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“You gonna come for me, Rozanov?” “Fucking make me, Hollander.”
“Oh god. Shane...”
They held each other, both breathing heavily as they waited for their hearts to stop racing. But Shane didn’t think his heart would ever stop racing. Shane. He called me Shane. He pulled back so he could see Rozanov’s face, and was shocked to see him staring at him with the same wide-eyed terror that Shane felt. “Ilya,” he said, barely more than a whisper. Ilya didn’t answer. Instead, he crushed their mouths together and kissed Shane in a raw, uncontrolled way that felt like an apology.
When they broke apart, Ilya rested his forehead against Shane’s and they just breathed together. Shane held Ilya’s face in his hands, and Ilya was stroking his back.
Every fiber of him wanted to run right back up those stairs and into Ilya’s arms. To wrap himself around him and go to bed with him and wake up with him
And it only took him a second longer to realize the man she had her arms around—who had his hands on her waist—was Shane Hollander. Fuck it. Ilya moved purposefully to the other side of the dance floor. He found a girl inside a minute who was happy to press her body against his. By the next song, she had her tongue in his mouth. He wondered if Hollander saw him.
And Shane felt sick. He needed to leave. He realized, suddenly, as if waking from a dream, that he was standing alone in the middle of a dance floor...not dancing. Just...staring. At Ilya. He couldn’t let Ilya notice him.
Stupid fucking Shane Hollander. Stupid Rose Landry. Oh god, what was wrong with him?
Shane’s memory supplied him with flashes of golden brown curls and sparkling hazel eyes and a playful smile and hard muscles and of strong hands holding him down as he was entered and filled and... “Yeah,” Shane said softly. “Yeah. It was better.”
The truth—the truth that he tried so very hard to ignore—was that no one set him on fire like Shane Hollander.
What scared Ilya was how desperately he wanted it to continue
He wanted to see Rozanov this weekend. He wanted to be with him, alone, behind closed doors; he was tired of lying to himself about it.
Ilya leaned against the bar and watched Shane shake hands and clap guys on the back. He watched him smile and laugh with everyone. He looked relaxed and confident, like a man who had gotten his life together. Like a man who didn’t question himself anymore. He looked... Christ, he looks so fucking good.
Ilya didn’t miss the past tense of what Shane was saying about going out with Rose, even with his imperfect English. “Are you and her not...” Shane shook his head. “We’re not. No. It was just a short thing. She’s great. We just weren’t, um...compatible.” He looked seriously at Ilya then. Ilya wanted to kiss him.
Ilya put his hand over his mouth to hide his ridiculous smile.
The kids laughed more. Shane laughed too. He wondered if Ilya ever thought about having kids. He was good with them.
Instead, Ilya swooped down and wrapped his arms around him. Shane’s eyes went wide. “Get off! What the—” He was shocked that Ilya would do something this...public. Shocked and a little thrilled.
When he finally let go, Shane shoved him and tried to look annoyed, but he knew his face was flushed and he couldn’t help grinning. Ilya straightened up to full height, looming over Shane with the sun behind him. Every inch of him was glistening gold.
It took every ounce of Shane’s willpower to stop himself from reaching out for him. He looked magnificent.
Shane raised his arms in celebration and he just looked so happy. He was beaming and his eyes were crinkled and his cheeks were flushed. Ilya embraced him, and Shane wrapped both of his arms tight around him.
Ilya felt a puff of Shane’s hot breath on his neck, and he could see the glisten of sweat on his skin and Ilya kissed him, hard, on the cheek. He was sure, to the crowd, that it looked like Ilya’s usual obnoxious shenanigans, that the kiss was just another way of annoying Hollander. But the truth was he simply couldn’t help himself. He had seen an opportunity, and he had taken it.
Someone sat beside him, a few inches away. He didn’t even need to look. “Found you,” said Ilya. “You were looking for me?” “Of course not.”
Without warning, Ilya moved his hand until it was right next to Shane’s, and then he hooked their thumbs together. Shane’s first instinct was to pull away, but he resisted. Instead he closed his eyes, and tried not to hope for impossible things. He also resisted the urge to rest his head on Ilya’s shoulder.
“It’s...” Shane grimaced. “It’s not just me, right?” “Not just you?” “I mean...you feel it too, don’t you?” “Feel what?” “God, fuck you. You know what I mean! The last time we were...together...it was...different.”
Ilya shrugged and looked away. He knew it was the wrong reaction, but he felt a horrifying swell of emotion that he couldn’t let Shane see.
Ilya studied him a moment, then said, “Okay. So you are gay. So what?” “Well, it’s sort of a big deal! To me, at least.
“Why are you telling me that you are gay?” Ilya asked quietly. Shane laughed humorlessly. “Who else am I gonna tell?” Ilya took a sip of his Coke. “You are not the only gay NHL player. Probably.” “I know.”
know that, but...” Shane ran a hand through his own hair in exasperation. “Last time we were together it was...nice,” he said quietly. Ilya was silent a moment, then admitted, “It was.” “It felt like we were...more.” “We can’t be more, Hollander.”
Shane flinched and fiddled with the can of ginger ale that he hadn’t even opened. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t like you,” he said finally. “You don’t like me,” Ilya argued. “I do. I... I maybe like you too much.”
Ilya’s heart clenched. “Don’t,” he groaned. “Don’t fucking do this, Hollander. I’m not...” “Worth it?” Ilya glared at him. “Gay. I’m not gay. And I can’t be...anything close to it, okay?”
“I love my country,” Ilya said. “But I could not stay there.” “Would have made my life a lot easier,” Shane joked. They both laughed. Shane shook his head and looked at the ceiling. And Ilya just...stared at him. At this oddly insecure superstar who was so beautiful and sweet and here
“You look really fucking good,” Ilya said. Shane stood and placed his ginger ale on the dresser next to Ilya’s abandoned Coke. He sank to the floor, straddling Ilya’s outstretched legs.
He leaned forward and took his mouth. It felt different this time, as he wrapped his arms around Shane’s back and pulled him close against his body. Shane’s hands cradled Ilya’s face as he kissed him with the force of everything they had almost said out loud.
“Do you want to talk about...anything? Your family?” “No,” Ilya said. “Not tonight.” “You can, though, you know. Talk to me.” For a moment, Ilya was very still. “Thank you,” he said.
“I should probably go,” Shane said. Ilya didn’t reply, so Shane moved to get out of the bed. Ilya pulled him back, and Shane found himself on top of him, and then being kissed by him, and then he was under him. “Stay,” Ilya said.
Ilya shook his head. “When will I have you for as long as I want?” Shane’s heart leapt. “I don’t know. As soon as possible?” “Yes.” Ilya leaned in and kissed him.
There was a long, tense silence between them, and then Ilya said, “Good night. Shane.” A jolt of pleasure zipped through Shane’s body every time Ilya called him by his first name. “Good night, Ilya.”
Because the hall was empty, no one saw the smile that nearly split Shane’s face in half.
Because of his injury, and the fact that it was, like, nine in the morning, he had been mostly kidding when he had suggested phone sex. But he wondered if Shane would actually do it someday. He couldn’t imagine... Or, maybe he could imagine. Because suddenly he was. Quite vividly. He could just see it. Shane with his determined little face, pretending not to be terrified.
This Skype thing needed to happen. He would coax some dirty talk out of that pretty little mouth of Shane’s. He would force Shane out of his comfort zone. He could make it a challenge. Shane couldn’t resist a challenge.
He wanted a whole day with Shane. A weekend. A week. He wanted to be somewhere that no one could possibly interrupt them. Maybe that would be all he would need. Just the opportunity to get Shane Hollander out of his system.
Lily: Come over? Shane’s heart stopped. Come over? Come over? Now? Shane: I can’t! Don’t be stupid. Lily: Come over. Not for long. An hour? Shane actually let out a surprised laugh. Shane: No. Come on. We both know that’s a bad idea. Lily: Everything we do is a bad idea. Come over.
Shane shook his head. There was no way he was going to go over there. He could list a million reasons why he couldn’t go over there, and he ran them through his head as he grabbed his jacket and left the hotel room.
Ilya’s smirk grew into a genuine, warm smile. Shane’s heart lurched. And then they were kissing and pulling at clothing and stumbling toward the bedroom, not breaking contact.
Something is wrong with Ilya. The thought hit Shane suddenly.
Except Ilya was breathing Shane’s name—his first name—like a prayer and gazing at him like he was just as close as Shane was to saying something truly embarrassing and stupid and definite.
Ilya warned him, because he knew Shane didn’t always like to take it in his mouth.
“Go. I didn’t ask you to come over to talk.” “Well...you can. If you ever want to. I mean, you can just call me. Or text. Or if we’re in the same city and you want to just talk instead of...” Ilya cracked a crooked grin at that. “Instead of?” “As well as?” “I like that better.”
He leaned forward and kissed Shane. It was as soft and sweet a kiss as Shane had ever received from anyone.
He could admit to himself that he wanted to see Shane as much as possible, and he found that he wasn’t worried about letting Shane know it anymore. For now, at least. The day would come when they would have to end it, but for now Ilya was happy to steal as many moments as possible.
