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Fuck. This was really gay.
“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”
Ilya cheated and murmured, “I would stay here forever if I could” in Russian. He felt Shane sigh around him, but it sounded more dreamy than exasperated. Maybe he understood what he meant. Maybe some feelings couldn’t be hidden behind foreign words.
Shane laughed. “You wanna kiss me on television?” “Yes. After I win the Stanley Cup.” Shane spread his arms out. “Oh, so in this romantic scenario, you’ve just defeated me?” “Yes. Sorry.” “I’m not going to be in the mood to kiss you if I’ve just lost the Stanley Cup, Rozanov.” “But you would be so proud of me!”
Ilya grinned. “Buying an entire building because you are nervous is very you.”
“I want to tell everyone,” Ilya said. “Right now.” Shane’s eyes went wide with panic. “No! Don’t. We have to stick to the plan.” Ilya sighed dramatically. “You and your plans. What if I just kissed you on the mouth at the next All-Star Game?” “I’ll punch you. I swear to god.”

