Archive of Our Own

Shane wasn't sure what to expect from a fraternity full of nineteen-something year old boys, but it really wasn't this. 

Red plastic cups scattered the floor, with an occasional beer bottle making its appearance under a table. A broken sound system lay tangled in the corner, as if someone tried to hide their crime of breaking the bluetooth feature. Unsurprisingly, the room carried a faint stench of sex and shitty decisions. To make matters worse, there were at least twenty brothers nursing their hangovers on the carpet, seemingly gone to the world.

Half of them aren't even from here, Shane noted. 

This was not how he left the frathouse last night. He probably should've known better than to designate Hayden to handle the party, a last-minute decision that costed him what looked to be hundreds of dollars they didn't have in repairs and cleaning.  

A headache danced at the edges of Shane's temples as he tried to make sense of the unbelievable situation in front of him. For all of his faults, he truly did run the house like the navy, something he attributed to his rather traditional methods of organization. It was only recently that he began loosening his grip. 

He snuck out late into the night, late enough to where he thought celebrations would tamper down and his absence would hopefully go unnoticed. It was risky, especially for him, but a new habit he couldn't let go of — regardless of how hard he tried.  

Shane's phone buzzed from his back pocket, likely the instigator of this very fucking problem looking to gloat after orchestrating this nightmare only hours before. 

'Will be good plan, they get drunk and we sneak back to mine so I can fuck you into my mattress.'

The words had been so tempting at the time, offered as a reprieve before the month of finals dragged Shane under. But now, he regretted ever being talked into foregoing his control for momentary pleasure. He could already hear the call from the Dean's office, Sigma Alpha Epilson had been due for a strong warning, considering Phi Gamma Delta were already treading on thin ice from their function last month.

"Hey man, glad you could make it," Hayden's voice broke Shane from his torrent of overthinking, his friend’s tone far too casual for the predicament they were in. An onslaught of dread filled his senses as he registered the comment, clearing his throat as scrambled for an explanation.

"Yeah, I had to — I went to bed, like, in my room. Needed to sleep and stuff," Shane stumbled out, freckles burning as he lied through his teeth. 

Technically, Shane was in a bed last night, just not his own.

And sleeping was.. sort of the last thing he got up to while there.

Hayden apprehensively blinked at him, taken aback by his answer. "I figured," he drawled out, smirking at Shane's awkwardness, "I just meant it's good to see you in the living room this early. I know you like to start your day off with a run and all, so.." 

Shane clicked his tongue, thankful for the quick cover-up. Hayden was a lot of things, but intuitive didn't seem to rank the highest.

"What happened after I stepped out?" He asked, gesturing to the mess they stood in.

"Honestly? No idea. Jackie and I ditched to go to In-n-Out after smoking too much weed, this is just a result of letting the Delta guys in."

Shane flinched at the mere mention of their rival frat, despite personally approving the joint-party they threw here last night. The fact that he just so happened to be getting fucked by their President on the low was irrelevant to the decades long enmity he vowed to uphold the day he became President of SAE. "We've got to stop pulling this shit, this place is a disaster." 

Hayden perked up at his disapproval, eager to get a word in, "Yeah, and can you believe that Rozanov didn't even bother to show face? He wasn't at their party with us last month either, the asshole probably thinks he's too good to mingle with frats like ours."

Shane rubbed his eyes, reminded of moments from the night before.

'Hollander, so desperate for it. Fuck.'

'One more finger, hm? Or would you rather be fucked open on my cock?'

'Just little left. You can take all of it, I know you can мой любимый.'

'I can feel me here, in your stomach. Can you feel me in there too?'

When he re-opened his eyes, he was met with Hayden's concerned expression. "Don't worry about it Pres, I'll kick these douchebags out and put the freshmen on clean-up duty," he placated, unaware of the existential crisis actually plaguing Shane's thoughts.

President, right. That is what my focus needs to be on.

"Okay, I'm going on my run. Call me if anything comes up." 

***

While running, Shane made the crucial mistake of checking his phone. 

Lily: Did you make it back to dorm, or did limp slow you down? 

Asshole, Shane thought. 

                    Jane: Fuck you. 

Lily: Ok 😇

                  Jane: That was the last time.

Lily: Really? Is what you said last time too. 

Shane didn't feel the need to dignify Ilya with a response, until another text came in. 

Lily: And time before that. 

                 Jane: It's not like your frat was the one that got trashed. Someone has to take responsibility. 

Lily: I send cleaning arrangements from our funding. Is not a problem.

                 Jane: Not the point, but thanks. 

Lily: Okay now? 

                Jane: We can't keep doing this.

                Jane: They're going to catch on. 

Lily: Catch onto what? 

Shane's face turned red as he tried to come up with a response that didn't humiliate him further than this conversation already had. Rozanov liked to be obtuse on purpose, something that got him out of a lot of difficult conversations with Shane. 

                Jane: You know what!

Lily: Hollander, don't be like this. Besides, you'll miss me too much.

               Jane: Fuck off.

Lily: See you next week 😘

Ilya had picked out the names himself, after their messy first-hookup in a cramped sorority bathroom during orientation week for their respective Frat’s incoming freshmen. It was thrillingly forbidden then but now, just a haunting reminder of what he didn’t deserve to have.

***

The following Wednesday found all Frat and Sorority Presidents of McGill University seated in one, albeit overly cramped, conference room, awaiting the appearance of the Dean for their bi-monthly roundtable meeting.

Predictably, Shane had arrived fifteen minutes early, finding a spot near the back so he could finish filling out a questionnaire for his Psych class. He was still fairly new to his Presidential duties, so he hadn't exactly found the time to introduce himself to other members. He figured they were plenty busy themselves to bother with the pleasantries anyway.

This obviously came with the sole exception of PGD's President Ilya Rozanov, someone who Shane just couldn't seem to see enough of, evident from the several nights they spend tangled in each others' sheets, each experience ending longer than the last.

If that also meant each experience was starting to mean something more, Shane couldn't — didn't dwell on it. 

Focused on filling out his survey, he almost missed the chair being pulled out next to him until a familiar breathing pattern began to match his own. 

"Rozanov?" Shane couldn't help but blurt out, overwhelmed by his presence this early into the day.

He had began to only recognize the Russian hockey player amidst fluorescent lights, where the intoxication of adrenaline mixed with desperation blurred the lines of right and wrong in his mind. In this impossible afternoon light, Rozanov seemed to take a hold of the air around him with a practiced confidence, far too strong for Shane to ignore. The sun shone on his golden curls just right, reminding Shane of the pattern they formed when thoroughly drenched in exhaustion and sweat.

"Hollander, didn't expect to see you here," his tone carried a lilt of amusement, like he couldn't understand why Shane was confused. Or maybe, didn't want to. 

"Well, I am the President, so. Or like, a President. You know, of my Frat." 

Rozanov shot him a wide grin and mockingly tilted his head to the side, like he had been counting on Shane to say something stupid. "I do know, yes. Is good Frat, not as good as mine, but is close." 

"Asshole," Shane retorted. He quickly turned back to his phone before he actually did something stupid, like smile at a comment clearly meant to put him down. It was becoming harder and harder to convince himself that Rozanov actually carried a bite to his words, something that could only mean one thing: Shane was a fool.

He imagined there were many other fools in his position, whether at the same time or those in the past. Open-hearted lovers who took Rozanov at his charm, disarmed by his unnerving ability to notice the minute details when the only thing Shane could focus on was the thrum of their bodies in sync. 

But that's what set him apart at the end of the day; he knew they were not anything. Not quite friends, definitely not lovers, but perhaps rivals. It's what everyone chose to believe anyway. 

Before Rozanov could continue, the door swung open, revealing the Dean and his flurry of assistants trailing behind. His frail voice announced the start of their time, which Shane tried to take seriously until a tap against his ankle threw everything off center.

He glared at Ilya from the side, roughly shoving his leg to the side before pushing his chair two feet back. This proved to be a mistake as Rozanov took it as an opportunity to wrap his ankle around Shane's calf, leaving him unable to pry it off without alerting the students sat around the table. 

"Don't pull this shit here," Shane wanted to sound stern, but the breathless note in his tone gave away how he really felt. 

Ilya only scooted his chair closer in response, taking his time with his now only sock-covered foot to openly rub up and down across Shane's lower leg. From under the table, Ilya's hand found its way to Shane's thigh, softly stroking the surface while he nodded along to the presentation at the front of the room. 

Shane, although partly mortified by the indecent gesture, couldn't deny how hard his cock was denting from underneath his slacks. The idea of getting caught with someone as notorious as Rozanov sent sparks down his spine, leaving him unable to move outside of covering Ilya's hand with his own. 

He watched with hooded eyes as Ilya's free hand slid a folder across the table, pushing it to sit in front of Shane's peripheral vision. It gave him an excuse to appear busy as he ducked closer and whispered against Shane's temple, "Should I go higher?"

Accompanying Rozanov's comment was a firm squeeze on his thigh, meant to tease him further.

Suddenly, a question cut through the tension. "Boys, the party?"

As Shane tried to rack his brain for an appropriate explanation, unaware the conversation had shifted onto them, Rozanov beat him to it. 

"Ah, Hollander got it under control. How you say, rowdy Canadian boys know how to let loose," Ilya laughed, somehow managing to bring a begrudging smile to the Dean's gloomy expression. "Will not happen again, is my fault. My brothers do not know how to party like normal people after big game." 

The game he was referring to was the hockey match from last night, where Rozanov brought his team to victory as both captain and star center of the McGill Redbirds. Because of his legendary hockey status, he took on the role of President of the mostly sports-focused Fraternity, Phi Gamma Delta famous for bringing their rager mentality to any event they attended. It's how even by-the-book houses like Shane's took the heat for hosting out of control frat parties, usually tainted by the very influence of PGD. 

He was surprised to hear Rozanov defend him, as the boy was usually quiet in the past while other Presidents were chewed out for similar situations.

As a STEM and business double major, Shane was constantly under pressure, whether from family or academic commitments. Overseeing his Frat added another layer of stress, but it did introduce an undefinable sexual relationship with a hockey player into his life just over six months ago. Things were made simple by just slapping a 'Rivals' labelled logo over any conflicted feelings that might come up in relation to Rozanov. It was easier to see things this way, tangible enough for Shane to understand but not overthink about. 

He probably wants to get on the Dean's good side by being honest, Shane rationalized, unable to come up with any other sound conclusion. It's not like Rozanov actually cared about him or the future of his Frat. Their houses often went head to head, battling it out to win the most accolades possible while simultaneously spiting the other.

"Okay, don't let it happen again. Both of you." 

***

The bass is far too loud for a mixer, Shane registered as he stepped inside the third frat of the night. He had wanted to spend his evening inside his room, with a Campbell Biology 12th edition textbook and copious amounts of redbull, but Rose wouldn't let up over the phone and Hayden had promised Jackie he would bring his friends out with him tonight.

It was Finals' week, which he thought everyone took seriously until now. Apparently, no one actually thought to adhere to the whole ‘studying propaganda’ he enforced onto his freshmen before leaving the house with a few other Juniors, but there's nothing he could do about it now. 

As an old J. Cole album played in and out of the speakers, Shane considered his next move. He could always make a run for it, pay for the consequences of pissing off Rose another time and take refuge in his bed. But with all the expectant faces swirling around, he had to put the society-made construct of socializing first, no matter how suffocating his Nike Tech felt zipped against his skin. 

About an hour into the party Shane’s face felt officially broken, permanently bruised after shooting smile after smile to each person that came up to him. Most of them weren’t sober, which he hoped helped conceal the disdain he felt whenever they offered to swap his ginger ale for something stronger. 

He preferred not to drink at these events, never feeling safe enough to be unguarded around strangers. It’s a fact he thought he’d outgrow by twenty-one but a habit that stuck despite it. 

After failing to make conversation with the sixth tennis player of the night, he gave up on his futile attempt to ignore the makeshift dance floor situated in the middle of the house. Initially, he wanted to stay away from the strobe lights and deafening loud music, but he had nowhere else to linger with the way every common area was becoming the go-to spot for making out.

Now at the doorway, he immediately recognized a tall group of guys huddled around the island at the back of the house. If it wasn’t for their rather built figures, the unmistakable color of their jerseys made it pretty apparent that they were from the hockey team. It wasn’t shocking to learn that PGD were here but what Shane couldn’t understand was why Rozanov wasn’t already on the floor.

If the school newspaper was anything to go by, his goals this season were of the likes the school had never seen before, skyrocketing his potential to be scouted by the NHL that much more. He should be riding his high with shots, not whatever that was going on back there. 

Upon closer look, Ilya was seated next to a sorority sister Shane only recognized because of Rose. The girl was pretty, in the way Shane knew was suitable for Rozanov to end up with. Flirty, confident, and pulling off the two-piece miniskirt that accentuated her dark brown hair. 

Are they dating? Shane wondered, trying to swallow down a curious bout of nausea he chose to blame on his earlier caffeine indulgence.

If they were, it would make complete sense. They weren’t going to be in college forever and Rozanov clearly needed someone he could depend on and trust once he made into the big leagues. A well-rounded woman who he could settle down with. 

Someone who isn't me. 

Maybe she knew about his preferences and trusted he would cut them off after they made it official. Is this their way of making it official? By alerting the many flings of Ilya Rozanov scattered around campus that he chose to stay with her at an event like this instead of with them in shady bedrooms. 

Instead of with me. 

Unable to hold these questions within himself any longer, Shane maneuvered around the dance floor, praying his ability to go invisible would pay off. Once he made it within their general vicinity, he began to overhear the odd exchange initiated by who looked to be his new girlfriend. 

“I was at your last game, I thought you'd be at the afterparty?" She asked, maybe her name was Jessica. Or was it Teresa? 

At the mention of their game, Shane felt his head spin. Rozanov was with him after the last game.

Does this mean Rozanov was already seeing her while fucking me? 

"Okay," he responded to her, voice monotone and completely withdrawn. Shane knew he didn't take clingy well, a universal truth meant for girls on campus to stick by if they wanted a shot. Or at least that's what Rose told him. She tended to know these kind of things, which he suspected she learns from Svetlana, her long-time girlfriend who also happened to be close friends with Rozanov.

Despite their friendship, not even Rose knew about the nature of his relationship with Ilya. Nobody did. It was something he kept to, or maybe for, himself. He couldn't decide which between the two was worse yet.

"Look, are you going to get me a drink or what?"

At the exact moment perhaps Claudia asked the question, Shane made the rookie mistake of holding direct eye-contact with his fuckbuddy. He felt every nerve in his body come alive, watching in horror as Rozanov broke into a blinding grin while setting down his phone that had been previously open during his last conversation with maybe it was Madeline?

Stuck in what was looking to become one of the most awkwardest moments in his entire adult life, Shane had no choice but to walk over. He tried to appear unaffected, like it was natural of him to stalk the conversations of his acquaintances in his free time.

"Hollander, you are here!" His voice somehow sounded relieved, but it's not like Shane was good at picking up social cues to begin with.

He didn't read into it.

Shane tentatively sat down on the empty bar stool next to Ilya, wiping his palms on his jeans while he witnessed ...Lily?  storm off.

"I didn't — uh, I wasn't trying to.. I hope I didn't make it worse," Shane attempted, suddenly horrified at his nervous confession. 

Rozanov stilled for a moment, looking back and forth between Shane's eyes as if searching for something specific. 

Scrambling to clarify, he added, "I just meant that I hope you guys can, uh — talk it out later. She seemed pretty mad, so. Yeah." 

"Who?" 

The worst part about Rozanov's question was that Shane knew he was being completely sincere too. 

Shane looked over his shoulder, hoping the girl managed to materialize again over the course of their trainwreck of a conversation just to make him look less insane. She did not.

"Your, you know," he vaguely gestured to the air, quickly recovering and bringing his fingers closer to pick at his lips — a nervous habit. "Your date."

"Hollander. You are joking, yes?"

Shane clicked his tongue, agitated that Rozanov was once again not taking him seriously. "Look, it's not a big deal. I won't tell anyone," he blew out a large breath, "if that's what you want." 

"Okay. Thank you." 

The slight traitorous glimmer of something probably akin to hope for a boy like him blinked away in Shane's heart. 

Good. At least he can trust me.

He tried to clear his throat before he continued, but the break in his voice persisted as he responded, "Yeah, I wouldn't do that to you." 

In all honestly, Shane wasn't sure what he meant by his reassurance. Who was it for?

Did he mean that he wouldn't betray Ilya by disclosing his girlfriend, or he wouldn't betray Ilya by seeing another person? 

Like he had. 

Before he could continue his spiral, Rozanov drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently. 

"One problem though."

"What is it?" 

Rozanov leaned in before he admitted, "She is not my date. I have never seen her before today." 

Shane threaded his eyebrows together in skepticism, "What do you mean? I thought you were making it official, she even got mad at you?"

Rozanov only rubbed his jaw at the accusation, smirking innocently. "A lot of women get mad at me. Is not new. I do not know her, but she knows me. Are we done talking about this?"

Shane could only sit back in stunned silence. If Rozanov wasn't seeing her, then it must be another girl.

Rozanov didn't seem bothered by the assumption, but rather delighted by Shane's composure. "Why are you surprised?"

"I mean," Shane glanced around them, "I bet a lot of girls are waiting on you." 

"Maybe. I wouldn't know." 

"What makes you say that?"

Rozanov only shrugged at the question, reaching down to pull a can of ginger ale from underneath his seat. He pushed it across the countertop to Shane.

"Drink. You have so many questions, I do not have answer." 

Shane wasn't sure how to react to the gesture, quietly taking a sip while trying to appear casual. 

“How are finals?”

”Good, yeah. Only a few left, then I’m leaving for break.”

Ilya hummed at the response, stretching his arms over his head while subtly checking out the scene surrounding them. 

“Ten minutes. My room, door will be open.”

“What?” He asked, feeling the familiar static crackle as Rozanov leveled him with that look. The one Shane liked to pretend was just for him.

Before walking off, he responded, “You know what.”

***

Nine minutes and many internal meltdowns later, Shane stood outside Rozanov’s room, swiping his hands over his jacket while he waited to be pulled inside. 

It was almost comical how easily he gave in to this push-and-pull, unable to resist going back for more.

When the door finally opened, Rozanov tilted his head fondly, poorly feigning surprise. It only riled Shane up further, who slammed the door behind himself in a flurry of mixed emotions. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Rozanov looked him up and down. “Take off your clothes.”

Shane blinked, still tense from the lack of answers. He wanted to feel a semblance of control, even if he knew he would willingly relinquish it within the next few moments. 

“This isn’t a good idea.”

Ilya tutted, “It never has been. That has never stopped us though. Please, off.”

Shane closed his eyes, sucking in a large breath before peeling his shirt and jeans. The cold air in the room bit at his skin, little goosebumps beginning to form on his legs.

He wasn’t sure what to do next, somewhat used to Rozanov grabbing him by now. When he looked up, he noticed the other boy was holding something behind his back. 

“What is that?” 

“I have a gift for you,” Ilya cryptically replied. 

Whatever it was, Shane could already tell it was going to piss him off. 

“Promise me you will listen.”

”What?” Shane scoffed, growing agitated at the semantics of conversation and very much lack of touching. 

“You will be good boy, yes Hollander?”

Feeling like the air had been punched out of his lungs, Shane could only nod. 

Slowly, Ilya brought the what looked to be a jersey into view. He flipped it around so Shane could see the last name Rozanov printed alongside the number 81.

“You want to wear your jersey during sex?” 

Ilya laughed, but Shane didn’t feel like it was directed at him. These days, it never did. If life had been nicer, he could’ve lived with Rozanov treating him a little worse. It would’ve been easier to lie that way.

“Not quite моя любовь, you will wear it.”

If Shane hadn’t yet turned pink out of sheer indignation, he definitely was now.

Wearing his jersey? Fuck. Why is that turning me on.

”You can’t be serious.”

”Please Hollander. Seeing your back in this, ебать, I’ve been imagining it since my last win,” Ilya groaned out, walking towards Shane like one would approach a skittish animal. 

I have nothing left to lose.

Shane muttered a soft shit as he took the material from between Ilya’s fingers, swiftly pulling it over his head before he could regret it. 

“Fuck.”

With an agility Shane had only seen Rozanov possess on the ice, he startled as he was backed against the wall surrounded by two strong, tan forearms. 

Shane felt his vision blur as his mouth was enveloped in a warm, wet welcome from Rozanov. He craned his higher to match the intensity, softly whining into the kiss as Ilya gripped his waist from over the jersey. His palms felt rough and unforgiving as they bruised his skin a darker shade of red.

Now lifted into the air, Shane gasped as his ass was thoroughly groped while Rozanov carried him across the room and onto the bed. He hit the pillow with a uumph, smiling as Rozanov looked down at him. 

“You are not real,” he whispered. 

Shane thought he was hearing things. 

He canted his hips upwards, desperate to feel sturdy muscle ground him. Rozanov matched his shallow thrusts, tucking his head in between the crevice of Shane’s neck and shoulder to press sharp kisses wherever he found purchase. 

Finding himself closer than he expected, Shane tore his underwear off, trying to send the message that he needed it in him like yesterday. 

Rozanov moved down his body, trying to lick and kiss at each spot Shane would let him stay at until he was reminded of his restlessness yet again. 

When Ilya reached his lower torso, he gently wrapped his hand around Shane’s cock, thumbing his pre-come before moving his thumb up to taste it. 

“Fuck,” Shane muttered, flustered at the erotic motion. 

“Do you want my mouth Hollander? Is that why you are so hard?”

Shane keened at the humiliating comment, pushing his arm behind his head as he felt Rozanov take his cock into his mouth in one go. 

“Oh — oh my god. Rozanov, please,” Shane whined, unsure what he was asking for. The pleasure was building rapidly, clouding his thoughts over with a drunken haze.

He felt Ilya guide one of his hand’s to his head, encouraging him to take what he wanted at his own pace. It was one of the many acts that Shane knew was dangerous; Rozanov was a considerate lover. 

Pain and pleasure flowed through Shane’s veins as he bucked into Rozanov’s mouth. The tight heat surrounding his cock almost burned in its intensity as Ilya sucked harder, his tongue swirling along the side. 

Pulling off with a sensual pop sound, Rozanov licked his lips clean before feeling out Shane’s taint, moving his still aching dick to the side before grasping Shane’s thighs. 

Shane protested at being denied when he was so close to finishing, “Why’d you stop?” He slurred, flushed from the overstimulation. 

“You’re going to let me take, aren’t you моя любовь? Tell me if it’s too much.” 

Before he could even recover from the edging, Shane arched forward as Rozanov’s mouth found his hole. It wasn’t something they did often, only indulged when Shane was acting particularly forgiving. 

The jersey, Shane registered. It’s what has Rozanov so pent up. 

Ilya ate like he played, with no mercy. His mouth was thorough and precise, leveraging his tongue to fuck in and out while getting his spit messy enough to fit inside a finger.

Shane bit into his fist as Rozanov crooked his finger deeper and almost obscenely made out with his hole.  

His movements left Shane helpless to the sensations, begging into the side of the pillow while pulling at Ilya’s curls. When he felt a third finger breach into him, he hiccuped in resolve.

”Rozanov, just — fuck me, please, get inside me,” he wantonly squeezed Ilya’s head harder with his thighs. 

When did his clothes come off? Shane wondered as tried to tether himself back into reality before gearing up to get fucked within an inch of his life. 

Likely feeling charitable, Ilya finally let up, leaving one last kiss on Shane’s thigh before  sliding up his body. His skin shone with sweat, casting an unfair glow between their bodies.

He smacked his lips together once before pulling Shane in for a melting kiss, one he smiled into as he gripped the fabric of Shane’s jersey.

In turn, Shane wrapped his arms around his shoulders, mouth parting as Rozanov lined himself up to push inside him.

“Look at me, eyes up here моя любовь,” his dirty talk was filthy and unfathomably sexy with its Russian lilt in cadence. 

”Rozanov — fuck,” Shane couldn’t handle the intensity of his gaze, too ablaze to process the command. 

As the tip slipped inside, Shane felt the tension in the room rise.  

“You want to be good for me pretty boy? What’s my name?” 

It was a loaded question; Rozanov knew that. They had never addressed each other by anything but their last names, an unsaid oath taken the first day they met. Which is why Shane couldn’t understand what he was trying to ask, figuring his brain was too fogged up by the thundering heartbeat in his ears. 

Rozanov gripped his jaw with one hand while carding their fingers together with the other against the sheets, “Come on моя любовь, you can say it. I know my cock is big, but I believe in you.”

He leaned in then, mouths ghosting over each others as he added, “Shane, what’s my name?” 

He filled him completely before Shane could answer. 

It was like a dam broke hearing his own name came out of Ilya’s mouth. The thin veil that separated their predated boundaries was lifted and left only raw scars in its wake.

“Shane, fuck. Tell me, say it. I know you can, you’re going to be so good for me.”

His accent was getting thicker, words in and out of Russian as he thrusted deeper. 

Shane, for the most part, was unable to formulate a coherent sentence. It was overwhelming hearing Ilya Rozanov speak so candidly, something he never thought would happen during their hookups. It made it all so complicated, but stung in a way that made him feel devoted.

As Rozanov kissed down Shane’s jaw, he kept at it. 

“Look at you, in my jersey. Are you proud of me? All the goals I make for our stupid fucking school, but you don’t come to one game.”

Shane whined at the accusation, flustered at the insinuation Ilya noticed. He knew the day he attended he would be found out immediately, instead choosing to play it safe and watch every game live from his phone while under his covers. 

But Rozanov didn’t need to know that. 

His hands started to pet down Shane’s body until they found his abdomen. He reached underneath the material of the jersey and thumbed at his side, sighing at the clear outline of himself inside Shane. 

“Fuck, am I that big Hollander? You won’t be able to walk out of here tonight, I’ll keep you to myself.”

Shane puffed a deep breath out of defeat, wildly turned on at the promise. He wanted to feel Ilya for days after this, remembering what it felt like to be claimed on his bed wearing his jersey while be spoken to like this. 

As he got closer to his climax, he couldn’t hold back the tears that clouded his vision. Everything was too much yet not enough, a cruel in between that he often found himself in until Ilya talked him down. 

Large hands wiped at his temple, one trailing down his cheek until Ilya slipped his thumb inside Shane’s mouth. It was soothing, giving him something to ground himself with until his moans couldn’t be contained the harder Ilya fucked him. 

“You are going to come, hm?” He left a series of encouraging kisses on Shane’s mouth, “Tell me who’s going to make you come. Say it Shane.”

With his head thrown back, Shane felt his resolve break as he groaned out, “Ilya — Ilya, fuck!” Coming in long spurts across the front of the jersey. 

Ilya milked him through the orgasm, stroking Shane’s cock while he slowed down his own thrusts to give Shane a second to come down. 

Once Shane steadied his breathing, he looked at Rozanov from underneath his lashes, slowly drawling out, “Was I good?”

Ilya cursed something illicit in Russian before pulling out to come all over Shane’s spent cock. 

Shane felt his bones go lax at the emptiness his hole felt, pliable as Ilya softly took the jersey off of him to wipe them both down. 

“Shane, you will sleep here моя любовь?”

”Hm?” Shane could only grunt in response.

”Okay, that is okay. Let me get blanket you like, I know this one makes you cold.”

Later, tucked into the warm expanse of Ilya’s hard chest, Shane couldn’t get himself to understand why this was such a bad idea in the first place. 

***

Shane knew something was wrong the second he felt a ray of light peek through the curtain. He did not, under any circumstances, leave his curtains or windows for that matter open. He made a routine out of closing his room down before he went to bed, something he couldn’t fall asleep without doing. 

When he felt an entire head of Russian curls nestle deeper into his neck, he realized he was fucked. 

“Fuck, Rozanov.”

Ilya slowly stirred at his name, peering from underneath Shane’s hold to groan something about it’s too early. 

Shane’s fight or flight only intensified at his nonchalant attitude. He knew if he got used to their domesticated dynamic he would never break free of the curse that is staying stuck in Ilya Rozanov’s orbit. 

“Someone could walk in. I need to leave,” he tried.

That seemed to get his attention, Ilya immediately sitting up with an annoyed expression. 

“No, I don’t have practice and you have no morning classes today. We are free.”

He said it so matter of factly, like it didn’t tilt Shane’s world upside down to know that Ilya had his schedule memorized. 

What are we doing?

”I — I have a thing, I can’t miss it. I have to go now,” even Shane knew he sounded pathetic, having always been a bad liar. Especially to the people he loved.

Ilya looked offended by the plans, like he’d been counting on their time together. It couldn’t be that though, Shane reasoned, maybe he wants another round? 

Choosing to ignore every cell in his body fighting against standing up, Shane quickly located his clothes on the floor and pulled his shirt over his head, wincing at the sight of the dirty jersey laying over the desk.

Ilya sat against the headboard and watched with a straight face as Shane tied his shoes. 

“Hollander.”

”Thank you, uh,” Shane shook his head at himself, “I hope you have a good break.”

”Is this about last night? That doesn’t change anything.”

At the mention of their names, something he was desperately trying to block out, Shane hastily opened the door and walked out, too ashamed to give an appropriate answer but, “I’m sorry — I can’t do this.”

***

McGill’s campus welcomed students from break with four extra inches of snow since they’d left and a healthy snowstorm warning to look out for within the next week. 

Shane could already feel the dread he’d tried to forget about crawl back into his mind the second he unpacked his suitcase. It was just him for now; the rest of the boys weren’t due to come back to the Frat until tomorrow. As President, he had to get everything running before classes started on Monday. 

Spending break with his parents didn’t help in the way he thought it would. No amount of eggnog or sugar-free gingerbread cookies soothed the ache he cradled deep in his chest. It followed him everywhere, from when he closed his eyes at night and well into his dreams. 

It’s like the sight of Ilya looking down at him wouldn’t stop playing over and over again. A look that had told him he mattered. In that brief instant, Shane had felt like only the two of them existed, destined for that exact moment. 

Waking up had proved to be far too overwhelming for him to process which made running away all that much easier.

Maybe it was better this way, going back to the way things should’ve always stayed. Rozanov proving himself on the ice and Shane proving himself to the rest. 

Never to each other. They could never afford the intimacy of it. 

For the next few weeks, Shane alternated his time between Presidential responsibilities and classes. He made sure to leave no extra room for anything else, convinced he would do something stupid if given the chance. 

Even now as he sat in the library with Rose and Svetlana, he was starting to regret taking up their offer on a study session. He was better off taking a power nap with the way their conversation was veering into dangerous territory. 

“Shane,” Rose begged, “You haven’t been out in two weeks! Midterms aren’t for a while, just this one game, please?”

Shane slumped his head into his textbook as he attempted to ignore Rose’s insistent whining for the third time in a row. She was hellbent on going to the hockey game tonight, just not without him. 

“Maybe he is busy,” Svetlana placated, leveling Rose with a look that bordered pity.

Right, even she pities me.

”I just don’t think it’s a good idea, you know how the Delta guys are. I’d just be inviting an issue if my Frat showed up too.”

”Shane, unless you haven’t noticed, it’s just the three of us here for a reason. It’ll be super lowkey, your boys won’t even notice you went.”

”I don’t think Hayden would appreciate that,” he became desperate to find an excuse, any excuse, that would make him look and feel like less of a jackass to his friend. 

“Then it’s a good thing he’s with Jackie at her parents this weekend. There, every issue is solved. You’re coming!”

”Rose, please.”

The girl paused for a moment, seemingly considering her next words carefully. 

”Shane, I don’t like to pry into your business but is this about Lily?”

Shane thought he was going to be sick. Does she know?

“What are you talking about?” He breathed out, somehow missing Svetlana’s expectant gaze on him. 

”You do realize we are friends right? When you disappear at all my events it’s pretty easy to connect the dots, and you leave your phone unattended a lot, the texts are hard to miss.”

”It’s — you’ve got it wrong, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

”Look I’m genuinely happy for you, everyone’s needs someone! What I can’t figure out is who Lily is, there’s literally nobody in a neighboring sorority with that name. Do you guys like, meet up at her place or..?

“It’s not like that, trust me. And uhm, I’ll — I’ll go, tonight I mean.” He desperately needed an out to this conversation and agreeing seemed like the only option. 

Svetlana could only laugh under her breath as she smiled sweetly at Rose’s happiness. 

This is going to be a long day, she thought. 

***

The stadium roared for the second time, the rows packed with eager fans on either side waiting for the buzzer to ring. 

The McGills were in the lead but with the timer slowly ticking down, it was anyone’s game in these last five minutes.

Shane sat in the back with Rose and Svetlana, nervously biting his lips raw while yanking his beanie further down his head. He was lucky to have gone unnoticed this far into the night, suspecting it had something to do with the scathing glare Svetlana sent to each passerby who got just a little too close. 

He watched as the other team took possession of the puck, forcing the entire student section of the stadium to bolt out of their seats in anticipation.

For a brief, unthinkable moment, he thought they’d be able to score. He’d have to be okay knowing that the one hockey game he psyched himself into attending actually resulted in a loss. 

Feeling the ramping adrenaline, whether for himself or for someone in a particular pair of skates was to be determined, he began scanning the rink until he found who he was looking for.

And to his luck, that person was already facing him, he just had peel back his beanie and throw one hand up and —

Got him. 

It was only a millisecond later that Ilya Rozanov slid across the ice and body-checked two unsuspecting players against the boards that resulted in the timer running out before a goal was made. 

The McGills had won. 

Instantaneously the crowd erupted in a fit of cheers, Shane himself engulfed into a suffocating group hug initiated by Svetlana herself. 

He couldn’t help but smile into the gesture, warmth spreading throughout his body as he imagined how happy Rozanov must be right now. 

Shane felt a current of finality wash over him as they sat back down.

All these months, he’d kept trying to convince himself that what he felt between Ilya and himself was just physical, that he couldn’t allow it to transcend into something more than an arrangement.

But somewhere along the way, they both had unconsciously built something real from the mismatched parts of each other. 

Every tick, every nerve, for every problem Shane experienced, Ilya had given him his time and attention to smooth it over. Time felt expandable was he was near.

For Shane, to live was to love.  

And at this hockey game, he knew he loved Ilya Rozanov.

Admitting that to himself felt like a weight was taken off of his shoulders. He no longer had to shun a part of himself for the sake of denial or fear. Whatever he did next, whatever any of this meant, he knew he wanted to tackle it with Ilya. 

He rubbed a few stray tears with the back of his hand, unaware how emotional the win had made him. Now that he felt prepared to face the biggest moment in his life, he realized he didn’t actually know where to start.

Am I going to have to confess my feelings in the middle of a Frat party?

It’s where he assumed Ilya had been going after each game, especially now that the two of them stopped secretly meeting up after each game. 

An ugly thought suddenly reared its head, What if he’s found someone else? 

It was probable. Ilya was not lacking in that department, notorious for choosing a different girl weekly for each game he’d won. 

Well, before he met me. 

Unbeknownst to him, Svetlana had managed to send Rose towards the snack bar and take the spot next to him while he sat and spiraled about his already doomed love life.

”Shane, I’m only going to repeat myself once, okay?”

Shane looked up, trying to piece together when Rose left while slowly nodding at her girlfriend’s serious demeanor.

”He will be at the sad takeout place after the game, the one he says you took your parents to while they visited. It’s where he’s been going after every game this semester.”

Shane cleared his throat, fighting the heat making its way across his skin. “I’m sorry, what?”

”You heard me Hollander. Do us all a favor and go get your boy.”

Rose appeared then, excitedly waving a churro in her hand while beckoning Svetlana over while pointing towards the Free Mocktails sign. 

He could only focus on the click of her heels as she walked away, left with only one option:

To go get his boy.

***

It was almost unfair how well Ilya managed to look under fluorescent white lights in a tiny, understaffed Chinese restaurant off the main street. 

He had taken the booth by the window, ramen ordered but untouched as he rested against the seat with his eyes closed. 

Shane had spotted him the moment he walked in, although it was hard not to notice a 6’3 Russian hockey player in a place like this. 

For the longest time, he thought he was the only one campus who came here. Their food was tasteful and contained just enough vegetables for Shane to justify the extra calories. 

He had only mentioned it once, in passing to Ilya while they talked about their summer plans last semester. It couldn’t have been longer than a minute, the conversation surrounding his visit here with his parents. From what he could remember, Ilya had simply nodded and went back to kissing him, something he figured meant he wasn’t interested in knowing more.

Shane registered with a profound clarity that they were so much more fucked than he originally thought. 

Seeing him here now changed everything. 

After quietly greeting the restaurant owner, he made his way towards the only other customer at this time, sliding across the opposite cushion so they could be face-to-face for this long overdue confrontation. 

It took Ilya a few minutes to actually open his eyes which Shane gladly took as an opportunity to rehearse what he wanted to say. 

If he didn’t do this now, he would be making the worst mistake of his life. 

When Ilya did finally open them, he did so with a startling jump, “Fuck!”

Shane stifled his laugh from behind his sleeve, not sure how to explain his presence.

”Hollander, you are here?”

”Uh — yeah, I am. But what are you doing here? I didn’t know you knew about this place too.”

Ilya sat up in his seat, clearing his throat while avoiding eye contact entirely. “A boring Canadian boy told me he liked bringing his parents here. I have nowhere else to be so..”

”Nowhere else? There’s at least three pre-games happening right now that are waiting on you.”

”Well, nowhere else I’d want to be,” he sighed loudly in a panic, “Fuck, I cannot do this.”

”What do you mean?” Shane asked, oblivious to the implication of Ilya’s words. 

”I mean I am wondering if I have gone crazy and cannot be saved.”

Shane nodded, having felt the same sentiment towards Ilya many times this past month. “I get it, but I came here to talk.”

Ilya sniffled before looking outside, shielding himself from what he believed was Shane turning him down. 

“Is okay, I understand. You don’t have to force yourself to make this more awkward.”

”Understand what?”

“You. I know you don’t think so, but I do know you Hollander,” he self-deprecatingly laughed to himself, “It’s the only thing I feel like I really know sometimes.”

”Ilya please, just let me talk.”

At the sound of his first name, Ilya snapped his head back to face Shane, eyebrows scrunched together in uncertainty. 

“Look, I don’t know how else to say this but I, I just, it’s — it’s you.”

Ilya blinked. “What is me?”

Shane sighed as he tried to not shutdown, hating how bad he was at trying to express himself with words. It’d been like this since he was a kid, never getting easier the older he got. 

“Shane, is okay, just take a deep breath.”

Ilya took his hands and held them between his own, softly thumbing the surface back and forth in a calm gesture. 

“Ilya, I’m done pretending this doesn’t mean anything  to me anymore. When I wake up, when I close my eyes, when I try to focus, and trust me — I try really hard, you’re still all I think about. And for some reason, I don’t want that problem to go away. You see me in ways that nobody else has ever tried to and that means more to me than you’ll ever understand. It’s probably why I’m in love with you too.”

He choked up on the last part, scrambling to add a disclaimer in case this entire plan backfired in the worst imaginable way possible. 

“And it’s totally okay if you don’t feel it too, I just needed to tell you because I feel like I owed it to us.”

When he re-opened his eyes, Ilya was still frozen in the same position. The only difference were the tears crystallizing in his captivating blue eyes. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, bringing Shane’s up to his mouth so he could leave a trembling kiss on them. 

“Shane, of course I feel the same way. How could I not? Meeting you for the first time in the library changed my life and I would do it all over again given the chance. я тоже тебя люблю.” [I love you too.]

Shane preened at the confession, overwhelmed with relief that this untetherable pull that existed between the two of them was felt both ways. 

“Your freckles,” Ilya interrupted.

Shane paused, unaware there was something on his face, probably something from the game that smudged onto him.

He tried to wipe at his cheekbones but Ilya immediately caught his wrist and set it down, using his own hand to swipe across the same area. 

“What is it?”

”You turn red when honest, it’s why your freckles are so beautiful.”

Shane scoffed at the word, having never been called that before. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been trying to get rid of them for years but the sun—“

Ilya covered his mouth with his hand, furrowing his brows in genuine concern. “Shane, is not funny. I would never forgive you for that.”

”Wow, okay. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Is that why you left after that night? You felt it too? Does it make you just as scared?”

Shane swallowed before he answered, “No, not anymore.”