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It was an adjustment.
Shane’s brain still mostly thought that the world would end when people saw him and Ilya together. They’d been out, married, for more than a year now and he still found himself auto declining invitations. It still put his brain on high alert when people saw them at the grocery store or leaving the movies. He was just being a person with just husband but his heart beat like he was being hunted by lions.
He knew it was hard on Ilya, and he had been really trying to adjust. They had been lonely, living in the shadows for so long. Shane was sort of a quiet guy anyway, but Ilya could light up a whole room, make a party. So, Shane tried.
“Let’s host the team party this year,” Shane had suggested, and Ilya beamed.
”Ok, fine,” Shane had said when the rest of the guys were going out to lose thousands and make up for it at the all-you-can-eat buffet in Vegas. Ilya had made him blow on his dice for luck and Shane blushed.
And, most recently:
”Sveta says hello,” Ilya had called to him from the kitchen, as Shane plodded his way up from the home gym.
“Oh, hi to Svetlana,” Shane said, reaching for his smoothie that Ilya had dutifully made for him. “How is she?”
“She’s in mourning,” Ilya said, still scowling at his phone.
“Oh,” Shane said, shocked, “I’m sorry… uh, who died?”
Was this something he should know? Like some public figure? Had her dad died? No, his mom would have texted him. She texted him about hockey players that died like she was a news bulletin. That and when kids he went to primary school with became doctors. He assumed it was some sort of mom reflex, uncontrollable.
Ilya looked up and saw Shane’s face, his own splitting into a kinder smile.
”No, no, she’s mourning her youth. Her birthday is soon, she’s inviting us to the party. But mostly to be nice, she’s saying she knows we never come. We’re boring, she says.” Ilya sighed, but in a sort of dreamy way, and he twisted his wedding band around his finger.
“When is it?”
Ilya looked surprised, like he was truly not expecting Shane to consider it.
I’m fun, goddamit, Shane thought angrily. Why does no one think I’m fun? He pulled up the calendar on his phone, determined to be fun if it killed him.
“Uh, the 16th. In Boston.” Ilya said, checking the invitation. ”It’s between two games, It’s ok, I’ll invite her after the season, we can-“
”We play away in New York on the 13th, that’s not so bad,” Shane said, squinting at the flights. “We’d have to miss a practice, but it wouldn’t be a big one. We play Buffalo after, so we could rejoin pretty easily. I could ask Weibe, since he likes me better.”
“Oh yes, that’s why he made you captain,” Ilya quipped. Shane frowned at him.
He liked being Shane’s captain too much for Shane’s liking. He made him say ‘Cap’ in bed once, and the memory colored Shane’s cheeks. But Shane wasn’t going to lose the upper hand by fighting about that, not when he’d managed to actually surprise Ilya.
He liked surprising Ilya, delighting him, zigging when he thought Shane would zag. Shane felt like he had spent two years telling Ilya ‘no, stop, don’t.’ They were still so young, and they had spent so many years denying themselves what they wanted. Shane really wanted to see Ilya happy, free.
“I’ll… tell Sveta yes?” Ilya asked, hesitantly, smile creeping up.
“Wait, dont,” Shane said, grinning back him, “What if we surprise her?”
***
So that’s how he ended up here, in a horrifying nightmare club in Boston, so loud he couldn’t think.
Scratch that, because they weren’t even in the club, but in the freezing line outside because in order to maintain the surprise they couldn’t even have Svetlana put them on her list.
“Will they even let us in?” Shane asked, using every ounce of his well cultivated discipline to stand like he was feeling fine and not freezing.
He was used to being cold, but not used to being cold in a silk shirt half unbuttoned, pea coat unbuttoned to make sure he looked sophisticated. He frowned down at himself, you should see his nipples through this shirt now.
At least I don’t look bad, he thought. He still wanted to impress Ilya, so he had called Rose for tips and she’d helped him. He expected her to take him shopping, but she said that was a rookie mistake, that he should put together clothes that he knew he could spend a night in if he really wanted to cut loose. They had spent an embarrisngly long time on factime while he tried basically everything from his closet.
What they had settled on truly didn’t feel uncomfortable to Shane, which was a first. Going out was his least favorite thing to dress for, and he normally ended up looking like a 20 year old a frat boy got lost and turned up at a bar. Ilya always looked so effortlessly cool, it pissed Shane off.
Tonight, his jeans were designer (he thought, they had been a gift from Rose for his honeymoon. He’d never bothered to look up the price, but the four stripes around the thigh were apparently a feature and not a bug). His silk shirt was dark and he and Rose bickered about how many buttons to undo. Eventually, he told Rose he was embarrassed at his lack of chest hair (“Look, I’m doing my very best to not objectify you already, don’t make this harder, Shane.” She had said, “I’d eat you alive if I could and I’m sure anyone else would too. So there!”) and she had won.
When Ilya came out dressed in his usual fare, ready to go, he had briefly felt like this whole night was a great idea. The way his husband’s eyes raked him up and down felt like fire, made the whole stupid thing worth it.
(“So it’s like that, is it?” Ilya had asked him
”Like what?” Shane asked, now directing his question to Ilya’s retreating back. “Where are you going?”
“To change!” Ilya had called, “You’re not showing me up, Hollander!” )
But now, in the freezing cold, in line with impossibly young hot people Shane felt the shame creeping in. Ilya’s hand found the small of his back, under his coat, the warmth of his palm immediately warming the cold silk.
“They’d let me in anywhere.” Ilya smirked.
Ilya was right to be cocky, but Shane should have expected that. It was Boston, Ilya knew his way around so much better than Shane here. They made it to the front of the line and the giant bouncer had reached out for their ID.
Ilya pushed Shane’s hand down as he started to hand it over.
“Gregor, have you forgotten me? What about all the good times?” Ilya asked, huge puppy dog eyes flashing at the bald wall of a man whose face showed 0% recognition of either one of them. He shined his flashlight directly in Ilya’s eyes and Ilya beamed.
“Traitor,” Gregor said, flatly.
“I had to go! I didn’t want to leave!” Ilya pleaded, “It was for love, Gregor!” Ilya put an arm around Shane’s shoulders and pulled him in, really laying on the pout thick. He shot Shane a look like, ‘Help me, look sad’ and Shane, despite himself, tried.
Gregor looked between them, unimpressed.
“Fine,” He said finally, “I forgive you,” and he stamped their hands VIP.
Ilya bounced on his toes. Some guy behind them was shouting that they were holding up the line. Ilya didn’t seem to care.
“Do you have new pictures?” He asked Gregor, who sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it.
Gregor’s phone screen was of a silver grey whippet, a little dog, wearing an orange and pink sweater with a pompom hat.
“Sarah made that one, last big snow.” He said to Shane, who just nodded and hoped that was the right choice.
Ilya wiped away a fake tear.
“I love this dog so much Gregor, you have made me such a happy man. ”
”Go inside and don’t cause trouble,” Gregor said, smiling, “And go back to losing!”
”Can’t!” Ilya called, and pulled Shane by the hand into the dark black of the club.
***
Sveta’s birthday was in the VIP section at the back right of the club, crowded on an already busy night. Shane didn’t know there were places like this in Boston, but he figured there were places like this everywhere he didn’t know about.
Ilya seemed at ease, knowing the route already, and the velvet ropes were lifted for them before they had to so much as bat an eye.
“Drink or Sveta first?” He asked, having to speak directly into Shane’s ear from the volume of the music. Shane blushed and Ilya grinned, sneaking his thumb under the edge of Shane’s shirt from where his arm had wrapped around him.
“Svetlana?” Shane replied, and watched Ilya scan the crowd. Svetlana was easy to find, it turned out, she was dancing in a dress so blue it looked like it was vibrating, hair half pinned up and unbeliavly shiny lips reflecting light in the dark.
Shane felt a familiar squirm in his guts. He really, really liked Svetlana. He really, really liked that Ilya had someone he could call, speak Russian with, who was like his family. He just wished she was like, a little less stunning.
Ilya moved them through the crowd and when she spotted them she stopped dancing immediately and ran over.
“You’re drunk,” Ilya said, before she had spoken.
“You came!” She yelled, “I love you,” she kissed him on both cheeks.
“It was Shane’s idea,” Ilya said, grinning at him.
”I love you!” Svetlana said, equally enthusiastic, kisssing Shane’s cheeks now. He blushed, despite himself.
”Oh, I’m so thrilled, I could cry, my old married friends out from their boring homes. Come, we’ll do shots—“
Ilya laughed as she grasped both of their hands and took them to the bar. She was holding three shots in a frightening quick amount of time, shoving one to Shane. The tapped the glasses to the bar, clinking their little glasses together. Ilya was smiling wide, like he always was when Svetlana and Shane were doing something together. Shane had thought about turning the shot down, but Weibe had given them the next two days off anyway, and it was worth it for the way Ilya’s eyes followed his Adam’s apple down as he swallowed..
The vodka burned his throat, Sveta was still holding his hand. She was addressing Ilya.
“Ok, I didn’t know you were coming,” She said seriously, a warning in her voice.
“Surprise,” Ilya said, laughing.
“Well,” she gave Shane a tiny little glance, her eyes barely moving before her placid face was unreadable again. It was so small Shane didn’t think he would have noticed except for all the time he’d spent with Ilya, the way that was exactly the same expression he would have made before he delivered information he was nervous about. “You might see some old friends here.”
Ilya quirked an eyebrow, “Yes, it’s Boston.”
Svetlana sighed, like she hoped that she wouldn’t have to say this so plainly.
“Sasha flew in.”
Ilya stiffened, which made the hairs on the back of Shane’s hair stand up. He’d never heard that name before, Sasha. Who was she? As far as he knew there were two women total in Ilya’s life, and they were Svetana and Shane’s mom.
“Ah, ok. Thanks for the heads up.” Ilya said, sitting up straighter.
Svetlana nodded, saying something that was drowned out by the music. She was getting dragged away by a beautiful girl and pulled onto the dance floor, laughing. Ilya made a face like he was wiping a scowl off, and ordered them real drinks, getting the bartender’s attention with an ease Shane envied.
Shane slid closer to him.
“So, Sasha?” He asked, scanning the crowd.
Ilya looked at him, sliding over the gin and ginger he had gotten him. How was everyone getting drinks this fast? Shane frowned down at the bar, it always took him like 10 minutes just to get the bartender’s attention.
“My coach’s son,” He said, “From Russia.”
“The one who…”
Ilya nodded.
Oh, well, damn. Shane had no idea that Ilya still had any contact with the first boy he had been with, much less that he was close enough to Svetlana to fly here from Russia for her birthday.
“Is he…out…” Shane asked, feeling immediately too drunk for this conversation.
Ilya snorted, turned so his back was to the bar, eyes scanned the crowd. He turned back to Shane.
“He’s there, red shirt.”
Shane frowned, looking and then in the mess of bodies and music he spotted him, taller than Ilya and sandwiched between two men in a darker corner of the dance floor, his hands slid into the back pockets of one of them who was grinding hard against Sasha’s thigh. That seemed pretty out to Shane who had had to have a pep talk in the bathroom before they came here in case his husband wanted to dance.
”Do you guys, like, talk?” Shane asked, feeling immediately stupid and vulnerable. Sasha looked cool, good at dancing. Things Shane was distinctly not. He seemed in his element here, laughing easily and reaching back to run his hands through the second guy’s hair. Jesus.
Ilya reached over, wrapping his arm around Shane and hooking his thumb in Shane’s belt loop.
“Not really, no. We see each other sometimes, like this. He’s good friends with Sveta. She warned me because I prefer not to see him, that’s all.”
“Why?” Shane asked, swallowing a rather large gulp of his drink, which seemed like a pretty heavy pour. He was trying to force this all away, have fun the way Ilya liked for once, he shouldn’t be getting all weird about some guy. Sasha.
Ilya shrugged, opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t get the chance as they both saw Sasha spot them and start making his way over. Ilya quirked his mouth up at Shane like, ‘I guess you’re about to see why,’ and downed his vodka, signaling to the bartender for a second one.
“Ilya!” Sasha said, and Shane scowled.
He spoke to Ilya in Russian, and Shane would have probably been able to understand more if it wasn’t for the music. Sasha grinned at Shane, like maybe he was addressing him. His eyes were dark, his smile was big.
Ilya replied in Russian, and Shane couldn’t make anything out at first, but he did know when Ilya said Shane and then ‘my husband,’ which Ilya had punctuated by holding up his right hand, where he wore his ring.
(Shane’s was on his left hand now, because that was what was normal in Canada, but secretly he liked that Ilya did it the Russian way, because when they held hands sometimes their rings would click together. And right now, since Sasha was Russian, so maybe he would know to fuck off faster.)
Sasha replied in Russian. He seemed surprised. Shane couldn’t make anything out, but he was pretty sure he heard Ilya say Canada? Or maybe, Canadian? And then Ilya said yes, Shane was pretty sure.
Sasha was sliding onto the barstool next to Shane. He was more gay (whatever that meant) than Shane had ever allowed himself to be. Shane felt a hot shot of shame at how uncomfortable that made him. He needed more gay friends. He should have coffee with Harris.
Sasha was tall, so he had his legs splayed, and the way he sat positioned Shane between them. So, that was already horrible.
“Hi, I’m Alexander, Sasha,” He said, in French. He held his hand out, and Shane shook it, not liking the way he pressed his finger tips to Shane’s wrist, “Sorry, my English, it’s really bad. But Ilya said you speak French, yes?”
”Yes,” Shane replied, and then realized he might be coming off as not understanding instead of stand-offish, so he added, “I speak French, sure. Nice to meet you.”
Ilya was glaring. Ilya knew even less French than Shane knew Russian and he got the sense that Sasha was doing this to mostly to piss Ilya off, since Ilya couldn’t understand.
“Congratulations on your wedding,” Sasha said, bright as could be, sipping on a cocktail that looked full of maraschino cherries, “never thought I would see the day Ilya settled down.”
Shane smiled tightly, “Thank you.”
“I’m very glad to meet you, Sveta talks about you all the time. She really likes you, says you make Ilya very happy. And that she loves to stay with you because you actually know enough about hockey to keep up with her obsession.”
Well, that was nicer.
“I hope so,” Shane replied, “We’re happy. He’s easy to love.”
Ilya eyes were darting between their mouths like maybe he could learn French out of sheer force of will.
“Aw, so sweet! He is.” Sasha laughed, reaching forward over Shane to catch Ilya’s chin with his hand and squeeze, his thumb on Ilya’s jawline. Shane winced, recognizing the gesture, feeling the ghost of a million times Ilya had squeezed his face that way.
Ilya turned his head to rebuke the touch and Sasha gave him a light affectionate slap on the cheek before pulling back. Shane dug his fingernails into his palm under the bar. He recognized that, too. He didn’t like it.
Sasha addressed the next thing to Ilya, switching to Russian, and whatever it was seemed to annoy Ilya. Shane understood Ilya’s reply to be some form of ‘Fuck off, dickhead.’ Sasha laughed again, standing.
He turned to Shane, and in French said, “I want to dance with you, save me one,” and then he was up, and he dragged his hand against Ilya’s shoulders as he moved away.
Ilya and Shane blinked at each other, both scowling. It was so infrequent that they were pissed off about the same thing at the same time that Shane was half expecting them to start fighting before he realized they probably agreed.
“So, that’s why.” Ilya said, gestruing broadly.
”That you prefer not to see him? Because he’s an asshole? Yeah, I can see that.”
Ilya lifted his eyebrows in agreement as he took a drink from his glass.
“What did he say to you?” Ilya asked.
“Not much, congratulations. He asked me to save him a dance.”
Ilya rolled his eyes.
“What did he say to you?” Shane asked.
“Eh, also not too much. That you are very pretty,” Ilya smiled at him, and Shane blushed, not used mixing jealousy and attention and vodka and gin, “Which I can’t blame him for, I guess.”
They smiled at each other then, and Shane felt better. Ilya pulled his hand—Shane’s left one, the one with his ring—to his lips and kissed it quickly. Years ago, Shane would have probably said there was nothing more intoxicating than Ilya Rozanov whispering a hotel room number to him on the ice, but no, he was wrong. That was better.
They leaned their heads close to talk with their backs to the bar and Ilya pointed out people he knew to Shane. He told little stories, who had dogs, who had babies. Who had a threesome in a bar bathroom and got caught and couldn’t go back to a bar downtown. Shane liked hearing how much he remembered. Ilya really seemed to perceive people, to know them in a way that had always been hard for Shane. They finished drinks, Shane thought, but his glass seemed to magically refill.
“So,” Ilya said, grinning, face much too close to Shane’s, “are you going to dance with me?”
Shane groaned. He knew this was coming. He was feeling looser, since the drinking, since the dark of the club. He finally felt like he had broken a little free of the paralyzing humiliation that was being gay in public (it would be hard to feel too self conscious about that in this room, where bodies seemed pressed against each other with no consideration of gender, just loud, just moving, just skin.) And Rose was right, being in clothes he knew and liked was helping keep him from going crazy. But still, dancing? Shane was not good at dancing.
“You will be ok,” Ilya said, grinning, “I’m very good, It’ll rub off on you.”
”Literally,” Shane muttered, and Ilya laughed, tugging him into the mass of people.
Shane wouldn’t have been able to identify the song even if it wasn’t so loud, he didn’t know anything about music. He felt awkward, didn’t know what to do with his hands. He was facing Ilya, which meant he could see the appreciative glances people were throwing at his husband’s way, girls mostly, who were viewing him standing here with Shane as essentially dancing alone. They didn’t look like they were together.
Ilya grinned, determined to fix that, placed his hands on his hips, pulled him in, moved them, and Shane laughed, resting his hands on Ilya’s chest even though it made him feel like he was at 8th grade dance.
“There’s a beat, you know,” Ilya quipped.
Shane put his head back and groaned, too tipsy to be elqouent about this thing he was so bad at. “I’m doing my best!” He complained.
Ilya shook his head, amused. Shane could hear the beat now, the DJ was switching between songs but keeping the bass thrumming, low. It was late, he realized, the songs were dirty. Ilya tapped his hip, then spun him around, bringing Shane’s ass to his hips instead.
Shane was sure that if the lights weren’t colored and flashing in here he would be bright red. Pressing his ass into Ilya felt like a confession of sorts. Something true, he knew, but still. And it meant that instead of looking at Ilya, Shane was looking out to the other people on the dance floor. He took a deep breath.
Ilya was leading them in this… well, grind, really, and Shane closed his eyes and tried to focus. If everyone else could do this, he could this. He was getting better, he thought, Ilya wasn’t forcibly moving him so much as keeping time with him now.
Ilya’s finger tips dug into his hip and oh, fuck, this was a lot. There really wasn’t a lot of space between them now, and when he pressed back he could feel that Ilya was hard against him, here, in the middle of all these people. Shane opened his eyes, took stock.
No body seemed to give a single shit what they were doing. The glances they did get seemed… well, they didn’t seem to mind. Shane dropped his head back, so it landed on Ilya’s shoulder behind him.
“See, not so bad at this,” Ilya said, kissing his temple.
“Fuck off,” Shane grumbled.
“I knew you would be,” Ilya was whispering directly into his ear and Shane shivered. This was unfair, at least Ilya had Shane’s ass to hide his arousal, Shane was all exposed. Ilya continued, “Just like sex, really. Just a bigger audience.”
Shane turned to face him, grinning, placing his forearms on Ilya’s shoulders. He was a little spinny. Shane was maybe a little drunk. Ilya’s hands slid down Shane’s back, and then under his shirt, up his bare back. Shane’s breath caught. He felt like he was in some sort of dream, like back before they were out, a fantasy. Like he had body swapped with that girl Ilya had been kissing in Montreal all those years ago and this wasn’t even really him.
Ilya grabbed his ass and Shane thought maybe he would die, here, on a dance floor in Boston.
He caught Ilya’s eye, and yeah, ok. He was glad they came. He looked perfectly euphoric, eyes trained on only Shane. Shane was kissing him before he could think, before he had a chance to pause and wonder about TMZ or cell phone cameras or reputations or anything except ‘Ilya’ and ‘want.’
When he pulled back, Ilya was still grinning, but Shane’s perfect little moment was shattered as he accidentally made eye contact with Sasha across the dance floor. He was clearly watching. Watching-watching, not casually glancing, but openly staring at them, and when he caught Shane’s eye he smirked and waved him over. Shane squinted and saw he was sitting at a table with Svetlana, and Shane’s shoulder’s sank.
”What?” Ilya asked.
Shane pointed. Ilya looked at him like, ‘Well, do you want to go?’ And Shane figured they should spend at least some time with the birthday girl on her birthday, so he nodded.
Sasha said something in Russian when they slid into the booth. Had Shane’s wits been about him, he would have never consented to the seating arrangement that they found themselves in, a round booth with the split between Ilya and Shane, Shane’s thigh pressed against Sasha’s and Ilya’s against Svetlana’s. Shane’s body felt colder without Ilya touching him, but it was an embarrassing thought, like he was 13 years old with a crush.
Svetlana hit Sasha the back of his head.
“Be nice!” She said. Shane was glad he didn’t know enough Russian to decode whatever it was he had greeted them with.
“Are you having a good birthday?” Ilya asked Svetlana, ignoring Sasha.
”Yes, the best,” Svetlana grinned, “I’m very drunk and I’ve paid for nothing.”
Sasha replied in Russian. Sveta poked him again, and leaned forward to Shane, translating.
“Shane, Sasha said to me, on my birthday: ‘‘Who will you go home with tonight, seeing as you’ve slept with half the bar already.’ And now I will tell him he’s a huge slut so he has no room to talk.” And then Sveta said something in Russian that Shane assumed was just that.
Sasha leaned to whisper to Shane conspiratorially, and Shane didn’t break eye contact with Ilya the whole time. Ilya looked like he was coming to the same conclusion Shane was about the seating, he slid his foot under to tap Shane’s.
In French, Sasha said, “She’s so mean to me, can you believe it?”
“I can,” Shane said, tone sounding a little more bitchy than he meant. Sasha laughed, turned to the table and attempted English. It wasn’t so bad. His accent reminded Shane of when he had met Ilya, something round about the way the words fell from his mouth.
“Well, it will be a race between you and me, Sveta, now that Ilya is a retired whore.”
Shane huffed. He was willing to give Sasha the benefit of the doubt that he meant a more playful word —maybe slut, like Sveta had said—but how much fucking Ilya used to do was not his favorite topic of conversation anyway. Shane drained his drink. His third drink. No, wait. His fourth drink?
Ilya smiled politely. He replied in Russian. Then he turned to Shane. “I said it’s very nice being retired, he should try it if anyone will have him.”
Sasha leaned back, putting his arm across the booth so it was behind Shane, and Shane willed himself not to lean forward and give away how deeply he hated that. Sasha turned to him and said in French.
“He says he likes being likes being married better, which is crazy, what have you done to him? Are leashes involved? You must be really something.” Sasha’s eyes dragged over Shane’s exposed chest, like he was implying Shane fucked Ilya so well he had to marry him.
Which, well. That wasn’t not the story.
“I hate men, enough!” Svetlana said suddenly, “This is so many languages and so much dick swinging, I never get to see either one of you, play nice! Come on, let’s dance.” She kicked Ilya’s shin with her heel to make him get up so she could slide out of the booth, and then grabbed Shane’s sleeve to drag him to the dance floor.
“I’m not very good at this,” Shane confessed, as Svetlana tossed her hair and swung him around. She smelled really good. Shane didn’t miss dating girls ever, didn’t want them at all, but even he had to acknowledge that they smelled amazing.
Svetlana’s laugh was sparkling. “I have danced with many hockey players, you are one of the best.” She said. She was being generous, Shane knew, but he was still pleased.
“Ok but those guys can’t be your standard, I’ve seen them and I’ve seen you.”
Svetlana pouted, jokingly, sighed like she couldn’t help it. “I know! It is so sad, I’m so lovely and my taste in men is so trash. I should just date women. ”
“I tried that, didn’t work out. Still wanted the hockey players,” Shane said, and she laughed.
”It’s hopeless!”
There were so many bodies pressed together on the dance floor it couldn’t really be said that Ilya and Sasha were dancing so much as they were all dancing, that they were dancing with Sveta and Shane, but Shane still didn’t like it. Sasha seemed to be pushing into Ilya’s space any chance he got, smirking, delighting in the way Ilya seemed to be dodging him.
Shane didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse. Ilya would dance with everyone else, right? Was Sasha something special, and that’s why he was so intentionally ignoring him? He was pulling Sveta into him right now, his giant hands on her tiny waist and Jesus, they looked so good together and maybe that was worse…
Freed from Sveta’s hands, Shane started to make his way off the dance floor, he wanted water, he wanted to sober up. He wanted to find his coat and give Svetlana the gift he had brought her because that was his last task and after that he could go home.
Sasha caught his hand, grinning. “Dance?” He asked, smiling. Shane took a deep breath, scanning to see Ilya’s face. He looked happy again, Svetlana pulling him into a group of girls who seemed to remember him from before. Shane wondered how many years it had been since he had seen them. Three? If Shane left, Ilya would leave. And Ilya was smiling.
This was supposed to be fun. Shane could be fun.
He nodded at Sasha, let himself be pulled into the floor, listened for the bass. Did his best to bop along.
Sasha was pretty, Shane admitted to himself, now that their faces were close together. Sveta was pretty, and Ilya said he was pretty. Maybe that was Ilya’s thing, pretty.
Sasha was a different kind of pretty. He had groomed eyebrows and gel in his hair, his features were dark and his eyes were big and he had a pretty mouth. He was tall, too, Shane had to look up to look at him.
Had he been taller than Ilya, when they first got together? Or was it different when he was younger?
Sasha was being polite, he wasn’t touching Shane anywhere that wasn’t allowed, leaving space between them. He was easy to dance with, like Sveta, like he too had plenty of practice trying to get guys to loosen up.
Shane wondered if he was the one to get Ilya to loosen up. It was impossible to imagine, because for Shane Ilya had been so confident, so sure. But maybe when they were kids it was Sasha who knew who he was, Ilya who was learning. It made Shane ache sometimes, to think about Ilya as a teen, confused, or alone, or whatever he was.
He felt a little surge of affection for Sasha, also gay and young in Russia. Little Ilya and Sasha, they had found their way together. They seemed to have been kind to one another, if the gentle way that Ilya had treated Shane when they had started hooking up was any indication of how it was between them.
Shane closed the distance, laid his forearms on Sasha’s shoulders. It was nothing crazy, it was less than what he could see Ilya doing out of the corner of his eye. Just dancing.
Sasha tapped his hip, and Shane recognized it as asking permission to turn him around, the same as Ilya had done earlier. Sasha must have seen how quickly Shane’s eyes snapped to his husband because he said, “I don’t think he’ll mind. Much.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but he turned anyway, and Sasha took the opportunity to whisper in his ear, the same as Ilya had, just in French now. “He’s watching you, you know.”
Shane found Ilya’s eyes, and he was, tracking Shane’s movements through the crowd, eyebrows drawn.
“I know,” Shane said simply.
“Do you think he wants to kill me or he’s having some sort of wet dream?” Sasha asked.
Shane squinted, still tipsy and spinny from the alcohol. He couldn’t quite parse the look on Ilya’s face. He didn’t seem mad at Shane in any case, and that’s really all Shane had enough energy to give a damn about.
“Dunno, both, probably.” Shane said Sasha laughed.
“Have you been together a long time? Since before for the Olympics, 2014?” Sasha asked, and Shane thought he sounded weirdly vulnerable, like this was the first question that he was asking Shane that wasn’t meant to be a joke, a come-on.
“Um,” Shane was having a hard time speaking French, dancing, standing, “Yes. Sort of. Not official.” He didn’t want Sasha to imply that Ilya had cheated, didn’t want to know the last time they had been together, didn’t want to hear it was like, four months before the cottage or something.
“Thank you,” Sasha said, “Solved a mystery for me,”
”What mystery?”
Sasha laughed, quietly. “Why I lost all my charm. When I stopped being fun.”
Shane turned back around, and Sasha placed his hands firm on his hips, a little too low. Was he touching his ass? Maybe Shane was too drunk for this.
”Oh, I think he— We really weren’t exclusive. I doubt it had anything to do with me.”
Sasha shook his head, smiled a little sadly. “It did.” Shane must have looked confused, but there was no chance to sort any of it out because he felt Ilya press himself flat against his back, pulling him away from Sasha.
Sasha said one word in Russian, and Shane thought he knew this one. ‘Greedy.’
Ilya replied one word in Russian, and Shane for sure knew this one (though the context of how he knew it made him blush) it was ‘Slutty.’
Sasha raised his hands, guilty as charged, and found another beautiful group to dance with.
Shane turned around to face his husband, who had a glare on his face, and a strong grip on Shane’s hip.
Shane grinned, feeling thrilled to see him, feeling drunk and pleasant and happy to have his attention back. He kissed him, because he could.
”You are trying to kill me,” Ilya said, grumbling.
“I’m trying to be not boring!” Shane said, laughing.
“I like you boring, who told you I didn’t like boring?” Ilya said, leaning to press a kiss to Shane’s shoulder. ”I’m boring,” Ilya kept on, “I want to go home and fuck my husband and drink water and go to bed.”
“Wow,” Shane said, “Hydration. Now you’re really seducing me.”
He pulled Ilya off the dance floor, found their coats, and dipped back in so they could give presents to Svetlana. Shane had gotten her something Rose had suggested, fancy sunglasses, some designer Rose knew. Sveta put them on right away and looked like an ad for the glasses.
Ilya’s gift was more sentimental, which Shane had come to understand was the only way he gave gifts. Maybe it was something about the way his family had asked for money, but Ilya seemed to care to give gifts that were personal, sweet. Shane didn’t understand why the necklace he had given Sveta had made her throw her arms around him, near tears, but he would make Ilya explain it later.
It all could wait till later, he decided, in the uber on the way back to the hotel, pressed into Ilya’s side.
***
Later, stripped and straddling Ilya on the hotel couch he took a breath to pull back that made Ilya whine but didn’t make Ilya take his hand off Shane’s cock.
“I liked seeing you tonight,” Shane said, grinning at him, “It was like a window to who you were before, what you were like home in Boston while I wasn’t there. I was just at home reading about hockey, you were…”
”Mm, yes, was like that for me too, mostly because I spent all night not paying attention to anyone and looking for you,”
Shane laughed. “You’re really fucking hot, you know that?”
”Oh so you ignored me all night? To dance with Sasha?”
“You danced with him too!”
Ilya raised his eyebrows at him, they both had seen Ilya be extremely fucking careful not to do anything Shane would find objectionable.
Shane huffed, now that the gin was wearing off and he was rememebing Sasha’s hands on him, what that must have looked like from Ilya’s point of view.
“Ok fine, I danced with him.”
”You wanted to make me jealous,” Ilya said, spreading his legs which forced Shane to spread his, fingers circling just around Shane’s ass. Shane made a low sound.
“No,” Shane said, “I was just dancing. Why, were you?”
”Jealous?”
Shane nodded as Ilya started opening him up. It was always a little embarrassing, this part, worse when he was in Ilya’s lap like this. Ilya was being deliberately slow, holding Shane’s hips still. Shane nodded.
”Yes, of course.”
Shane licked his lips.
“Of him or of me?”
Ilya bucked against him, and Shane whimpered, he tried to fuck himself further onto Ilya’s fingers but he couldn’t get the angle right.
“Him, obviously, you saw.”
“Possessive,” Shane managed, crying out as Ilya deliberately hit his prostate, then again, then again. “I thought—“ Shane gasped, “You were going to come home asking if I changed my mind about threesomes.”
Ilya kissed him, licked his bottom lip. Shane could tell he was in no rush, was going to tease Shane like this for hours, take him apart in this new unhurried way they could now.
“Fuck off, Hollander, you know I wouldn’t be able to stand sharing. This is mine.”
Shane gasped. Whined, then agreed.
“Yeah, it is.”
Ilya’s eyes flashed hot in the dark, suddenly way less patient.
Shane moaned.
“I’m yours, is that what you want to hear?”
Ilya slicked up with haste, flipping Shane onto the couch, and fucked him so hard Shane stars. Fucked Shane so hard he had to bite a pillow to muffle his yell when he came. Seeing from the outside, would have sworn they were 20 and desperate again.
***
Later, tangled in bedsheets and sleepy, Ilya leaned over on his elbow.
“Did he say anything interesting? Sasha?”
Shane shook his head. “No. He reminded me of you, sometimes.”
Ilya made a sound like, well. “We knew each other for a long time.”
”Did you ever… you know, you said you’d only be in love with me, but…”
Ilya shook his head. “I wasn’t in love. Not like this.”
Shane looked at him, silhouetted in the moonlight. “Do you think he was?”
Ilya sighed, turned away a little. “I thought, maybe. So, I stopped. Told Sveta to stop setting us up to be alone together, that kind of thing. He never said, but I didn’t want to hurt him if it meant something to him. He would never admit that it did. So was just his friend, tried to be around less. Thought maybe it would help. I think it did, he seems different now when I see him. I think he likes France.”
Shane’s hand found Ilya’s in the covers. “How did you know? You know, that maybe…”
Ilya turned to him, eyes soft. “Oh, hard to put a finger on. I think… I think I thought he acted like I did with you. And I had just realized what that meant.”
Shane found himself smiling, a little.
“Too bad for Sasha. Lucky for me.”
”Lucky for us.”