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The Metro's locker room was rowdy today. Hayden had taken over the aux and was blasting some loud music with no real meaning in the words, but the team seemed to enjoy the beat behind it. JJ was dancing along with a few other players, screaming in his animated way that got everyone into the spirit. The energy was charged tonight. Everyone was looking forward to facing Boston again, hoping to regain a point after Rozanov had scored a hat trick in their previous match up.
Shane's stomach was full of lead. All he could think about was the last time he'd seen Boston's star player. He'd just left him. He'd just left Rozanov sitting on the couch, looking at him with pleading eyes that he couldn't understand. Shane couldn't have stayed, though. He couldn't sort through his thoughts and emotions after such a vulnerable moment. A vulnerable moment coupled with such a fantastic, domestic day that had made his stomach warm with -
He couldn't acknowledge it. Especially not before seeing him on the ice again. Especially not with his heart in his chest and anxiety crawling at his throat. A text from Rose pulled him back to the present moment.
We're still shooting, I won't be able to make it tonight.
That's okay babe. I hope it goes well.
It's endless. Meet me and Miles at Cien later?
I promise I won't make you dance.
Liar.
He closed the messages, and then, by what he told himself was force of habit, scrolled to texts from Lily. The last message he'd received was “see you soon.” That had been months ago. A sour taste covered his tongue at the memory of how he'd left things. So much had happened so quickly since then. He wasn't even sure where to begin, where to start the conversation to even -
“Let's go Holly,” Hayden bumped his helmet against Shane's before they left the locker room, “let's give 'em hell.”
“Right.” He muttered, throwing his phone back into his locker.
—
Less than 2 minutes into the first period Rozanov checked Shane into the boards much rougher than necessary to get the puck. Shane could have sworn he heard him mutter the words “Fuck you” in his ear, but that wouldn't have necessarily been abnormal for the leagues most famous chirper.
It happened again before the first period ended. This time though, Shane heard him clearly. After grunting and checking him into the board Rozanov lingered, “Maybe you are not right handed?” The chirp lacked its usual playful lilt, it sounded almost cruel. The Russian's eyes were closed off, like every brick they'd torn down together suddenly built a wall between them again. Shane stiffened under his gaze, this must be the Rozanov that everyone else saw on the ice.
“Fuck you.” He responded without much heat, completing the mental gymnastics of their banter to see if this was their usual teasing game, or if the words carried malice. Rozanov skated away before he could decipher the code.
At the start of the second period they faced off against each other, “Hollander, Halloween was months ago, time to take off the costume and let the real athletes play.”
“Shut the fuck up, Rozanov.” This time he'd said it with real anger. He glared up at Rozanov above the puck, hoping to see some sign of playfulness there, but all he saw was a shell of who he'd left behind on the couch.
“Make me.” As the words left his lips, a memory consumed Shane of their heated moment on that same couch that haunted his memories, hearing him moan out those same words because of what Shane was doing. A shudder ran through him. He missed the puck drop.
Shane reeled with anger and skated hard to catch up to Rozanov. He stole the puck from him and shot it down the boards to JJ. When he made it to the center line Hayden had possession and passed it off to him for the assist, when Rozanov checked him hard again.
Rozanov was known for playing pretty aggressively, but he'd never been this rough on the ice with Shane. He shoved the Russian off of him, anger clear on his face.
“I'm impressed you stayed on your feet for that.” Rozanov chirped, looking at Shane with defiance.
“Oh fuck you,” Shane threw his gloves and saw red. “You want to do this right now?”
Rozanov made an exaggerated scared face, “Ooooh, big scary -” Shane swung, feeling Rozanov's sharp cheek bones sting into the ridges of his knuckles. White hot pain radiated up the back of his hand, but that would be tomorrow's problem. The Russian quickly recovered and locked eyes with Shane, a crazed look in his eyes, “Does that punch come in men's?”
Shane lunged, grabbing the other man's jersey and winding up to land another blow, when he felt a tight grip on his jaw. Rozanov's hand was firm and his body responded immediately, going almost limp at the touch and the memory of what always followed the steady hand grounding him in the present. He felt his body relax and his eyes flutter with his arm still pulled back for the punch before he panicked and realized what was happening. Ilya registered Shane's reaction, and readjusted his grip to the other man's throat, skating him backwards back into the boards. They both grunted at the impact, and then the flood gates opened.
Both men were accustomed to hearing the other's groans of pleasure, but never had these sounds been laced with anger. Rozanov landed three quick upper cuts to Shane's ribs, Shane landed at least one more blow to his jaw. Both men were lost to the scrum, feeling bones give way and the wind leaving their lungs. When they finally hit the ice the referees pulled them apart, they were both bleeding heavily from somewhere on their faces, Ilya from his mouth, Shane from his nose. The ref sighed above them, “Both of you, to your locker rooms, get cleaned by the medics.” The man sounded disappointed, which Shane thought was to be expected. This was technically his second fight, against someone who had been his rival for the last decade or so. Shane started to spiral into thoughts of how he was disappointing everyone when he heard Rozanov mutter something in Russian before skating off the ice.
–
The medic room in the Metro's locker room was well loved, well maintained, and frequently visited. Macy, their trainer and PT greeted Shane at the door, “Not who I was expecting to see today, Holly. Marlow playing dirty again?”
“Rozanov this time.” He smirked at her and flinched as he felt his nose crinkle with the movement.
“I'll go get Dr. Reid. Get as comfortable as you can on the table.”
Shane hopped up and tilted his head back to sigh, immediately regretting it as he felt blood trickle down his throat. He got up and ran to the sink, coughing a few times to clear his throat and then washed his mouth out.
“Come on in Mr. Rozanov, I didn't realize your medic was out on paternity leave. We'll get you fixed up in no time.”
“Hank uh.” The words coming out of Rozanov's mouth were muffled. Shane looked around, his eyes bugging when he saw Ilya holding an ice bag to the corner of his open mouth. He took a step toward him as if he were moving to console him, but he was met with a dark glare, a warning, and froze in his tracks.
Dr. Reid assessed them both, looking for bruised ribs, fractured bones, or any serious injuries. After both men were stripped to their warm up gear the diagnoses were simple, Shane had a broken nose - “Ull look etter noh, yeth?” – Ilya couldn't resist chirping at Hollander even with a busted lip and two teeth loose – “Say goodbye to that pretty smile.” – Shane quipped over the Doctor's shoulder.
“Both of you need to behave.” She said sternly between the two men, “I'm going to speak with both of your coaches, but at the risk of having actually concussed one another, you're out the rest of the game.” They both leapt from their respective tables ready to argue to the contrary, “Nope. I'm the medical professional here. Both of you, sit.” There was no room to argue with her. Dr. Reid was an expert, and both men followed her instructions immediately, sitting back down on their respective tables. “Good, now, wait. I'll be back after I speak with them both. Do not,” she looked between them both, “start this back up or I'll recommend pulling you both for the next two games, for medical rest.”
Both of their eyes widened at the threat, looked between one another, and nodded at the doctor's orders.
Dr. Reid left the room, closing the door behind her.
“You think my smile is pretty?” Ilya asked around his bruised lip. His cheek was bruised from the blow, and he was leaning to his side a bit, Shane had probably reinjured his ribs.
Shane huffed in annoyance, “Fuck off.”
“No.” Ilya stood from his table and took slow, deliberate steps toward him.
Shane jumped up from his table and met him half way, closing the distance between them. “You were an asshole out there, I can't believe you. You went too far, and were trying to get in my head.” His breathing was becoming labored, whether through reignited rage or proximity to Ilya, he couldn't tell. It could have also been the tape holding his nose together, but nothing in the moment registered except for Ilya's eyes locked on his.
Ilya let out an exasperated sigh, “Yes, is point of chirping.” and waved his hands animatedly to prove that this was common knowledge. And well, to his point, it was, but that wasn't what Shane was getting at. They were standing closer now, almost chest to chest and the smell of Ilya wafted toward him. He smelled of playing hard, of course, but there was also something uniquely him that made it intoxicating.
He poked Ilya in the chest, probably harder than was necessary, “You. Were trying. To fuck. With me.” Emphasizing his message with more forceful jabs, leading the other man back toward his own table, “On. Purpose. Just me.”
“Oh did that bother you?” Ilya was glaring at him, his vacant eyes from the game were clouded with something different now. A light that was barely starting to show beneath the surface, causing Shane's breath to hitch. Ilya noticed the shift, as he pressed back against his table. “We should talk.”
“No.” Shane said, and Ilya's eyes fell momentarily, “After.” Both men froze, breathing in the other's air, locked in a staring match. Shane took in Ilya's bruised state and hesitated for just a moment before he dove in. Both of his hands dove into Ilya's sweat soaked curls, gripping tightly as he pulled his face to meet his. Their lips met roughly as Ilya hissed through the pain. His lips parted, tasting slightly of blood as their tongues explored each other's mouths. Ilya's hands went to Shane's waist once he'd recovered from the sting, grabbing at his sides to pull him closer, “Ah!” Shane let out a gasp of pain from the bruise still forming over his ribs, but joined their mouths again quickly after. Their breathing was heavy under the mixture of pleasure and pain that they both shared from their injury and their reunion.
Shane relaxed his grip in Ilya's hair long enough to reach down to scoop Ilya onto his table, slotting himself between his knees. They'd never been positioned quite like this, with Shane taking the lead, but right now, all Shane could think about was diving in and never letting go. A moan escaped Ilya and he clawed at Shane's back, reaching to pull off his warm up shirt that clung to him like a second skin. They separated for a moment, both sets of eyes locked on the others, now blown black with excitement and anticipation.
“This is a - “ Ilya started.
“After.” Shane interrupted as he ripped off his shirt and moved to take off Ilya's in turn. Both men took in the state of the other, bruises forming across their torsos from their scrum on the ice, battered, bleeding faces and knuckles caused by the other.
Caused by themselves.
Shane let out a sigh, “Fuck, I need you.” Ilya jumped down from the table and crushed his body into Shane's, holding him tightly by the waist, pulling their bodies as close together as was physically possible from their standing position. Ilya licked at Shane's neck, sucking on his rocketing pulse tasting the salt from his sweat mixed with the taste that was uniquely Hollander. Shane shifted his leg slightly to press his throbbing cock onto Ilya's thigh and they both let out a shared moan at the contact. Shane's hands had wandered back into Ilya's curls, his head thrown back to give him as much access as he wanted, as long as he kept doing what he was doing.
“I need you,” Ilya mumbled against Shane's neck, “Shane, I need you, please.” This was different, this was a moment lost in ecstasy between the two men starving for closeness that they'd both lacked over the past months and hadn't found an outlet for. Before Shane could even think to freeze at the use of his first name, he moaned in response, pulling Ilya's head back by his hair and crushing their mouths together. It was as though sharing oxygen healed them, as though the physical contact of the other was the only antidote to what had been wrong for the last few months. It was terrifying, but it was also euphoric.
Shane backed Ilya up to his table again, “We don't have much time.” He gasped against Ilya's mouth, trailing his hands down his body and reaching for his waist band.
“We don't need much time though, do we?” When their eyes met again, the lopsided smile was back on Ilya's face and it warmed Shane's chest to no end. He'd wipe that smirk off his face in the next ten minutes if it was the last thing he did.
“Lay back,” He instructed, pushing Ilya at his shoulders to get him on the medical table. If it can hold JJ, it can hold us, he thought to himself as he pulled his own pants down to his thighs and climbed up to straddle Ilya.
Ilya's eyes bugged out of his head at what he saw Shane doing, his hands came up to grip Shane's torso, trying to pause him before he began, “Hollander, we haven't - “
“I want to feel this until next week Rozanov, shut the fuck up.” The shared eye contact between them morphed from concerned to hungry. Shane wasn't scared right now, he was angry. He was so angry at himself for leaving Ilya on that couch, so angry at how Ilya had chosen to take out his own frustrations on the ice, so angry that he'd deprived himself of this, when Ilya was the only thing that had ever made sense in his life. He reached to the side table and grabbed the hemp oil that Macy always used for their deep injury massages and squirted a generous amount on his hand. Reaching behind himself, he coated Ilya liberally, eliciting a groan from the man beneath him as his head threw back and his eyes closed in pleasure. Then, carefully, he inserted two lubed fingers into himself, finding that his body welcomed the intrusion and was already hungry for more.
Without sparing a second thought, he lined Ilya's cock up with his entrance and slowly sank onto him. Ilya watched, entranced by the view of Hollander's body opening up so easily for him. There was resistance, sure, but the sweet pressure of feeling their bodies join would forever be at the top of Ilya's most favorite feelings. Shane let out a low whimper as his eyebrows drew together at the tight fit.
“Slow, moya dorogoy.” Ilya's voice was laced with concern, watching Shane for discomfort and seeing it across his face, but Shane, as pent up as he was, registered the concern as a challenge. He took a steading breath and then slammed his hips down to engulf Ilya's cock in a swift firm motion. The stretch was unimaginable, painfully so, but also euphoric. Shane hadn't felt this complete in months, hadn't felt this whole since before they'd had that fucking tuna melt.
“Fuck, Rozy,” Shane collapsed forward onto Ilya, burying his head in the crook of the other man's neck, wrapping his hands under his arms and behind his back to hold tight to his shoulders, bringing their chest together.
“I've got you,” Ilya cooed, wrapping one arm around Shane's back, the other around his waist, holding him flush to his body, keeping them connected.
Their chests rose quickly and rapidly against the other, breathing through the sensation of their joining. “God, please.” Shane begged into Ilya's neck, nuzzling closer before biting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Ilya gave an experimental thrust with his hips, raising them both off of the table slightly. “Fuck yes, just like that.” Both men gasped and moaned as they continued at this experimental pace before Shane grew impatient. “Fuck,” he muttered, before lifting his own hips and slamming them back down, flush against Ilya's thighs.
“Hollander, fuck!” As much as Ilya wanted to watch Shane ride him like he always did, Ilya was lost to the feeling of Shane in his arms, nuzzling into his neck, hearing his whimpers and feeling his shallow breath against his neck. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes with the emotion swelling in his chest. “I'm close.” He muttered, twisting his head slightly to pepper kisses along any part of Shane that he could reach.
Shane squeezed tighter into the grip he had on Ilya's shoulders, set off by hearing Ilya's deep voice and feeling it vibrate through his chest, “I'm coming, oh - god, Ilya.” His hips stuttered in their rhythm and Ilya took over the thrusting, finding his release just after Shane. The tears that were threatening to fall, now fell freely down Ilya's cheek, and he heard Shane sniffle into his neck.
“Hey -” Ilya whispered softly, still catching his breath from their exertion. He reached a hand to cup Shane's face, but Shane fought him, shaking his head into the crook where he stayed hidden. Shane's breathing was deeper now, trying to control the emotions that were stirring together inside. “Shane, look at me.” Ilya's voice was thick, choking around the lump in his throat forming at his own storm of emotions.
Shane registered the tone and lifted his head slightly, so Ilya took the invitation and cupped his face again, leading him to look at him directly. “Did I hurt you?” Ilya's face was wet with tears, and so was Shane's. Color had risen in both of their cheeks, from exertion or from the emotion they weren't sure. Shane quickly shook his head, and Ilya relaxed minutely, “Why do you cry?”
“I think - “ Shane's voice broke and he cleared his throat to try again, “I just - fuck roz - I just. I missed you so fucking much.” His voice cracked again on the admission. He tried to bury his face again into Ilya's neck, but the other man held him steady.
“I missed you too.” Ilya's voice was rough, cracking over his own emotions, “So much,” at that he pulled Shane’s face back down to his, tenderly this time, and kissed him softly. Both men now sniffled as they shared tender kisses, still holding each other tightly. “I think, maybe,” Ilya cleared his throat more forcefully this time, staring into Shane's eyes and making sure he had his attention, “I think maybe we should clean up before your Doctor returns,” Ilya ran a soothing hand down Shane's back when his eyebrows shot up in panic, “and then, you come back to my house, and we talk. For real this time.”
Shane moved to lift himself from the table, immediately missing the warmth of Ilya's heat. The clean up would have to wait until he was able to - Oh god. He couldn't shower here, not like this! “You clean up at my house, we can't play anymore anyway. We ask doctor if we can leave after this, and you come over. Okay?”
“Okay. I don't know if I can see your couch again.” Shane said while looking at the ground, righting his pants and pulling his shirt back on.
“I got new couch. I couldn't look at it either.” Shane moved quickly, enveloping Ilya into a hug that held everything he wished he could put into words. He took steady, slow breaths, basking in his familiar scent and warmth. He couldn't leave him. He probably couldn't leave him ever again. That would make it difficult to continue playing for the metros -
“Ah, so I see you two have made amends.” Dr. Reid's voice cut Shane's next spiral short.
“Coach makes us hug when we fight during practice, is normal for conflict evolution.” Ilya stated matter of factly.
“Conflict resolution.” Shane couldn't resist correcting him. They both shared a smile and looked back at the doctor.
“Welp, coaches' orders are for you to head home and rest. You'll be playing in your next game, so go ice what you need to, rest, and no major physical activity before your next practice. Got it?”
“Understood.” They said in unison. They both ducked out of the room heading to their respective spaces to gather their belongings before they'd meet again. This time to talk. This time, to finally talk.
“Hey Macy?” Dr. Reid called out into the adjoining office.
“Yeah Doc, what's up?” Macy's face was beet red, looking flustered and surprised.
“Can you order more of the massage oil? It seems a good amount of it went missing in my absence.” She looked at Macy knowingly.
“Can't imagine where it went, I'll add it to the next order.”
“Good for them.” Dr. Reid nodded proudly.
“Yes, yes, quite, very good for them.” Macy giggled to herself as she turned to leave the room.
“Doctor patient confidentiality, Macy!” Dr. Reid called out.
“Lips are sealed Doc!”