Chapter Text
The familiar arena. The BU Terriers played in the Beanpot at TD Garden every year. But this time was different. This time, Shane sat in the stands, watching with his own eyes as others competed on that ice. He knew exactly what it felt like to walk out of the locker room. He knew what it felt like to stand on that ice, under the gaze of a full house.He wondered how Rozanov felt about all of this.
The roar of the crowd filled the arena. Shane sat quietly, waiting for the players to make their official entrance onto the ice. From a distance, he looked almost too calm. In truth, he was doing everything he could to absorb it all: the noise, the lights, and the body heat radiating from the people surrounding him.
“This is insane, Hollander,” Hayden said beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m serious, Rozanov got you these tickets, and seats like this? OMG, I need to send a picture to Jackie right now!”
Shane smiled as he watched the animated Hayden.
He hadn’t expected Rozanov to give him two tickets later on. The only person Shane could think of to bring was Hayden. He didn’t have many friends. He had always struggled to pick up on other people’s emotions or read between the lines. He had improved a lot socially compared to before, but making friends still felt difficult. Not to mention that his job had almost completely drained the energy he had left for social interactions. He was deeply grateful to Hayden. He was the first person on the team who had actively reached out to talk to Shane. Hayden was also from Canada, just like him. He spoke bluntly and was thick-skinned. Sometimes his words might make others think Hayden lacked emotional intelligence, but Shane liked it that way. It was direct. It was easy to know what Hayden was thinking. Hayden was genuinely good to him warm and enthusiastic. He would often drag Shane out to eat, and he never let Shane pay. He often made Shane feel warm inside. Shane had never had such a good friend before.
“Hey, Shane! They’re coming out!” Hayden shook Shane excitedly with his hand. “God, I love you so much, Shane. Thank you for bringing me!”
The fans in the stands couldn’t stay seated any longer and rose to their feet. The roar from the other side of the ice grew louder and louder.
Shane pulled the zipper of his jacket a little higher and tugged at his sleeves. This game was between the Boston Bruins and the Florida Panthers. He saw Ilya on the ice pull out the necklace from under his jersey, clutch it tightly, and murmur something to himself.
The sharp crack of sticks hitting the puck echoed constantly across the rink. Cliff blocked a shot from Florida right in front of the net and kept fighting to break free from the opponent’s entanglement.
The opposing five players still had their weight committed to the offensive side, leaving gaps in Florida’s defense. Shane watched as Ilya accelerated quickly along the boards, positioning himself half a step behind the last defenseman.
Stretch pass.
Crack. A flat, lightning-fast long pass skimmed across the ice, slicing through the entire neutral zone and threading the gap between the two backchecking players. The puck landed perfectly on the blade of Ilya’s stick. He spun around swiftly, his body rotating with fluid power. The puck was still sliding as he cocked his stick, leaned his body to the side, and fired a clean, precise shot through the narrow gap between the Florida goaltender’s legs. Before the goalie could react, the puck had already slipped between his pads and into the net.
Boston had scored.
The arena was instantly engulfed by a tidal wave of sound, the wild joy spreading and infecting every single spectator.
Although Florida had spent a fortune signing the goaltender Sergei, his performance still fell short of expectations. Boston faced little pressure in this game and cruised to a 3-1 victory, breaking through Florida’s defense with ease.
“Hey, Shane, should we go thank Rozanov for getting us these tickets?”
“Umm, no need, Hayden. I’ll text him later. I still have something to do after this. You go ahead. Isn’t Jackie waiting for you?”
“Oh, right. Say hi to Rozanov for me. Thanks so much for today, Shane.”
“Got it. Bye.”
Shane stood by the back entrance of the arena, leaning against the wall. He unlocked his phone, opened the chat window, and hesitated for a long time.
Shane stared at the screen, the glow of his phone illuminating his face in the night. After several minutes, Ilya still hadn’t replied. Shane unconsciously bit his lower lip. Maybe he had already left with his teammates to celebrate at some bar, while Shane was still here, foolishly hoping he might run into Rozanov or waiting for Rozanov to invite him.
“So this is how you congratulate me?”
A familiar voice sounded behind him.
Shane turned around. Ilya stood there with an Adidas crossbody bag slung over his shoulder. One sleeve of his hoodie was casually rolled up, revealing a strong forearm. His jacket was loosely tied around his waist. Ilya’s hair was still a little damp, and he tilted his head with a crooked smile at Shane.
Could a man over thirty still look this hot?
“Your teammates? Aren’t you guys going to celebrate?”
“No. I don’t want to. I’ve celebrated with them for over ten years already. Skipping one time won’t make any difference.”
Ilya walked up beside Shane, raised an eyebrow at him, then kept walking forward without looking back.
“I’m heading home.”
Shane stood frozen in place, one hand absently picking at the wall.
Ilya stopped in his tracks, turned around, and looked at Shane. The crossbody bag slipped from his shoulder; he caught it smoothly.
“You want to come with me? Isn’t it kind of pathetic to celebrate a win all by yourself?”
Shane smiled and jogged over to Ilya.
“Weren’t you the one who ditched the team celebration?”
“You’re so boring. Some things lose their fun if you spell them out too clearly, Hollander.”
They continued walking side by side in silence.
“Feel free.”
Shane took off his shoes and stepped into Ilya’s home. His heart was pounding, but this time he knew it was because of Ilya’s completely illegal driving habits. Watching the speedometer climb higher and higher, Shane silently prayed he wouldn’t meet an early end just from riding in Ilya’s car.
Ilya’s house was enormous, far bigger than Shane had imagined. Wooden floors stretched throughout, and the open-concept kitchen featured walls covered in small mint-green tiles. The refrigerator was covered with Polaroids and schedules. Shane noticed photos of Ilya with his teammates, along with many pictures of a beautiful woman with voluminous curly hair. In them, Ilya had his arm around her, both of them beaming with joy.
“She’s Svetla, my childhood best friend,” Ilya said softly, approaching Shane from behind. His arms slowly wrapped around Shane’s waist.
Ilya rested his head on Shane’s shoulder and kissed his neck. “Do you want to look around some more, or...”
Shane’s hand gently rested on Ilya’s arm that was wrapped around him. He didn’t speak, simply turning to press his lips against Ilya’s. Ilya pinned him against the refrigerator, kissing him tenderly, his hands continuously stroking Shane’s waist. Shane gripped Ilya’s shoulders. He loved the way Ilya kissed him. They drew closer and closer, the air filled with the sound of their breathing. The kiss grew deeper and more urgent. Suddenly, Ilya scooped Shane up into his arms. Shane was startled. A few photos fell to the floor, but Ilya didn’t care. All he wanted right now was to fully enjoy the boy in front of him.
Ilya carried Shane into the bedroom. After a full game, carrying a 190-pound man to the room made Ilya’s arms feel like they were about to explode with fatigue. But seeing Shane lying on his bed, breathing heavily, Ilya felt it was all worth it. He stood by the bed, pulled off his hoodie, and tossed it casually to the floor. He noticed Shane frown slightly. Oh, he really hated mess. Shane sat up on the bed, slowly leaning his head toward Ilya’s pants. He looked up at Ilya. Ilya pinched Shane’s chin with his hand and said nothing.
Ilya’s pants and underwear were pulled down together. Then he was taken into Shane’s mouth. Shane kept sucking and bobbing his head, while Ilya gripped Shane’s hair, encouraging him breathlessly. “Just like that, fuck” Ilya came. Shane pulled back slightly, looked up at Ilya, and swallowed.
“Fuck, Ты меня убьёшь.”
Ilya kept kissing Shane, no longer gentle but filled with raw hunger and greed. His tongue invaded Shane’s mouth, licking and claiming him. Shane met every kiss, unable to hold back his broken, intermittent moans.
Ilya yanked off Shane’s top and watched as Shane removed his own pants, waiting patiently while he neatly folded the clothes.
Ilya gazed at Shane’s naked body young and powerfully built. He braced his hands on either side of Shane’s waist and kissed his chest.
“Have you done this before? With a man?”
Shane swallowed hard and nodded. He felt a little nervous, but he didn’t want to admit it. He was also craving Ilya. He wanted Ilya to touch him.
“Oh, so... are you a top or a bottom?”
“A bottom,” Shane replied with an embarrassed little smile. Ilya noticed the freckles across his face growing even redder. He couldn’t help leaning in to kiss Shane’s cheek.
Ilya’s hand slid down to Shane’s lower abdomen. “If you feel uncomfortable at any point, you can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”
Shane gripped Ilya’s bicep. “Okay,” he answered softly.
Ilya opened the drawer and took out a bottle of lube and a condom. He coated his fingers generously with the slick liquid, warming it between his palms first.
He eased the first finger in slowly, carefully watching Shane’s face. Shane breath catching, but Ilya moved gently, stroking and soothing with small, patient circles until the tension melted away. “Breathe for me,” Ilya murmured softly.
The second finger joined the first. Shane let out a quiet, shaky moan, his body instinctively tightening before gradually opening up. Ilya scissored his fingers gently, stretching him with deliberate care, his other hand stroking Shane’s thigh and hip in steady, reassuring strokes. Every time Shane’s breathing grew uneven, Ilya would pause, kiss his chest or neck, and wait until he relaxed again.
By the time Ilya added the third finger, Shane had turned his head to the side, gripping the pillow tightly. Soft, uncontrollable whimpers escaped his lips as his back arched. A deep, building heat spread through his body, turning his limbs pliant and heavy. The stretch burned for a moment, then shifted into something hotter, more addictive. His hips began to move on their own, chasing the sensation. Ilya curled his fingers, brushing that sensitive spot inside him, and Shane’s moan turned sharper, his whole body trembling.
Ilya knew he was ready.
He tore open the condom wrapper, rolled it on, and positioned the head of his cock against Shane’s entrance. Leaning down, he braced himself over Shane, forehead gently resting against Shane’s. “It’s okay? You think you’re ready?”
Shane nodded.
“Say it,” Ilya whispered.
“Yes, please,” Shane breathed. He felt like he was burning up with need. He wanted Ilya to move on to the next step, to enter him right now.
Ilya gave him what he wanted. Shane felt the heavy pressure at his entrance, and then everything changed. The urgency vanished. Shane froze. He tried to force himself to breathe, but he couldn’t. His body had locked up. Fear flooded him. He suddenly remembered that night—the man laughing on top of him.
Ilya felt Shane trembling violently beneath him. He saw the raw fear on the boy’s face and pulled out immediately.
“Hey, hey, Shane. Breathe. Breathe,” Ilya said softly, one hand cupping Shane’s face.
He kept gently patting Shane’s cheek and shoulder. “I stopped. I stopped now, Shane. Look at me. Just breathe, okay? Everything is okay, Мой мальчик. I’m here.”
Shane gradually came back to himself. A single tear slipped down his cheek. Ilya lowering his head to kiss the tear away from the freckles. He said nothing, simply pulling Shane into his arms and rubbing his back in slow, steady circles.
Shane clung tightly to Ilya, heavy tears now falling freely down his face. He knew Ilya was different from the others that much was painfully clear. But that difference terrified him even more. The memories of past nights still clung to him like shadows. He had learned too well how easily trust could be weaponized, how desire could twist into something that left him hollow and ashamed afterward.
Now, pressed against Ilya’s warm chest, Shane felt a dangerous pull. He was afraid of sinking into this afraid of how much he already wanted more, of how safe and wanted Ilya made him feel. He feared he would willingly follow Reagan’s orders if it meant staying close to this man. He feared falling in love with Ilya. Everything was slipping out of his control: his heart, his emotions, his carefully guarded walls.
But right now, he was too exhausted to fight it. All he wanted was to stay like this, quietly leaning into the man, letting the steady heat of Ilya’s body chase away the lingering ghosts.
The night breeze gently lifted the curtains, rustling as the fabric brushed against itself. Moonlight spilled across the floor, mingling with the warm glow of the bedside lamp. The soft light kissed the boy’s face, tracing his damp eyelashes and cheeks.
“Are you okay?”
The boy nodded softly and nuzzled into the hand beside his face. Ilya gazed at the faint frown creasing Shane’s brow. He smoothed it away with his thumb, then gently brushed the hair from Shane’s forehead.
“It was an... accident... He... he said he wanted to try something fun with me. But he... he didn’t control his strength...”
“He choked me, and I passed out.”
“Shane... That wasn’t an accident,” Ilya said. He rubbed his face with one hand and turned away, anger rising in his chest. He thought of Irina. He thought of his father, and the power that lurked behind him. He understood all too well how Shane had been chosen, manipulated, and made to believe it was something he wanted. But he said none of this. He didn’t know how to say it. He felt guilty himself. He, too, was a beneficiary of his father’s power.
“Promise me you’ll see a therapist, okay? You’ve been through something really bad, and you’re hurting right now. You can’t heal from this on your own. You need help.” Ilya looked at Shane and spoke gently. “I know a doctor I trust. I’ll make an appointment for you. Promise me you’ll go. Don’t worry about the cost.”
Shane lifted his head in surprise, staring at Ilya. Why was he being so good to him? Why did he make Shane feel so... special here?
“Promise me, Shane?”
“Okay, Mr. Rozanov. And... I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Shane. And from now on, call me Ilya.”
“Tonight... we stop here...? You don’t have to...”
“Shane, you don’t need to,” Ilya said, looking at the anxious boy with a complicated expression. “You don’t have to worry about anything, alright? With me, you don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to follow those demands. I don’t care about them, and I don’t like them.”
“Okay.” Shane blinked. “Ilya.”
The man pulled him back into his arms, letting out a soft chuckle. Shane could feel the gentle vibration of his laughter against his chest, along with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
In that moment, pressed tightly against Ilya, Shane felt his own heartbeat falling into sync with Ilya’s beating in the same quiet, resonant frequency.