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He hadn’t kissed him.
He hadn’t kissed him and that bothered him. This was how it usually went, they fucked, said goodbye, and then went back to their lives. It wasn’t like Shane was his boyfriend or anything, so why was this such a huge deal for him? Because it was a huge deal—Shane had just left after their hook up and Ilya felt like he was going to break down. All because he didn’t kiss Shane.
He knew that Shane was more than a hookup to him, but he wasn’t about to admit that—even to himself. Shane was the poster good boy of the league, polite as ever off the ice, perfect beyond measure in his advertisements and speeches, and a really, really good hockey player. There would be nothing good that would come from them venturing past fucking in hotel rooms. So why was he so upset?
He felt dirty, like he had discarded Shane. He fucked Shane through the mattress and then kicked him out like he was nothing to him. Ilya hadn’t even looked at Shane while they were fucking instead opting to press Shane’s face into the sheets. He had barely even touched Shane outside of having sex with him. When they laid next to one another afterwards drinking vodka, the only touch they had was a brief connection via their shoulders.
Ilya heard a noise from beside him. He turned and frowned, only to see that the source was himself knocking over his glass of vodka onto the floor. The glass hadn’t shattered thankfully, but he was out of a drink now that he desperately needed. Or not needed, he was clearly incredibly out of it already if he couldn’t even register the fact that he had knocked it over. But, he didn't stop, instead grabbing the bottle of vodka on the other nightstand and drinking straight from it.
Against his better judgement, Ilya grabbed his phone. He opened Shane’s contact information before he could stop himself, tracing his fingers over the screen as if he could touch Shane through the device. And then he started typing, fingers dragging over the keyboard like little stone weights—conjuring together a haphazard text as best as he could with the state that he was in.
Lily: hes
Lily: hi
Lily: m sorwy
Lily: you were beauastful toniht we should hve kissed why ddnt we kis
Lily: i lik u somuc pls it hurts so much pls
Ilya shook his head as his eyes welled up with tears. He moved to press the backspace button on the strange amalgamation of words he had typed but was confused when the messages weren’t disappearing. Had he broken his phone too? Was he so overwhelmed with his desire and drunk with shame that he had broken his phone over Shane Hollander?
But then a message came through. It was from Shane, almost as if the universe had heard him and knew he needed Shane. But his heart dropped when he realized what the message was.
Jane: What does this mean?
Jane: Are you ok?
He had sent them. He had sent the fucking texts, that’s why the delete button wasn’t working. He hadn’t broken his phone, he had drunk texted Shane Hollander, his hookup, a love confession in the middle of the night all because he was torn up about not getting to kiss him. And worse, Shane responded asking if he was ok, the kind soul. Ilya began to panic, he had to do damage control and figure out some way to fix this.
Lily: m sorry
Lily: did no men t
Lily: meant to, accidenrl
Lily: why didn’t we kis? We shod hav kissed, please come bask, i wan tot kiss u
That definitely wasn’t damage control. If anything, Ilya was causing more damage by doing this.
Jane: I’m coming back up. Stay put.
Before Ilya could send another text to send Shane away, he heard the door to his penthouse rattling and opening, Shane stepping back into the room.
“What’s the matter with you Rozanov?” Shane said, stepping into the room. His eyes immediately zeroed in on the vodka in one of Ilya’s hands and the phone in the other and his expression softened, “Roz…”
“No, is fine,” Ilya’s words slurred and he waved his hand, placing the bottle on the nightstand next to him, “You go. I fine. Ignore texts, is nothing important.”
“Roz-”
“Go! We are not- there is no whatever this just sex, you do not have to look after me.”
“Rozanov,” Ilya looked up at him as he approached his bed side.
“What are you-”
And then he felt Shane’s lips on his and everything slowed down around him. The kiss was light and short, no more than a few seconds, but it was enough to rewire his brain and calm him down.
“Why did you do that?”
“We didn’t kiss and we always do,” Shane’s fingers lay against Ilya’s head, “And now we did.”
Ilya stared at him and then Shane moved to leave and Ilya grasped his arm, “Stay? Jus for a little?”
“You know I can’t do that,” Shane replied almost guiltily.
“Just for an hour. Please,” Ilya couldn’t believe he was begging Shane like this but at that moment he didn’t seem to care. He would be embarrassed as all hell about his behavior in the morning, but right now all that mattered was having Shane in his bed for a few more seconds before he left again.
“Ok. But not for long.”
Ilya smiled drunkenly as Shane took off his shoes and climbed in next to Ilya, letting Ilya hold him. Ilya felt at peace.
“Rozanov,” Shane started, “What did you mean when you said you liked me so much it hurt?”
Ilya felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes and he shook his head. He had forgotten he had said that and a small part of him hoped that maybe Shane would have forgotten too. But he didn’t—he had come back.
“Later,” He said, arm tightening around Shane, “Lemme hold for now.” Shane nodded and Ilya settled into him, slowly falling asleep. Eventually he was so deep in his slumber, he didn’t notice Shane slip out of his grasp or the gentle kiss left on his forehead.
In the morning, Ilya woke up to some pain medication and water on his nightstand. He immediately panicked at the lack of Shane Hollander before remembering his behavior from last night. Hopefully Shane had forgotten everything he revealed. In his panic, he checked his phone and saw he had a singular text from Shane.
Jane: I’m glad I came back up
Maybe drunk texting Shane wasn’t the worst idea.