predictably, kissing turned into touching which turned into a frantic search in his bag for the lube and condoms he had brought, which turned into the usual begging Ilya for more, harder, please. He came so hard he saw stars. In his post-orgasm haze, he felt the words bubbling up in his chest, trying to escape from his mouth: I love you, I want you, never leave me. Tears pricked his eyes. He tried to blink them away but Ilya saw them and kissed them away with such tenderness that Shane thought he would actually die. Ilya whispered something in Russian that Shane wished he could understand. They held each other then, for a long time, until the stickiness between them was unbearable to Shane and he started to squirm.
Ilya laughed. “So predictable, Hollander,” he teased.
“Fuck off. Meeting here wasn’t predictable, was it?”
Ilya’s smile faded a little. “No. It was not.” Shane held his breath, waiting to see if they would talk about it more but instead Ilya stood and pulled Shane up with him. “Come. We will shower and then order Chinese food.”
Shane laughed. “What, why Chinese?”
Ilya shrugged. “Still American Christmas. Only thing open, probably.”
In the shower, they kissed and touched each other for so long, Shane thought round three would come before food. In the end, hunger won out and Ilya found some place to order from on his phone. Shane started to tell him what he wanted but Ilya waved him off. “Yes, healthy only, nothing fried, even on holiday. So boring, Hollander.”
“I’m an athlete, Rozanov.”
“Your bird food is maybe why I am always beating you, you do not have enough calories.”
“Oh fuck off, I’m ahead in the scoring race.”
“For now.”
Shane smiled. “Rose was right.”
Ilya frowned. “Rose Landry?”
“Yeah. We’re friends. She kind of clocked us that night we met.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “And you did not freak out?”
“Fuck off, I don’t freak out all the time.” Ilya stared at him until Shane laughed. “Okay, fine. No, she was… nice. Surprisingly easy to talk to.”
“Not like me,” Ilya replied nonchalantly.
Shane wanted to protest, out of politeness really, but that would be a waste of both their time. “You could be, I think. If you were honest with me.”
Ilya considered him for a minute. “It is hard.” Shane nodded, waited. “I did not like you seeing other men.”
Shane swallowed. “Okay. But you see other people.”
Ilya leaned his head back on the headboard. “Is different for me. Casual.”
Shane hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know if I ever was casual about you.” He moved to rest his head on Ilya’s chest. This conversation was getting too heavy for continued eye contact. “I think I always knew it was more than that. For me at least.”
Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head, brushing his fingers through Shane’s hair. “For me too, I think,” he whispered.
Shane swallowed, determined not to cry again. “I know it’s complicated because of Russia and your family, like you said. Maybe it’s too much to ask.”
“What are you asking, Shane?”
Shane shook his head. “I don’t know. Honestly. I just… I don’t want to see other people. I only want to see you.” He took a deep breath. “And I guess I could handle you… doing what you want when we’re apart. If you’re safe, you know. And discreet.”
“Discreet.”
“Like, if you don’t tell me. If I don’t find out.”
Ilya was silent for a few minutes. Shane tried not to read too much into it. It was pathetic maybe, to offer everything to Ilya and ask for so little in return, but he didn’t care anymore. It’s not like they could ever be together for real, like Hayden and Jackie or St. Simon and his wife. He knew Ilya loved to go out and pick up women with his friends and Shane hated it but he could learn to live with it if it meant he got to have Ilya some of the time.
“I do not think that is what I want,” Ilya said finally.
Shane felt himself deflate like a balloon. Of course it wasn’t what Ilya wanted. He probably wanted to keep living his wild life until he found someone worth settling down for, someone he could take home to Russia, someone his country and his family and his teammates could meet. He closed his eyes, searching for courage he did not feel, reminding himself it was better to know than not know and waste his time hoping for something he couldn't have. “What do you want?” he whispered, waiting to feel his heart drop from his throat to his knees.
They breathed in sync for a minute before Ilya whispered, “You, Shane. I want you.”
Shane’s body was screaming for more but he held off, wanting to be sure before he committed. “For real this time?” he said.
“Probably.” Shane pinched Ilya’s side. “Ow, Hollander, what the fuck!” They both giggled, the tension momentarily ebbed. “Okay, okay, yes. This is for real. You have ruined me for anyone else.”
Shane felt tears prick the back of his eyes. “Ruined you?”
“Yes, you have ruined my life, Shane Hollander.” Shane tipped his head up so they could kiss. Ilya’s eyes were wet too, he could tell, but he didn’t say anything, just focused on Ilya’s mouth on his, the slide of his tongue, the taste of him, that no one else would have anymore because these were all things only for Shane now. He was dizzy with the thought of it.
“Mine too,” he whispered into Ilya’s mouth. “But I’m happy. I’m so happy, it’s freaking me out.”
Ilya chuckled. “Yes, would not be you if you did not freak out.”
“Shut up and kiss me some more.”
Ilya obliged.
Many Years Later
"Newlyweds?"
Shane turned his attention to the woman who was apparently speaking to him. He had been looking (okay, staring) at his husband while Ilya went to get them coffees before practice. He was used to being recognized in town, especially when he and Ilya were together, but this seemed like something different. "Pardon?" he said politely, smiling a little at the little old lady, who was a full foot shorter than he.
"I asked if you and Handsome over there were newlyweds."
Not for a long time, Shane thought, grinning to himself. Rather than correct her, he played along. "How could you tell?"
She smiled up at him fondly. "You're looking at him like he hung the moon." She patted his arm. "That feeling won't stick around forever, honey. Enjoy it while it lasts."
Shane chuckled and thanked her as she wandered off to stand next to an old man waiting at the counter. She linked an arm through his and turned back to wink at Shane.
Ilya reappeared at his side and handed Shane his coffee. "You are flirting with old women now? I thought this was my brand."
Shane rolled his eyes fondly. "She asked if we were newlyweds."
Ilya laughed. "What did you tell her?"
"That we were, of course." Ilya's gaze softened. "She said it wouldn't last forever and I should enjoy it while I can." They both laughed then. They glanced back at the older couple as they walked out the door into the fresh, cold air. Shane pulled at Ilya's hand to stop him from walking and kissed him in the middle of the sidewalk, which was, even after all these years, a very un-Shane-like thing to do.
"What was that for?" Ilya asked, eyebrows raised.
Shane shrugged. "It's our honeymoon. I'm celebrating."
"Dork," Ilya said fondly, leaning in for another kiss.
"You love it."
"I do."