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It’s not like Ilya was suicidal. That was not a thing in Russia. You only have cowardice and accidents. Who needs emotions when you could curl up with a bottle of good, Russian vodka, or in the case of his brother, good, Russian cocaine. Or like his mother with good, Russian pills–
Ilya took another drag of the joint. Holding the smoke in his lungs till he started to feel the burn. It made his skin tingle and his eyes water as he held it. When he finally breathed out, he watched the smoke curl up into the air. He felt the tickle of a cough, which he soothed with a drink of Ginger Ale–God, he knew he missed Shane badly when he broke into his supply of Ginger Ale.
Resisting the urge to chuck his half full can across the room, Ilya set it back down on the coffee table to glare at instead.
When he and Shane had gone official–well, as official as one could when they are still closeted hockey players–he had thought some of these thoughts would go away. Maybe the power of love could repair one’s self loathing and depression. Yet, despite what the hallmark movies say, love fixed shit.
Instead, he goes one day without a call to his boyfriend and he was moping like a puppy.
Going out with Hayden tonight, I won’t be able to call. I hope you enjoy your day off tomorrow! Love you
That fucker Hayden always knew how to cockblock Ilya–even from 200km away.
Ilya took another drag. Was moving 700km to Canada, taking a position with a lackluster team, and leaving his few friends–including Svetlana– worth it? One hundred percent. It wasn’t even a question in his mind.
Yes, being away from Boston hurt, but Canada reminded him more of Russia–the good parts. Sure, the team wasn’t great, but he knew they had the foundation to build and he could see a future maybe where he is holding the Cup again. Yeah, he missed his friends, but Svetlana still visited, and most of his friends were homophobic assholes anyways.
That reached the pluses. No longer was he floating listlessly from one bed to another while he longed for something he couldn’t have. The Centaurs themselves were more accepting and queer than the Raiders had even been. The best overall (don’t tell Shane) was the love Yuna and David had shown him. Shane’s parents were absolutely lovely and took him under his wing. He saw them every Sunday for “family dinner” that totally, one hundred percent did not make Ilya cry the first time he got the invitation.
Mama I miss you–
Ilya groaned as he took a final hit before stubbing it out in his ash tray. He hadn’t smoked in months, so the tray had been pulled from the drawer Shane had hidden them in last he was there. Ilya hadn’t even had an urge to smoke. He didn’t even have cigarettes in his house anymore.
When Shane had cancelled their call, he had considered driving straight to the nearest convenience store and buying a pack. Instead, he found himself remembering the freshly rolled joints Marleau had given him as a farewell gift when he left the Raiders.
To help you relax since the Canadian women just aren’t as good.
Ilya had shoved Marleau and explained in detail how good he thought Canadian Shane’s women were. Then promptly chucked the container into a drawer that had been packed and moved to Ottawa by the company he paid. Speaking of, had he packed his own sex toys or had he traumatized some poor, minimum wage movers?
Regardless, he had never smoked pot before. He had never gotten high recreationally, despite it being legal. Between his mother killing herself with a bottle of pills and his brother snorting up mountains of cocaine, he had thought he had his fill of drugs in his life. Yet, here alone, pouting like a lovelorn fool and feeling the crushing weight of reality sitting on his chest like an oversized cat, he had pulled the container out and grabbed his lighter.
Joints were still good after six months, probably?
They were definitely good after six months. He could tell that just by the way his nose tingled and his weighty thoughts felt lighter. They were still there, as an amorphous blob, but it was easier to push them aside and think of happier things like how he was seeing Shane in two weeks for their first Metros vs. Centaurs game.
God it felt so short and so long at the same time.
Ilya sighed and rolled over onto his side on the couch. He had the tv running. There was a game between the Admirals and whoever. Ilya had originally put it on to make fun of Scott Hunter, but every time the man was mentioned all he could think about was the freedom he had in showing off his boyfriend. That will never be you.
Tears prickled at Ilya’s eyes. Sometimes he didn’t want to be a hockey player. He didn’t want to be famous with opinionated fans and a homophobic boss (fuck you NHL). He just wanted to be some faceless name in a crowd that could hold his boyfriend’s hand and kiss him silly whenever he wanted. Instead, he was here in a closet so large yet so small.
Ilya’s ears pricked up at the sound of keys being inserted into his door. His adrenaline spiked as he sat up. The only people who had keys to his new place were Yuna and David, and…
The door swung open and there, in the flesh, not 200km away in Montreal partying up with Hayden, was the one and only Shane Hollander.
Holy shit.
“Surprise!”
Ilya stumbled up off the couch and across the hall to Shane. A wide smile split across his face but it fell as he watched Shane’s scrunch in distaste.
“Are you smoking again?”
Ilya stalled as the words processed through his head. While the technical answer is no, the answer was also kind of yes. He hadn’t purchased a pack in months, yet technically he had the pack (were they called packs) of joints in his drawer which he technically forgot about. While technically–
“Maybe?” Ilya blurted as he shoved his thoughts down. Maybe the weighty thoughts were lighter, but the other ones were running even more rampant. He wanted to kiss his beautiful boyfriend, but the furrowed look on his straight laced boyfriend’s face told him he wasn’t getting a kiss with smoke tinged lips.
“I thought you had given it up?” Shane had closed the door at some point–likely while Ilya had been thinking too hard–and was giving him the disapproving look that made Ilya want to get on his knees and beg to be forgiven.
“Nooooo,” Ilya drawled out as he walked forward to take Shane’s hand. “I not. I not lie.”
Ilya’s face scrunched as he realized his mouth felt like molasses, and English felt like chewing glass. His thoughts were moving at a hundred miles per hour while his lips could only go at ten.
“You literally just said–” Shane started, but Ilya interrupted.
“Weed! Marleau weed!” Ilya begged. He felt tears prickling at his eyes again–God, who knew weed made one so weepy.
Shane’s face flicked through emotions that were too quick for Ilya to compute with his scrambled thoughts. Usually he was fantastic at reading his weird little boyfriend, but today was not his day. Thankfully, despite minimal words, it seems Shane caught on.
“You haven’t been smoking cigarettes but you’ve been smoking weed?”
Well, Shane almost got there. Guess they need to work on their partner telepathy.
“First! First time!” Shane was trying to pull his hand away, but Ilya tugged it closer and drew it up to his mouth to place kisses on it. “You busy. No call. Sad. Weed in house from Marleau…”
Shane’s brow was even more furrowed now, but he wasn’t stopping Ilya as his mouth trailed from his palm down his wrist.
“You were so sad I couldn’t call tonight you decided to get high instead? With weed–that what–Marleau gave you?”
“Yes!” Ilya exclaimed as he preened. He felt almost like a cat rubbing against his owner’s leg. He felt warm, and giddy. His mouth had made it to the sleeve of Shane’s shirt so he jumped to press open mouthed kisses along his neck. He tasted clean—likely he took a shower before he left Montreal, but Ilya wanted him to be sweaty.
Shane gave a shaky exhale as he dropped the bag he was holding and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s waist. “If I’d known this was gonna happen, I would have told you our days off lined up instead of surprising you.”
Ilya hummed. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. The surprise was great, fantastic even! However, now he reeked of weed and his boyfriend probably didn’t want weed kisses… Ilya tugged at Shane’s ear lobe before pulling away. “Kiss?”
Shane sighed. Ilya feared he would say no and go make him brush his teeth–or even flat out refuse since he was "impaired" or something. Instead, Shane leaned in, and Ilya met him halfway.
The kiss felt like coming home. He was positively melting under the soft pressure of Shane’s lips. As the kiss opened Shane’s shoulders dropped as the stress melted away as Shane’s back hit the wall–when did they move?–and Ilya’s mouthed along his jaw to his whisper in his ear. “мой красивый парень.”
Shane gasped and shuddered. His fingers flexed sporadically in Ilya’s shirt as he ground down against the knee Ilya had slotted between his thighs. “Oh god, I need you so bad. I was half hard the whole drive over.”
Now that was a thought. Shane, white knuckled on the steering wheel as he drove to Ottawa thinking about all the dirty things Ilya was going to do to him once he arrived. Like…
Ilya’s knees thudded to the ground as he frantically pulled Shane’s sweatpants down. If he wasn’t too high, and horny, he might have enjoyed the wet patch on the front of his pants or the fact Shane wasn’t wearing any underwear. Instead, he could only curse in Russian as he drew Shane’s beautiful cock into his mouth.
“Holy shit–” Shane’s words were cut off with an undignified moan as Ilya took him to the root, but the noise Ilya made wasn’t much better. The salty taste of his boyfriend was so good he could never get enough. He could spend every moment for the rest of his life on his knees. Who needed food or hockey when he could draw orgasm after orgasm from this beautiful man?
Shane’s hand threaded through Ilya’s curls, but he didn’t push or pull. Instead he gently tugged at the curls in a way that made Ilya’s scalp tingle. On a normal day, the sensation was fleeting but comforting, while high it made Ilya’s scalp explode in sensation, and he couldn’t help but moan as he lost his rhythm. He gagged himself on Shane’s cock as he thrust up into the empty air as his hands clenched into Shane’s toned thighs.
“God, you’re never this out of it,” Shane murmured above him. He tugged again at Ilya’s hair, almost experimentally, and Ilya groaned again. The pleasure was too much, and he was forced to drop a hand from groping Shane’s beautiful thighs in favor of grinding his palm against his dick. God, it felt so good.
Maybe it was being high, or the lack of oxygen from choking on Shane’s cock, but it all felt so extraordinary. He felt the world fall out from under him as his thoughts narrowed down to the weight on his tongue and the warmth in his throat. His own pleasure from grinding against his palm was so far off he felt detached. Ilya was more tuned in to the sound of Shane’s praise than anything else.
“Ilya you feel so good. Was thinking about this all day. Wanted this since we last parted.”
He loved his boyfriend so much.
Above him Shane was starting to lose it as his hips moved away from the wall and started thrusting back into Ilya’s mouth. The thrusts were short and uneven–which meant he was close. Usually, this would be wear Ilya pulled off and lead Shane to the bedroom where he fucked him in to the mattress, but he felt so content on his knees. He was being used like a fuck toy and something about it made Ilya float even higher.
As Shane neared the edge, he started to make hiccuping sounds as he tried to use his grip on Ilya’s hair to pull him off. “I’m gonna come. You need to–fuck–you need to stop.”
Ilya wrapped his free arm around Shane’s thigh in a tight grip as he groaned. No, stay he wanted to say. Instead, he looked up at Shane. He wasn’t quite sure what Shane saw, but he could almost see his pupils dilate in real time before his head fell back against the wall as he started to come.
“Fuck.”
Ilya couldn’t agree more as the taste of Shane intensified as he swallowed his whole load. He felt himself coming in his pants, against his palm, but it felt so unimportant he practically disregarded it. He didn’t care that he was making a mess of his pants when Shane looked so beautiful above him as he tugged on his hair and fell apart. Nothing was more important than the space they were filling together and the beautiful sounds he was making.
“Holy shit, Ilya–God–youre just so–”
He loved making his boyfriend incoherent.
As Shane finished and slouched against the wall, Ilya gave his softening cock one last suck–which earned him a squeak–before he pulled off. As soon as his mouth was empty, he felt extraordinary dizzy. His brain felt like mush, and he groaned as he leaned forward to rest his forehead on Shane’s thigh.
“Are you okay?”
The words were far off. Ilya felt like his ears were ringing, and the words processed slowly. It took longer than it should for him to disgust the words and nod against Shane’s thigh. “Mmmm, very.”
Shane, likely not trusting Ilya’s very thorough response, tugged Ilya’s hair against till Ilya was pried back from his thigh. “Noooo,” Ilya complained.
“Did you come in your pants?” Shane asked with a stupid smirk on his face. If Ilya was more coherent, he would have remembered the time he ruthlessly made fun of Shane for doing the same thing while sucking his cock. However, those thoughts were fleeting, and all Ilya could do was dumbly nod.
“Мой парень слишком много,” Ilya murmured–his boyfriend was too much. English felt far away from his tongue. Like if he tried to speak it only gibberish would come out. His eyes felt heavy and his bones like lead. If someone dropped him into the ocean right now he would probably sink to the bottom and drown…
“Woah there–”
Ilya didn’t realize he had fallen forward till hands were at his shoulders tugging him up.
“Come on. Up you go. Let’s head to bed.”
“да, кровать.” Ah bed. Soft fluffy pillow. Sheets warmed by two bodies. Shane’s body pressed against his front…
Ilya’s brain got online enough for him to assist in pushing up off the floor. From there, Shane swooped his legs out from under him to carry him bridal style. Any other day, he would make a comment about how beautiful his groom was, or even make a flirty comment about his strength. Instead, all he did was flop his head against Shane’s shoulder.
“Shane,” he whined as he nosed at the soft skin at Shane’s neck.
The walk to the bedroom was the longest and also shortest walk in his life. Time was starting to slip between his fingers like grains of sand. He couldn’t think much beyond the feel of Shane’s skin against his lips as he mouthed at his neck, or the texture of the shirt Shane was wearing as Ilya clenched the fabric in both fists.
When they finally did reach the bedroom, he only noticed because Shane laid him down and moved to leave.
“Nooooo,” Ilya grieved as he clenched his fists tighter in Shane’s shirt.
“I am trying to get you clean boxers,” Shane placated as he tried to pull Ilya’s hands free.
“Nooooo,” Ilya tried again. He didn’t care about simple things such as clean pants. He would take the one he had off. “Naked.”
“You want to sleep naked?” Shane muttered
“Yes.” See, his boyfriend was starting to get it.
“I still need a cloth to wipe you down.” No he didn’t. It was just an excuse. He just wanted to leave. He wanted to use this as an excuse to get away. Why would anyone want to stay with someone as pathetic as Ilya Rozanov? His brain barely worked and was trying to kill him with evil thoughts like–like–
Ilya relaxed his grip. Shane said something as he gently placed Ilya’s hands onto his lap, but Ilya wasn’t paying attention. All he could see was Shane walking away. Leaving him. Abandoning him.
Ilya felt tears prickling at his eyes as he curled into a ball on the bed. Suddenly the thoughts were back in full force as he watched Shane disappear through the doorway. All the angst and regrets that seemed so light earlier were once again weighing down on him like a ton of bricks. It felt suffocating, and he found himself struggling to breath.
He doesn’t love you. He’s leaving you. Why would he even care about you? You are a worthless piece of shit faggot who–
He was shaking–no, hands were shaking him. Ilya’s eye blinked open through the tears to find Shane’s worried face above him. He was saying something, but the words filtered out. All he could think of instead, was the fact Shane had come back.
“Ты вернулся?” He was back.
He felt so small and little. He felt like the child that came back home from hockey practice to find his mother dead with a pill bottle. He felt like the punching bag of a boy that was yelled at by his abusive father. He felt like the boy that had thought about kissing another boy for the first time and learned why it was bad.
“Shane?”
The words filtered back in.
“Yes, it’s me. Shane. I’m right here. I am not going anywhere. I just went to grab a rag.”
The weights on Ilya’s chest vanished as he gasped. He grabbed the front of Shane’s shirt and dragged him down into a wet, sloppy kiss. It was mostly teeth and tongue, but god did it feel good. When they pulled away, Ilya’s head felt a lot more clear and Ilya cringed away.
“Sorry. I do not know what happen.” His English still felt choppy, but Shane’s hand in his hair soothed him.
“It’s fine. What just happened? Was it something I did?” Shane was sitting on the bed now–the rag abandoned on the bedside table.
“It was…” How does one explain the evil thoughts that linger in their minds? It was a perpetual state of existence for Ilya–one that he hadn’t spoken of before. The weed was supposed to help–he had heard it could help. Instead… “I have bad thoughts. Weed makes worse.”
Shane’s face fell but he nodded in understanding. He thumbed at the space between Ilya’s brow as he replied, “Were you trying to self medicate with weed?”
Ilya cocked his head at the phrase. Self medicate. He had not heard this term before. If he was sober, he might parse the meaning, but right now he felt so far off.
Ilya’s face must have been answer enough as Shane shook his head and reached over to grab the rag. “You know what–we can talk about this tomorrow. How about we get you out of those pants, clean up, and we can talk tomorrow?”
Ilya nodded as he flopped back down against the bed. Yes, talk later.
Hands were at Ilya’s waist but he could do little but be maneuvered as Shane pried his pants down. He was back to that floaty space where thoughts felt far away. He drifted as Shane cleaned him and tugged both their clothes off. By the time the lights were being turned off and Shane was pulling Ilya against his side. He was practically asleep.
“I love you.” Shane murmured into his hair.
“Я тоже тебя люблю.”