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“Fancy meeting you here,” Ilya says, sidling up to Shane Hollander at the bar.
The ballroom is crowded; people fill up the space in jewel-toned gowns and various cuts of suits and tuxedos. And it’s wonderful to see. Touching, really, that so many people are willing to come out and support their foundation. Not just hockey players, either, though there’s a fair share of them in the room. The room is full of celebrities and musicians, executives and athletes from pretty much every sport Ilya can think of.
His mother would be proud, he thinks, absentmindedly reaching up to touch her crucifix under his shirt.
“We’re literally throwing this event together,” Shane replies, only acknowledging him with a vicious-looking side-eye. “I got ready in your room an hour ago.”
“And was it not fun?” Getting ready had been nearly a three-hour affair. Complete with a shower, blow jobs, sex against the wall, sex on the bed, another shower, and finally, after a quick power nap, they helped each other get dressed.
The prettiest blush paints Shane’s freckled cheeks. “Fun would be one word for it.”
“Mmm, and what would another word be?” Ilya asks as he nods his thanks to the bartender.
“Don’t start this,” Shane says. “There’s people everywhere.”
“All the more reason to have a little fun,” Ilya says, taking a long swig of his vodka.
He leans against the bar and takes a moment to shamelessly look at Shane.
He’s wearing a velvet suit of deep red with wide-leg pants. His double-breasted jacket with bright gold shank buttons hangs open to show off a crisp white dress shirt with a French collar that has cranes embroidered at the throat. His long hair is pulled back into a messy-looking bun at the back of his head.
Shane is soft and gorgeous in sweats and a t-shirt. He’s rugged and handsome in hockey gear. He’s perfection naked. But there’s something about seeing him so put together like he is now, that makes Ilya want to take him apart and put him back together.
Ilya knows Shane’s not exactly comfortable. He’s not in his element, but he’s gotten better over the years at these things, able to make more than just polite conversation most of the time, but Ilya’s not sure he’ll ever be able to take the mask down completely.
Which is fine, considering Shane lets it crumble the second they’re alone. But here, he’s rigid, and it irks Ilya to know that if he could just get his hands on Shane’s skin, if he could only thread their fingers together and keep him firmly at his side all night, he could unwind him.
But alas. Not tonight.
Ilya watches as he takes a drink, letting his eyes linger on the bob of his throat and his big hands clutching the glass of liquid courage.
“I really want to kiss you,” Ilya says in Russian.
Shane’s eyes flash a warning. “Don’t.”
“After all these years, you think I have so little self-control?”
Shane tries to hide his smile in the brim of his pilsner glass. “I know you have so little self-control.”
Which, fair. Ilya loves to indulge endlessly, and he’s never been one to shy away from that.
“Is not my fault. You are just–” he breaks off and waves a hand in Shane’s general direction, “you.”
Shane finally turns towards him, and his expression is so soft and adoring that Ilya feels his heart flip. But it quickly turns into something hotter, challenging even.
“Watch yourself, Rozanov,” he says in Russian, voice low and dark, and oh, holy shit, Ilya should have known teaching Shane his native language would be the death of him.
“I would rather watch you.”
Shane moves off the stool he’s been sitting on with one fluid movement. “Not now.”
“Later then?”
Shane rolls his eyes. “Pervert.”
“Not what you said an hour ago.”
Ilya feels Shane’s foot bump into his, and their thighs brush just barely. But it’s still enough to make Ilya want to abandon all of this and drag Shane back upstairs. “Behave, Ilya,” he says, slipping back into Russian. “You know they can't know.” He turns. The look he throws him is a little too close not to affect him. “We both want it that way.”
Oh. Right. That.
“I need to go ask my mom if everything is set for speeches,” he says. “I’ll see you around?”
He doesn’t respond, just watches Shane walk away towards where his mother was giving orders to the staff, enjoying the way his perfectly tailored pants hug his ass.
Ilya sighs and takes another drink of vodka, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.
If Shane is going to be his usual boring self, Ilya would simply have to find ways to make the night interesting. For both of them.
oOo
He’s speaking with some executive that’s high up in the league when he spots Shane across the room talking with Scott Hunter. He can barely contain the grin that threatens to split his face at the thought of flustering Shane and annoying Hunter all in one go. Two birds or whatever that saying is.
Excusing himself as quickly as he can, Ilya takes long strides across the room. When Shane catches sight of him, he already looks exasperated, which only tells Ilya he’s making the right call.
“Hunter,” he greets, “you are still alive?”
Hunter raises an eyebrow at him, but takes the bait because he’s a nice guy. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You are just so old, I assumed…” Ilya trails off, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. He hears Shane’s long-suffering sigh next to him, and Ilya grins.
To his credit, Hunter doesn’t even roll his eyes. “Does it ever bother you that so many people hate you?”
Ilya shrugs, unbothered. “Eh, love me, hate me, I get attention either way.”
Shane snorts into his drink next to him, and Ilya takes it as a sign he’s not in the deep end of hot water yet.
“Well, I guess you deserve some attention tonight,” Hunter says, looking around the room with an impressed expression. “You boys have done a really nice job with the foundation. You should be proud.”
“Awwww,” Ilya exaggerates the word obnoxiously, even as he greatly appreciates the compliment. “Thanks, Dad, that means a lot.”
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Hunter says without any real heat.
“I will be sure to put you in a nice home in few years,” he goes on. “Sponge baths, unlimited pudding, the works.”
“I’m seriously reconsidering my donation.”
“There goes your private room at the home.”
“You’re obnoxious as hell.”
Ilya opens his mouth to snark back, but Shane interrupts, “I need another drink.” He turns to Hunter and asks, “Can I get you anything?” while already reaching to take Ilya’s empty tumbler from his hands.
Hunter shakes his head, “No, I’m good, thanks.”
“You want more vodka, I assume?”
“Yes, Hollander, you are so good to me,” Ilya says. “Such a good friend.” Instinctively, without a thought in his mind about where he is or who is around him, he playfully slaps Shane’s ass in thanks.
And then several things happen at once.
Shane whips around and stares at him in horror. Ilya’s eyes grow wide, and he immediately snaps his hand back to his side. He can see Hunter looking between them with a eyebrow raised.
So, Ilya does the only thing he can do in this instance: he reaches over and taps Scott Hunter’s ass, too.
“The hell are you doing?!” Hunter says, jumping back a few feet, clearly even more confused now than he was before. “Just because you touched Hollander’s ass doesn’t mean you need to touch mine.”
“Is…is common in Russia,” Ilya fumbles out. “With friends,” he cringes at the words, hating that he’s even remotely close to acknowledging he’s friends with Scott Hunter. “We are a friendly people.”
Hunter seems thoroughly unconvinced. “Right.” He eyes Ilya up and down warily. “Can we just never, ever do that again?”
An offended expression crosses Ilya’s face. “You know, a lot of people would be very happy for me to–”
“Excuse us,” Shane says, once again interrupting while grabbing Ilya’s arm somewhat awkwardly because he’s holding two drink glasses. He pulls Ilya away as fast as he possibly can.
“I literally cannot take you anywhere,” Shane seethes when they’ve gotten far enough away for Hunter to no longer be able to hear them. He puts the glasses on a random table and drags Ilya into a dark corner in the back of the room. “You just touched Scott Hunter’s ass!”
“He’s gay, I’m hot, what is the problem?”
Shane pinches the bridge of his nose in an adorable display of frustration. “There is not enough time left in the universe to begin to unpack what’s wrong with that statement.”
“If it makes you feel better, I much prefer your ass.”
“It does not make me feel better at all.”
“Is much more round. Fat even,” he says, making a squeezing gesture with his hands. “So good.”
“Oh, my god, Ilya,” Shane breathes, and he sounds just on the right side of hysterical.
“And your thighs,” Ilya goes on. “One day, I think you will crush me with them, and I will die a happy man.”
Shane finally cracks a small, but still slightly annoyed, smile. He punches Ilya’s arm. “There’s no way we’re making it through this night.”
Ilya leans closer and lowers his voice. “I still really want to kiss you.”
“Don’t.” Shane emphasizes the word, but the way he bites his lip afterwards makes it obvious to Ilya that he really wants that too.
“There’s a bathroom right over there,” Ilya says, moving his foot to tap on top of Shane’s, and running the hand that’s closest to the wall against the velvet softness of Shane’s jacket. “You always come so quickly, no one would even notice we’re gone.”
Shane sucks in a breath through his nose and takes a purposeful step back. “No, no, I’m walking away from you before you convince me to do anything even more dumb than I already have.”
He grabs their glasses from the table and walks quickly towards the bar, and Ilya feels smug.
Oh, he thinks. The rest of the night is going to be so fun.
oOo
A strong slap on his shoulder nearly causes Ilya to choke on a hor d’oeuvre.
“Wow, Rozanov,” Hayden Pike says. “You really pulled this off.”
“Hayden Pike,” Ilya acknowledges with little inflection. “You are here.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it!” he says enthusiastically. “Hey, are you and Shane still driving up for dinner next week?”
“What are you talking about?” Ilya asks, turning his body fully towards Hayden and fixing his face into something he hopes looks like concern.
Hayden looks confused, though Ilya reminds himself that’s mostly just Hayden’s constant state of being. “I…thought you were coming for dinner next week? Shane said–”
“I do not know you like this, Pike. Why would I come to dinner at your house with my good friend Shane Hollander?”
“You…you’re at my house all the time?” he says, looking at Ilya like he’s grown a second head. “You were there last week, with my kids?”
“That never happened.”
“Y-yes, it did!” Hayden grows more flustered with each syllable. “You had a whole spa day with them while Jackie and I—“
“Jackie? Is that your wife? Is she here, I would like to give her my condolences.”
“I don’t understand what you’re doing—“
Ilya reaches his hand up to feel Hayden’s forehead. “Do you have a fever? A concussion? This is serious, Hayden you are talking nonsense. You should see a doctor.”
“Rozanov, what the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have a concussion, I–”
“I go find someone for you,” Ilya says. “Stay put, do not move.”
He walks away before Hayden can say anything else, doing everything he can to keep his shoulders from shaking with laughter.
Spending the next fifteen minutes watching Hayden try and politely refuse an examination from a team doctor, while getting glares from Shane across the room, as he tries to assist hadn’t exactly been on his agenda for the evening, but Ilya soaks it up all the same.
oOo
Shane avoids him until dinner. It’s annoying, but considering Ilya managed to put himself in a situation where he needed to touch Scott Hunter’s ass and then gaslit Shane’s best friend to the point he almost got wheeled off in an ambulance, he guesses it’s fair.
Thankfully, they’re sitting at the same table.
“How much did you pay my mother to move you by me?” Shane asks when they sit down, and servers start to bring out plates with food that makes Ilya’s mouth water.
“I’m her favorite, I don’t have to pay her.”
The dinner was nice. Soft music plays and candles flicker next to ornate floral arrangements and fancy gold place settings. It all screams of Yuna Hollander, and Ilya knows she’s spent the past few months stressing over every detail.
She’s sitting on Shane’s other side, dressed in a dark green gown that’s tied in a bow at her left shoulder. “You did wonderful job,” Ilya tells her, leaning slightly across Shane while he places a hand on his thigh underneath the table to steady himself. He very much enjoys feeling Shane tense at the contact as he talks with his mother. “Thank you for all of this.”
Ilya notices some of the tension she’s been carrying fall out of her shoulders at the praise. “No thanks needed, dear. It’s my job,” she says with a smile, and while that is technically true with her running the foundation, it’s obvious she’s poured her heart into making this event the best it can possibly be.
As dessert is served, Rose Landry takes the stage to start her duties as emcee. Honestly, Ilya isn’t quite sure why she agreed to take part what with her star power being so far beyond that of his or Shane’s, but he’s not exactly mad about it. When it was announced she’d be participating, tickets had sold out within ten minutes.
And as long as they were making the most money possible, Ilya didn’t care who the fuck was running things. Plus, it didn’t hurt that she was charismatic and beautiful and talented and all those other things he’d been constantly reminded of every time he’d been on the internet back when she and Shane briefly dated.
When she introduces the first speaker of the night, one of the workers from a mental health hotline they had helped establish, Ilya feels Shane’s leg start to work up and down in a nervous pattern beside him.
He ignores it at first, hoping that it’s just a momentary thing, a few jitters before he has to get up on stage. But as the shaking continues, Ilya is helpless to do anything but reach out a hand to place on Shane’s thigh.
“I can always give the speech if you’re nervous about it,” Ilya offers quietly. It’s not the first time he’s offered, but Shane insists on giving them because he knows Ilya still isn’t all that confident in his English skills.
Though, as Ilya has pointed out, he can read from a script just as well as Shane. But it’s not like he’s going to complain about it or anything, and honestly, it is exhausting to navigate the world in a language you only learned out of necessity.
The thing is, it’s just that he knows how tiring these nights are for Shane. That he can entertain when he has to, but that it doesn’t come naturally to him, and that no matter how much he’s grown when it comes to ignoring what other people think of him, he still does care. Very much.
“We need people to give us money, not take it away,” Shane quips, and Ilya places a hand over his heart in mock offence.
“They will give us plenty,” Ilya says. “You have seen my face, no?”
That finally earns him a smile, and not just one to humor him. It’s a sweet, slow-blooming sort of thing that causes his freckles to bunch together over his nose. He grabs Ilya’s hand on his leg and links their fingers together. “Yes, I am rather familiar with your face.”
Ilya doesn’t get to enjoy the contact for very long because not even a minute later, Shane’s name is called by Rose to come to the stage. Shane gives his hand a final squeeze and makes his way up the stairs to the platform, pausing to hug Rose before he takes his place at the podium.
He looks stiff to start, but after he begins and gets through the first couple of jokes, he starts to relax, and Ilya lets himself drift a bit as he watches, thinking about how infinitely lucky he is to love and be loved by Shane Hollander.
Sometimes, he still can’t quite believe they’re in this together.
Shane’s voice filters back in when he mentions Ilya’s name. “When Ilya first told me about his mother, I was devastated not only for his loss, but for the immense suffering she must have endured with no one to help or turn to. Too often, those who struggle with their mental health do so in silence. Our hope, mine and Ilya’s and everyone at the Irina Foundation, is to fund and protect these valuable resources in our community so that no one is forced to go through this pain alone.
“I’m sure we all have been personally touched by this issue, whether it’s a struggle of our own or that of someone we know and love. I never got the chance to meet Irina, but I know from firsthand experience about the extraordinary person her son turned out to be, and that is a testament to who she was as a person and mother. With your help, we can ensure that mothers like Irina, as well as sons, daughters, husbands, wives, fathers, and friends, not only get the chance to find out who their loved ones become, but also the opportunity to find out who they are destined to be. Thank you so much for your support. It truly means the world to us.”
He finishes, and applause fills the room. Shane smiles and nods, and walks off the stage. Ilya stands to greet him back at the table, his vision blurring dangerously as emotions threaten to overtake him. And when Shane reaches him and holds out his hand to shake, Ilya grabs it, but instead, he pulls Shane into a tight hug as camera flashes ignite all around them. He plants a big kiss on his cheek.
He’ll be in so much trouble for this, but he decides it’s worth it when Shane hugs him back and whispers in his ear, “I love you.”
oOo
“What genius decided on that suit for you?” a pretty voice asks next to him as Ilya lurks by the bar after dinner, still coming off a roller coaster of emotions and nursing a Coke so he can be sober for whatever comes after the gala.
He smiles and turns his head towards one Rose Landry, tipping his glass towards her. “I am glad I listened to you. You were not wrong,” Ilya replies. “I do look very good.”
She had insisted on dressing them for the event, arriving a couple of days before and dragging them to a boutique where her stylist had pulled several looks for both him and Shane.
Ilya had been somewhat skeptical about his outfit - a black suit with flaring pants and a wide, white lapel and one arm embroidered with deep red roses, finished off with a diamond brooch at his collar instead of a tie. Still, when he’d stood next to Shane in his red velvet ensemble, he’d been convinced completely. They complemented without seeming matchy. Cohesive, yet themselves.
“Let me see you,” he says, making a spinning motion with his free hand, his grin broadening as she slowly turns with her arms out to give him the full view of her dress. It’s a floor-length black number with a high neck that plunges in the back, and her creamy skin is set off nicely by her dark hair and expressive eyes. “Stunning.”
It isn’t an exaggeration. She’s always a vision, and even though Ilya has spent most of the time he’s been aware of her existence being stupidly jealous of her relationship with Shane, he’s not above admitting that he genuinely likes her.
She’s kind and loyal and has wasted no time bringing Ilya into her fold in the few times he’s been around her. Plus, she adores Shane, and anyone who adores Shane is okay in Ilya’s book. And if he tries really hard, he can sometimes manage to forget she’s had sex with Shane.
Sometimes.
“Thank you,” she says with a sweet smile before she asks the bartender for some champagne. When her glass is in hand, she nods toward a table not too far away, where Shane sits with Hayden Pike and J.J. “He did a great job tonight.”
“Mhmm,” Ilya hums his agreement, watching Shane. “You being here helps, I know. He was very excited when you were able to come and be a part of this.”
She places a hand on his arm, and Ilya looks to her earnest face. “I’m really glad it worked with my schedule. I would do just about anything for you two idiots.”
‘Like keeping the secret of you so your lives don’t get ruined,’ goes unspoken, but Ilya knows it very deep down. He knows he owes her a lot. For being there for Shane, for helping him realize it was okay that he didn’t like girls in the way he thought he should, for being so supportive of them. Because she didn’t just keep Shane’s secret. She keeps Ilya’s, too.
He looks back towards Shane and sees him staring back, gaze very intent on Rose’s hand on Ilya’s arm. There’s a crease to his forehead as he watches them.
“Anything?” Ilya asks, and Rose follows his line of sight to Shane.
She laughs and leans into him a bit. “Why do I have a feeling I’m going to love what you’re about to say?”
Shane turns his head quickly when he sees them both looking at him, but even from this distance, Ilya can see the blush that stains his cheeks from being caught.
Ilya leans down and murmurs his plan into Rose’s ear, and she laughs again, loud and uninhibited, before nodding, placing her glass back on the bar, and grabbing his hand.
She leads him straight for the dance floor and the DJ, who has, up until this point, been playing mostly soft, slow songs, with only a few couples lingering around. But once Rose turns her charm on him, a club anthem with a bass so deep he can feel the thud in his chest, comes on, and they get to work.
They dance in the silliest way possible, taking up space so they’re hard to miss, attracting attention from all over the room.
Camera flashes go off, and he vaguely registers cell phones pointed in their direction. Good, he thinks. Let them see. Let him see.
Rose pretends she’s starting that machine that cuts grass Ilya can never remember the name of, and Ilya flails his limbs around like he’s just learned to walk. He then spins Rose until she’s so dizzy she can barely stand, collapsing into his chest with a brilliant smile, and when she's recovered, she takes his hand and spins him, and he has to nearly fold himself in half to fit underneath her arm.
It’s fun, and while Ilya hasn’t once missed being with women since fully committing to Shane, he’s infinitely glad to have this woman in his corner. Brilliant, and funny, and gorgeous, and up for torturing Shane Hollander at a moment’s notice.
He almost loses track of Shane in the fun, but when the next song starts, Ilya sees him. He’s no longer sitting at a table. Instead, he’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, hyper-focused on Ilya.
It strikes Ilya then, how similar this looks to that one fateful night in a club in Montreal several years back. When Shane had stood much like he does now. Intense and still amidst a throng of bodies, while Ilya had done his best to make him jealous with a girl he couldn’t even recall the name of.
But this time, fuck, this time, is so different. Because instead of a despairing longing radiating off of Shane, there’s a possessiveness that seems to scream, mine from every inch of his body.
Ilya smirks at him, twirling Rose out and back into him while she laughs loudly.
He starts counting down in his head as Shane’s hands grip into fists.
Because it’s not sensuality or lust that angers him like it had the last time they’d been in this position. He’s pretty sure he and Rose could be grinding against each other in front of God, and everyone, and Shane wouldn’t get jealous. Sure, Ilya would get a lecture about the optics of it all, but Shane has seen Ilya with enough women over the course of their knowing each other that he’s mostly unfazed by it.
No, this time, it’s the connection that fuels his jealousy. Connection he feels but isn’t allowed to show.
Five…four…three…two…
Shane moves, his eyes never leaving Ilya’s, while they still burned with something that made Ilya’s blood rush.
“Hey, handsome,” Rose says when he reaches them, taking his hands, trying to get him to dance and break some of his tension.
The contact finally registers, and Shane’s eyes move from Ilya to Rose.
“I need him,” he says bluntly, and Ilya can tell that it’s taking all of his self-control not to rip Ilya away. He catches himself and shakes his head. “I…I need to talk to him.” The clench of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes, the way frustration radiates off of him.
Rose smiles knowingly and leans up to plant a kiss on Shane’s cheek. “He’s all yours,” and she flits away without so much as a look back, already dragging some unsuspecting hockey player into a dance.
Ilya can’t wait for what’s about to happen.
Shane grabs Ilya’s arm and drags him so hard, walks so quickly, that Ilya has a hard time keeping up, even though he’s taller.
Shane flings the bathroom door open and checks underneath the two stalls to make sure they’re alone before he rounds on Ilya, pushing none too gently at his shoulders.
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
“Dancing,” Ilya replies as flatly as he would if someone asked him about the weather, refusing to rise to Shane’s level of emotion.
“Do you have any idea how many people were watching you out there?”
“Why does that matter?” Ilya asks, picking a piece of lint off his sleeve. He looks up to Shane, expression even. “Are you jealous?”
“This isn’t about Rose,” Shane scoffs, but Ilya can tell he’s having a hard time hiding something that looks like hurt.
Ilya decides to keep poking. “Oh, really? That little display had nothing to do with her?”
“Display?” Shane’s hands come up to his head, going to his hair before he drops them back again, seeming to have just remembered he has his hair pulled back. “The only person putting on a display is you.”
“Is that not what you wanted?” Ilya asks, taking a step towards Shane, crowding him back towards the counter. “For me to make sure no one thinks we’re together?”
“You know it’s more than that.”
“Do I?” Ilya pushes. “Because it feels like you are mad at me for doing exactly what I am supposed to do.”
“But not with my fucking ex-girlfriend! Just because people don’t think we’re together doesn’t mean you’re supposed to make the world think you’re together with Rose!”
“I thought it was not about Rose.”
“It isn’t,” Shane grinds out, and Ilya knows he’s almost there.
“Then why are you mad? I do not underst–”
“Because it should be me!” Shane yells, the words reverberating off the marble of the bathroom. He takes in a deep breath and looks to the floor, hands grasping at his pants for a second to steady himself. When he finally meets Ilya’s eyes again, his voice is softer, more controlled. “It should be me out there with you.”
Ilya closes what little space is left between them. He takes Shane’s jaw in his hand, forcing his gaze where it belongs. On him. “I am right here.”
“Ilya.”
“I am right here,” Ilya says again, his grip tightening so that Shane is unable to turn his head. “Come take what is yours.”
There’s nothing sweet about the kiss that follows. Shane’s been pushed to his limit, and Ilya is all too happy to pay the price. It’s frantic with tongue and teeth, and before he knows it, Shane has managed to free Ilya’s shirt and runs his hands up and down Ilya’s chest.
“God,” Shane moans, like touching Ilya’s skin is some kind of religious miracle.
Ilya can’t help the full-body shiver that runs through him at the contact, and he attaches his mouth to the junction of Shane’s jaw and neck, where he bites and then smooths his tongue over it to soothe.
There is nothing in the world that tastes better than Shane. He’s been addicted since that very first night, and he has every intention of leaving a mark that will have Shane bitching at him for a week.
But Shane has other plans.
“Why are you not touching my dick yet, Rosanov?” Shane spits out, and Ilya smiles against his skin.
“So eager,” he says and nips at Shane’s skin once more before he makes quick work of the button at his waist.
“How are you this hard already?” Ilya asks between kisses to Shane’s jaw, his thumb slicking the wetness that’s already gathered at the head.
“You tell me,” Shane says, frantically lowering his pants and boxers enough so that Ilya can grip him the way he so clearly needs. He throws his head back as he boldly thrusts into Ilya’s hand, his thigh coming into contact with Ilya’s own swelling cock.
They both moan, and Ilya needs Shane in his mouth now, so he’s dropping to his knees–
And then the door opens.
“Oh, shit. Gross you two, what the fuck?!” Hayden cries as they spring apart, and both nearly fall when Shane moves back faster than Ilya can manage to right himself after trying to get up mid-bend.
Shane tries to fix his clothes, barely managing to get his pants back up, while Ilya just breathes heavily, emotions fluctuating between super horny, extremely annoyed, and total amusement at Hayden’s disgusted face.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Shane rasps out, still fumbling with the button on his pants.
“Not what it looks like, what–” Hayden cuts himself off and steps away from the door towards them. “Okay, what the hell is up with you guys tonight? You acting like you don’t know me, like I haven’t been putting up with you for years now,” he points at Ilya, and then to Shane, “and you being pissy all night like you can’t be around your…”
Hayden trails off and looks down at their hands, finally noticing the absence of something very important. Their wedding rings.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, covering his eyes and then letting his hand trail down his face in obvious and probably warranted anger. “Are you two doing that thing where you pretend you’re not married and you still have to sneak around, again?”
Shane is kind enough to appear guilty. Ilya, on the other hand, looks downright gleeful.
“Look at you, Hayden. Figuring something out all on your own,” Ilya says, slowly clapping, while Hayden looks ready to punch him in the face. Not that it would be the first time. “You know, some people say you are not very smart, but I–”
“Who says that?” Hayden demands, and Ilya bites his cheek to keep from laughing, because Hayden is way too easily goaded into things. “Rozanov, you better–” he stops himself and purses his lips, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “You know what, no. I want no part of this. You weirdos can fuck all the way off.”
He turns on his heel and leaves, the bathroom door swinging a bit with the force of his exit.
“I think you might have finally broken him,” Shane says.
“I do not know why he gets mad,” Ilya says as if he hasn’t made it his personal goal to be a thorn in Hayden’s side until the end of time. “I am impressed he figured it out.”
Shane rolls his eyes, but grins, and Ilya can see the tension melt out of him. Almost like it was never there to begin with.
A comfortable quiet settles around them as they fix their clothes, and Ilya wills his blood to disperse to literally any part of his body other than his dick. It sort of works until Shane turns to him and hits him with a smile that reminds Ilya of the first touch of sun after a storm.
“You are not really mad at me, are you?” he asks, and Shane shakes his head without hesitation.
“God, no,” he says, stepping into Ilya’s space and leaning up to gently kiss him, the touch settling any nerves he had that he might have taken things too far. “I didn’t really expect you to go nuclear on me with Rose, but mad is about the furthest thing from where I am right now.”
Ilya reaches into his pocket and pulls out their rings. He slides Shane’s back onto his finger before placing his own ring in Shane’s palm. “It was fun. But I think I still prefer being married to you.”
“You think?” Shane slips Ilya’s ring firmly into place. “Didn’t you, like, promise to love me forever and all that?”
“Don’t get cocky, Hollander,” Ilya says. He kisses the tip of Shane’s nose. “I finally have my citizenship. I do not need you anymore.”
Shane sighs dramatically. “This is the life I have chosen.”
“Want to come dance with me?” Ilya asks.
Shane groans and presses his hips flesh against him, and Ilya can’t help the cocky grin that lifts his lips at Shane’s now obvious predicament. “I’d rather you take me upstairs and fuck me until I cry.”
And who is Ilya to say no to that?
oOo
Ilya wakes up the next morning, and Shane’s phone is immediately shoved into his face. Shane is glaring at him, and Ilya immediately finds it inappropriately hot (it’s not his fault his husband looks like that in glasses), and he takes the phone from Shane’s hand, willing his tired eyes to focus.
He grins.
Trouble off the Ice? Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov Spotted at Event Without Wedding Rings
At the annual gala for their mental health charity, The Irina Foundation, NHL stars Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were all smiles for the cameras at the beginning of the event, but sources say things seemed icy between the couple for most of the evening. The pair kept their distance from each other and appeared to be without their wedding rings, as Rozanov got cozy with Hollander’s ex-girlfriend, actor Rose Landry. Photos of Landry and Rozanov dancing and laughing together surfaced on the internet, sparking speculation and rumors about the nature of their relationship. We’ve reached out to Hollander and Rozanov’s camps for comment, but have yet to hear back. Stay tuned for more updates, and check out all the photos from the event over on our blog!
Ilya puts Shane’s phone down on the bed and closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth from the mid-morning sun on his face. Their publicist is going to absolutely kill them for this, but Ilya finds it hard to care.
Oh, well, he thinks, watching Shane stretch sex-sore muscles before he stands and hobbles slightly into the bathroom. Worth it.