Archive of Our Own

“No, Troy.”

“Please, Shane. Please.”

“No. I do not want to go on a blind date. This isn’t a fucking movie, dude. Do people actually do that?” It sounded pathetic to Shane, if he was being honest. Like he had to trick someone into sitting at the same table as him.

“Yes, people do it! Probably. Okay – stop looking at me like that.” Shane did not stop looking at him like that, face twisted into an unamused scowl. “You know I wouldn’t set you up if I didn’t think you’d like him. He’s handsome, bi, and into hockey! Like, come on.”

Shane’s face untangled itself a bit. “What’s his team?”

He watched Troy swallow, then bat a hand against the air. “That’s not important –”

“What team, Troy?”

“He’s a Boston fan, but –”

“No, absolutely not. I will not go on a date with a Boston fan.” Shane had standards, damn it. He couldn’t believe Troy would try to send him into the arms of a stranger who liked Boston. In fact, Shane couldn’t believe a Boston fan had even been allowed inside Montreal.

“Don’t be such a bigot.” Troy whined. Shane mouthed the words ‘bigot’ back, shaking his head. “Maybe you could convince him to root for Montreal. He just moved here! He was living in Boston for a while, you can’t blame him.”

Shane sighed. His friends were relentless in their desire to set him up for someone, ever since his bad, messy breakup with James a year ago. They had dated for two years, shared an apartment and a cat, and then James cheated on him with some twunk he met at spin class. Shane never went to spin class, because as he told James, he knew how to ride a stationary bike and didn’t need someone yelling over pop hits to do so.

When it happened, Shane didn’t cry or yell. He came home from work early and found James and the spin-class twunk making out against the fridge.

James had been such a decent guy, a really great boyfriend. Kind to Shane’s friends, made sure his (two) birthdays they spent together were romantic and thoughtful. James cleaned up without being asked to, though he folded towels in a way that made Shane’s skin crawl.

“Why?” Shane had asked in the doorway, watching James pack a bag. Shane didn’t understand why James would disrupt their life by banging some stranger. They had, what Shane thought, was a satisfying sex life. What did that guy have that Shane didn’t?

“Shane,” James looked up from his duffel bag, his face a rising storm. He looked like he was going to cry. Shane hated how he said his name, now. “I know I fucked up. I’m sorry. But –” James walked to the dresser and emptied his sock drawer, carrying them against his chest to deposit into his bag. “You know this hasn’t been working.”

Shane shifted so he was leaning against the doorway. “What?”

James made an exasperated sound, like the one he gave Shane when he was being ‘a bit too neurotic.’ He raised his arms and slapped them to his sides. “Exactly.”

“What?” Shane repeated.

“Just – all this, us, it wasn’t working. You’re not here, you’re hardly ever present. Always in your head. And, fuck, I feel like a piece of shit, I really do, you don’t deserve what happened, but Shane, be honest – did you actually even love me?”

Shane swallowed as his heart rate picked up. “Sure. I mean, yeah. Of course I did.”

Shane was comfortable with James. He was handsome, taller than Shane with dark-skin. James had come up to him at a Montreal Pride event. Shane had been dumbfounded that someone as handsome as James was even interested in him. He used to model as a teenager.

He liked their routine, liked having James in the kitchen with him while he meal-prepped, and liked putting his feet in James’s lap while they watched TV.

The sound of James’s duffel bag zipping was loud in the silence. He walked to the door and looked down at Shane.

“I really am sorry.”

Shane had stood in the doorway for quite some time after James left. Biscuit rubbing against his legs. Shane had guilt lodged in his sternum, which he felt was incredibly unfair. He stripped the sheets, cleaned the outside of the fridge, then went on a run.

“How do you know him again?”

Troy smiled. “I lived in Boston for like a year, remember? He worked for Boston women’s hockey. We met at an event.”

Shane raised his eyebrows. “So, you two fucked?”

“No! I hit on him, he hit on me back, but the buzz wore off and we realized we were both just horny, not really for the other person. He’s really funny and a good friend. Shane, please just one date. It’s not like you’re agreeing to marry him. Just meet him for a drink!”

“I’ll think about it.” Shane exhaled, like the words were heavy, hard to bring up from his lungs past his mouth. Admittedly, Shane did want to date around a bit. He hadn’t hooked up with anyone since James. He needed a reset.

Troy pumped his fist, grinning from ear to ear. Harris and Rose came back from the bathroom, sliding into the booth; Rose next to Shane, Harris pressing his shoulder against Troy.

“Why do you look so happy?” Harris asked.

“Shane agreed to go on a date. With my friend, you remember?”

Both Rose and Harris turned to Shane with wide eyes, matching Troy’s enthusiastic smile.

“Yes, Shane! Oh my god, you’re gonna freak – Troy’s friend is so hot.”

“Hey,” Troy protested weakly. Harris shushed him and patted him on the back.

“I said I’d think about it.” Shane corrected, taking a sip of his beer. Rose was squealing in his ear.

“Which in Shane-speak is basically a yes!” Rose declared, whipping out an arm in triumph, almost knocking over her near empty cosmopolitan.

“What’s his name?” Shane asked around his cup.

“No, not telling you. It’s a blind date!”

“It’s still a blind date if I know his name, Troy.”

“No, ‘cause you’ll try and Google him or something. It has to be a surprise!”

Shane rolled his eyes, swallowing the rest of his beer. He tapped the side of the glass, pursing his lips. He supposed it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. If he didn’t like him, he could leave, and then use that as an excuse when any of his friends inevitably tried to set him up again. And if he did like him, well, that wouldn’t be the worst outcome.

He cleared his throat a bit, pulling the drink menu towards himself to peruse it. “So, Harris– you think he’s hot?”

Harris bit his lip with a smile and wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah.”

Troy set the date, texting Shane asking about his schedule, his preferences. It was weird, but since Troy wouldn’t give him the guy’s phone number (“I know you, Shane, you’ll just reverse search and look him up and that’s not fun! You’ll find a Facebook post you think is cringe and refuse to go on the date”)

Shane spent two hours getting ready – even if he didn’t know who he was going on a date with, and doubted he would have a good time, he still cared about his appearance. And frankly, Shane was nervous. His wounds from his last relationship were slow to heal. As time went on, Shane recognized his own faults from the relationship. James had a point when he mentioned Shane not being involved. When he looked at Troy and Harris, it was so obvious they shared something that Shane had never experienced; that, mixed with the loss of control and trust that cheating thrust upon him, Shane now had a precarious relationship with all things sex and dating.

The first time Shane had cried after James cheated on him was three days later when he went to the clinic for an STD test. Afterwards, he sat in his car, hands gripping the wheel and let silent tears fall, his pants wetting with their descent. That’s all he gave – a quick, perfunctory release.

He settled on dark denim jeans and a forest green quarter-zip that hugged his waist, a white t-shirt underneath.

Shane called a car, in case it went well, or in case it went bad and he had to drink to numb the awkwardness.

The man he was going on a date with had texted him this afternoon, letting him know what he’d be wearing – a navy button-down. He told Shane he’d get there first and wave him over. Troy had evidently passed Shane’s number along, letting him know with a text that said “if you Google him and/or cancel, I will strap you down in a karaoke bar and serenade you for six hours.”

Shane didn’t Google him.

The “wave you over” in the text implied that his date had been shown a photo of him, which was unfair and Shane would certainly bring it up to Troy later. But, it did make Shane feel a bit better to know that he had seen a picture of Shane and agreed to a date. Plus, it snubbed some of the awkwardness if one of them knew who to look out for.

Shane’s leg bounced nearly the entire way to the restaurant. He felt a bit nauseated from anxiety.

He was glad that Troy had shown the man–his date–a picture of him. It calmed his anxiety a bit to know that there was a base level of attraction from his date.

The driver pulled up to the restaurant. Shane gave a thank you, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and pushed the door open.

“Hello, welcome in!” The young woman at the host stand greeted him with a smile. “How many people are in your party?”

“Oh, I’m actually meeting someone…” he trailed off, letting his eyes roam over the restaurant. It was small with a large bar lining the entirety of a wall, hundreds of bottles of liquor and wine lit up. The restaurant had wood flooring and warm, orange ambient lighting.

His eyes scanned the tables, looking for a wave, craning his neck to look past the host stand. He saw movement and snapped his attention to a table back against the wall on the other side of the restaurant. A man with curly hair, wearing a navy button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Shane squinted – he looked familiar –

His stomach twisted. What the fuck. He stepped away from the stand, crossing the restaurant. There was no way.

“Ilya Rozanov?” He said it like an accusation as he stood in front of the table.

Shane couldn’t believe it. He almost expected the man in front of him to shake his head no, because Ilya Rozanov sitting at a table in a restaurant Shane was having a first date in was too strange –

“Shane, you made it.” He smiled, standing from his chair. Shane blinked at him. “Please, sit.” He instructed.

He stood for a moment longer, his eyes adjusting to Ilya’s face. “Sit, sit.” Ilya repeated and Shane, for some reason, obeyed.

Ilya looked the same, but older, of course, more defined. His jaw was sharp, hair shorter than high school, brushed up from his forehead. His muscles were very defined beneath his shirt, so tight against his chest and arms that the fabric looked near ready to pop.

Fuck. He was even hotter than in high school. Life was unfair.

“What?” Shane asked. The “what” encompassed everything he wanted to say and couldn’t. Novel length sentences condensed into one, breathy word.

Ilya grinned at him with white teeth. “How are you?”

Shane shook his head. “What – what are you doing here?”

Ilya placed his elbows on the table, shirt stretching against his chest, and leaned forward with a smirk. His facial expression was so familiar, Shane wondered if he might be dreaming, replaying a memory in his head.

“Taking you on a date?”

“I–” Shane’s throat was dry, “excuse me.” His chair scraped as he stood up, leaving right when a waiter walked over to their table. He heard Ilya say something before he headed in the direction of the restroom.

He yanked the door open and slammed it behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror, absently fixing his hair. This was so weird. Had Ilya recognized him in the photo? What was he doing in Montreal? Why would he agree to go on a date with Shane if he had recognized him in the photo? The last time Shane saw him was an after graduation party; they didn’t follow each other on social media, even.

Shane pulled out his phone and opened his group chat.

Shane: Are you fucking with me?

Troy: What? It hasn’t even been 5 minutes!

Shane: I went to high school with him, Troy! Wtf. Did you know?

Troy: How could I have known that?? He didn’t say anything when I showed him a pic

Troy: That’s crazy

Troy: I met him in Boston!

Rose: SHANE WHO OMG

Shane: I’m going to leave

Rose: WHO

Troy: Nooo Shane please

Harris: Give him a chance!

Shane: Ilya Rozanov

Rose: NOOOOOOO WAY im literally shaking dying gagging wtf

Troy: I promise I didn’t know.

Shane: I believe you. It’s just wild. I’m in the bathroom right now trying not to panic.

Rose: want me to call u at the table? u can say something came up

Shane: Tempting…

Shane: I guess I’ll see it through. Could be interesting to see what he’s up to now.

Shane: okay, I'm going back in. Offer still available later though Rose?

Rose: of course :)))

Troy: Good luck, Shane. I promise he’s a good guy.

Harris: ^^ what Troy said!

Shane did seriously consider leaving, but he couldn’t. This was too strange of a coincidence – that Troy would have met Ilya while only living in Boston for a year. That Ilya would be living in Montreal, now. Or maybe he wasn’t living, just visiting – Shane had so many questions swirling around in his mind. He needed answers, needed everything catalogued and accounted for.

More than that, it had been ten years since he last saw Ilya. He had questions about that, too. He felt rubbed raw already.

He splashed water on his face, tugged and readjusted his outfit, and stepped back into the restaurant.

When he sat back down, Ilya looked a little surprised.

“Thought you might ditch me.”

Shane took a sip of water the waiter brought over. “Thought about it.”

Ilya laughed. It was a nice laugh. His voice was deeper than in high school. Shane wondered how he compared to back then.

Ilya slid the menu towards him. “I am getting a drink.”

Shane nodded. He felt awkward with every movement he made. He scanned the cocktail menu but all the words jumbled together.

When the waiter came to take their order, Shane panicked and ordered a negroni, then immediately regretted it.

The waiter bought their drinks; Shane’s negroni topped with an orange peel. Ilya ordered a mezcal cocktail.

“Any food?” The waiter asked, hip cocked to the side with his paper pad drawn.

“Oh, uh–” Shane started flipping through the menu.

“Maybe just a moment, thank you.” Ilya said, leaning back into his chair.

Shane flushed. He was acting like an idiot. He took a daringly large drink of his cocktail, felt it burn on the way down.

“Sooo…” Ilya trilled his lips.

“So – yeah, sorry, I think I’m kinda still wrapping my mind around this. You did know it was me, right? When you agreed to go on this date?”

“Yes.”

“Then, wh–why? Are you like, fucking with me or something?”

Ilya pinched his brows together, extending his neck forward. “Fucking with you? No, maybe I was hoping to do some fucking, though.” He finished with a smirk. Shane had the desire to kick him under the table, but he was an adult.

“Shut up. So, you remember me from high school, then?”

“Yes, Hollander. That is the reason why I am here!”

Shane pulled his lips into his mouth to chew on them. He grabbed his drink, swallowing down three bitter gulps.

“Do you, like, remember me from high school…?” Ilya made an exasperated noise and Shane rolled his eyes, leaning forward in his seat. “It’s an important question, Rozanov. Do you remember what happened?”

Ilya looked at him. “Of course I remember.”

“Great, yeah, because I definitely do. Looks like you learned to not stand someone up, at least. Congrats.” The words left a sour taste on his tongue.

Ilya’s eyes clouded over and he took a sip of his drink, licking at his teeth. “I am sorry. But, it is not good to hold grudges, yes? Make you get wrinkles here.” He pointed between his eyebrows with a crooked smirk.

Shane scoffed, widening his eyes. “You know what? I’m leaving.” He started to move to stand.

“Stop, Shane. Please, sit down. Listen to me. Listen,” Shane stilled with a tilt of his chin upwards, arms crossed. “Thank you. I was really excited about tonight. Maybe this was not the best idea, to make it blind date, but Troy offered and showed me your picture and I thought that if you knew it was me, you wouldn’t come.”

Shane made a face that said, plainly, ‘yes, exactly.’

Ilya chuckled a bit and shook his head. “I really want to take you on a date. I want to get to know you. Can we do that? At least let me buy you dinner before you storm off. Okay?”

Shane hated himself a little for how easily his stomach slowed from a boil to a simmer, his rage evening out and morphing into something soft, something that wanted to stay at this table and sit across from Ilya Rozanov.

“Okay. But first,” Shane leaned across the table, pointing a finger at Ilya. “You owe me an explanation.”

Sometimes you hear a name and see a face, and it registers only in the back of your mind, sloughing off like dead skin to not be remembered. Some names and faces brand one’s mind like a mark. Ilya Rozanov was one such name and face.

It was his last year of high school, his second year as captain of his school’s hockey team, and it was a beautiful day in Ottawa. Rose grabbed him at lunch, pulling him in the direction of the outside eating area.

“Did you hear about the new kid?” She asked between bites of apple slices.

“No?”

“Do you live under a rock?”

Shane fixed her with a stare, pinching the edge of his protein bar and popping it into his mouth.

“Okay, whatever. He’s so hot, Shane. He’s Russian, I think? That’s what Becca said. I hope he’s in one of my classes. Everyone is already trying to get him in their groups. Steph had him in first period and she said he’s really cool and funny.”

“That’s nice.”

“Your lack of interest in gossip wounds me, Shane Hollander.”

Shane shrugged as Hayden trotted over to their table, hands gripped into his backpack hard enough his knuckles were blinding white. He slammed his bag onto the table and zipped it open furiously, grabbing a bag of chips to rip open, shoving a handful into his mouth.

“That new guy, Rose’nof fucking sucks.” He said with a mouth full of wet potato chips.

“We were just talking about him! What happened?” Rose placed her elbows on the table, leaning over like getting closer to Hayden would get the information into her brain quicker.

“He’s just a total dick!” He swallowed, thankfully. “He’s in my second period and he noticed my hockey jacket and said he was going to join the team and I should thank him for it, or something. Shane – is he really joining the team?”

Shane furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. “I doubt that? Coach didn’t say anything. I mean, it’s a little late, we already did summer conditioning.”

“That’s what I said!” Hayden pointed a chip-dusted finger.

It turned out that Ilya Rozanov had, in fact, joined the team. Shane still hadn’t caught a glimpse of him all day, not that he was looking, or anything. Maybe he had seen him and not noticed. In the locker room, though, Shane definitely noticed.

Ilya had barged into the room, already friendly with half the team, it seemed, clapping JJ on the back and pointing finger guns at Comeau. Shane was more than a little miffed that his coach hadn’t told him a new player was joining. As captain, the heads up would have been nice.

“Rozy!” Cliff Marleau cheered.

He already had a nickname. Had Ilya Rozanov gone on some kind of campaign tour?

He pulled his jersey over his head, a moment of darkness. When his head re-entered the atmosphere, the new guy was standing in front of him with a smirk that made him look older. His hair was curly and past his ears. His blue eyes were attentive – not friendly, necessarily. There was a hardness to them, matching the straightness of his jaw. He was handsome. Objectively.

“Hello, Captain,” he greeted, flicking the ‘C’ on Shane’s jersey. Asshole.

Shane gave a tight smile, extending his hand in greeting. The new guy took it, giving it a firm shake, squeezing Shane’s hand together. Total asshole.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Shane. Hollander.”

“Ilya Rozanov.” He answered, still shaking Shane’s hand.

“Welcome to the team, Rozanov.”

“You say it wrong.” Rozanov pointed out with a laugh, then turned on his heel towards an empty locker.

Their coach explained once they all skated onto the ice that Ilya was new to Canada on exchange. He played hockey back home, in Russia, and coach expected everyone to treat him well.

“You’re a great player.” Shane complimented with a nod as they trailed back into the locker room.

“Thanks, I know.” Ilya grinned. He started to undress, pulling his jersey over his head. Shane scoffed, walking over to his own locker.

His eyes wandered towards Ilya against his will. His eyeballs gravitationally pulled to the left side of the room. Ilya had an amazing body – lanky in the way Shane was, their bodies metabolizing too fast, but he had muscles; hard abs, his chest firm. He wore a gold chain with a pendant Shane couldn’t make out.

Shane looked away when he felt himself twitch, taking a moment before he pulled off his bottoms. He chanced one more look, watching as Ilya grabbed a towel and then –

Ilya met his eyes, that same annoying smirk on his lips, and winked.

Shane knew he liked men. Men were who he thought of when he got hard. Shane tried to convince himself for a while that women were an option, too. He just hadn’t found the right one. Then, he met Rose in second year. Shane did actually like Rose. She was witty and kind, easy to talk to. She was a big hockey fan, her second oldest brother had been on the team when Shane was a first year.

They tried to date for a while, until it became apparent that they were, well, incompatible.

Rose’s parents were out of town and she opened the door for him in nothing but a big, white t-shirt with the world’s tiniest athletic shorts. Shane had given her a stiff hug, glued to the other side of the couch when they sat down to watch a movie.

“Do you like me, Shane?” She asked.

“Yeah, of course!”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“Well – yeah, sure.”

Rose became Shane’s best friend, instead.

Even if he did like men, he wasn’t prepared to yell it from the rooftops. The only person who knew was Rose. Shane didn’t want to think about what the locker room would look like if his teammates found out he liked men. A lot of them found him weird and intense already.

Shane tamped down that part inside of him; he had crushes, but he never acted on them. When he first met Hayden, he thought he was cute and always felt a bit of excitement when he’d touch him on the shoulder. But that went away when he watched Hayden shoot a glob of snot out of his nose and lick the remnants from the top of his lip during practice.

He had a hockey poster in his room, next to his bedside table, that he’d trace with the tips of his fingers when he was younger.

Shane hadn’t known that he could feel desire so strongly, though. His eyes followed Ilya’s movements like they belonged to him, trying to get back to their owner. Shane kept his distance. Being near Ilya felt like burning up under the sun, his skin peeling from the intensity of its rays.

He had told himself that maybe in college he could finally experiment with men. Maybe. So, Ilya Rozanov showing up in Ottawa with his curly hair and pretty eyes with lips that reminded Shane of poetry, or whatever the fuck, was really making his last year of school difficult.

Ilya made it difficult to ignore him. He was loud and lacking the social gene that called for respecting personal space. One time after they won a game, he had shook Shane by the shoulders, smiling centimeters from his face and Shane had to wait for everyone else to shower first because getting naked would show just how much he had liked that.

Shane learned a lot about Ilya by eavesdropping. Like, he was here on exchange, living with another teammate, Cliff Marleau.

“If you’re on exchange, why is Cliff still here stinking up the place?” JJ had asked. A lot of guys hung around Ilya’s cubby after practice, finding him infinitely fascinating.

“Some girl, I think, went to Russia but I ask to live with hockey family instead. I guess Marly’s mom saw picture of me, wanted me to live with them.” Ilya said with a wink, causing an echo of ‘oohhs’.

“Fuck off, Rozy.” Marleau retorted with a laugh.

Shane met Ilya’s eyes across the room and turned his head back to his locker, zipping his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Good practice today, guys.” He called as he left the locker room. He made it no further than ten steps before he heard a squeak of sneakers on the linoleum.

“Hollander!”

Shane didn’t need to turn around to know who was calling him. He knew the shape of his name in Ilya’s mouth.

“What’s up?” He stopped, turning to face Ilya.

“You are bad captain.”

“What? Sorry, did I – did I do something?”

“No, that is problem! You do nothing. I live here 4 months and you do not offer to give me tour.”

Shane’s face flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I guess I assumed someone else did? No one told me that I should. I thought, like, you had Marleau’s family?”

Ilya was looking at him in a way that made Shane nervous. “Yes, but I want you.”

I want you, I want you, I want you.

Shane gave another apology and offered to take Ilya out during the weekend to show him some of Montreal. Ilya nodded his agreement and jogged back into the locker room.

Things got easier after that. Once the ice was broken, Shane found it a bit easier to be in the same space as Ilya without becoming flustered. He brought Hayden and Rose along with him to show Ilya around Montreal, and they had a good time. Ilya fit into their group, and became a not consistent, but frequent face the rest of the school year.

Ilya was really funny and made Shane laugh. He wanted to kiss him so bad it made his teeth ache.

Six months after Ilya Rozanov came into his life, school came to an end.

Three days after they graduated, Becca Girard invited almost the entire graduating class to her parent’s house, who were conveniently on vacation.

The party was teeming with activity by the time Shane showed up with Rose and Hayden. Shane thought he smelled vomit as soon as he walked through the door. People were sitting on top of each other on couches, plastic cups and abandoned cans and bottles littered on nearly every available surface.

“You made it!” Becca greeted them, making a beeline for Rose. Becca’s cheeks were red and her teeth were showing as she smiled. “Drinks are in the kitchen. Try the punch! I made it.”

“What’s in it?” Shane asked.

Becca laughed and lifted her shoulders. “Lotta stuff.”

All three filled their own plastic cups with the mystery liquid. Shane tried to protest, but Rose glared at him and said very seriously: “Shane, this is a memory. Drink the goddamn punch.”

So, Shane drank the punch. And the punch was evidently an apt name for the beverage. It entered Shane’s bloodstream with force, nearly knocking him back after the first sip.

“Whoo!” Rose shouted, sticking out her tongue. “That’s strong.”

They made their way into the living room, where Hayden spotted Jackie, effectively ditching them. Rose snagged a chair immediately after someone got up, patting the arm for Shane to sit down in.

Shane let himself zone out as Rose animatedly entered a group conversation. His eyes roamed to the attached dining room, his heart skipping a beat when he spotted curly hair.

Ilya was leaning close to a girl that Shane recognized, but couldn’t remember her name. They were really close to each other, the girl was laughing at whatever Ilya said. She was pretty.

Shane drank more punch.

He finished his entire drink and excused himself to go to the bathroom, stopping by for a refill on his way back. After the first five sips, it started to taste kind of good.

When he went back into the living room, he couldn’t find Rose, and Hayden and Jackie were making out on the couch. Shane didn’t feel like being social. He just needed his punch and some fresh air.

Off to the side of the living room, there was a side door. He pushed it open, feeling the fresh, damp air of summer.

The freshness was cut by the smell of cigarette smoke and Shane scrunched his nose.

Sitting on the steps of the back patio was a familiar crown of curly hair. Shane felt something twist inside him. He took another sip.

“Hey,” he greeted, maneuvering himself down onto the step beside Ilya. “You shouldn’t smoke.”

“Hollander,” Ilya greeted with a nod, taking a long drag. He picked up the pack and shook it in Shane’s face. “The pack already tells me this.”

On the cigarette pack was a picture of something grotesque that Shane couldn’t make out in the dark.

“I always wondered how people could still smoke, even when they see those pictures on the package. I feel like humans would eat each other if we figured out it tasted good.”

“Kinky.” Ilya retorted with a laugh.

“Shut up! Who even taught you that word?”

“I know all the important words, Hollander.”

Shane rolled his eyes and shifted against the step, trying to get more comfortable.

This was the first time he and Ilya had ever been alone together.

Silence stretched for a moment. Shane’s heart was beating fast, he could feel it pulsing in his neck. Ilya looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. Shane always wanted to learn how to do that. He could only raise both.

“Why’d you do an exchange?” Shane asked, breaking the silence.

Ilya shrugged, taking a swig from his vodka, swishing it against his teeth like it was mouthwash. Gross.

“I want to. Maybe practice English more. Go to university here or America.”

“Why aren’t you trying for the draft?”

He shrugged as his answer.

Feeling emboldened by the punch, he scooted a little closer to Ilya. His cigarette was getting smaller and smaller in his hand.

“When do you leave? To go back?”

Ilya turned towards Shane. Their faces were closer, now. Closer than necessary for a conversation. “July 28.”

“Oh,” Shane breathed out. “You have some time, then. Maybe we could…” He took a sip from his drink. It burned and tasted like fruity hard candy.

“Maybe we could?” Shane watched Ilya’s eyes travel to his lips. Slow, purposeful.

Shane looked over his shoulder, at the party inside and without much thought, he grabbed Ilya’s hand and pulled him up.

Fuck it, he thought. So what if this didn’t work. Ilya would be gone soon, and so would Shane.

And Shane thought about all the times Ilya had winked at him. All the times he leaned in close, smelling like the mint gum he chewed. All the times that Ilya had caught his eyes across the room. The way his hands felt heavy and warm on Shane’s shoulders after a game. The time they rode the bus for an away game and Ilya had stolen the seat next to Shane, falling asleep with his head on his shoulder.

Once, Shane and Rose were sprawled against the rug in Shane’s bedroom, books and note paper scattered along the ground. He’d asked her how he was ever supposed to be with someone. He told her how scared he was that he’d get rejected. That it was harder for him. Rose had flipped from her stomach onto her back and said, “I think sometimes you just know. Maybe you’ll get it wrong, but other times you’ll get it right.”

Shane thought he knew, and he really hoped he got it right.

“What, Hollander?”

“Shh.”

He dragged him to the side of the house. It was dark and Shane tripped a bit over a dip in the grass. He walked until his back hit the outdoor wall, pulling Ilya towards him sloppily, movements jerky. Ilya stumbled forward with the force, bracing himself on the wall. Their faces were level, the space between them barely enough for two sheets of paper to slot through.

Ilya leaned in and kissed him, tasting like cheap cigarettes and vodka, but his lips were warm, so warm and Shane felt drunker as he took it in, stealing Ilya’s breath, swallowing his oxygen, making it his own. He placed his hands around Ilya’s waist as Ilya gripped his jaw, his other hand traveling into the hairs on the back of Shane’s head.

Shane had never enjoyed kissing this much, never knew it was possible to. When he watched movies and the love interests kissed, he thought it was unrealistic, that level of ferocity. Shane understood now. He needed nothing else in this world besides having his back against the brick and Ilya’s lips on his.

Ilya was a really good kisser, Shane had trouble keeping up, letting Ilya lick into his mouth, his teeth nibbling at Shane’s bottom lip.

“Fuck,” Shane breathed, trying to catch his breath. “You’re really good at this.” He slurred.

It was dark, but being this close to Ilya he could see the twinkle in his eyes, the way the black of his pupils had colonized the blue.

“Have you ever been with man?”

“No,” Shane exhaled. “Ha-have you?”

Ilya had his hands roaming over his body and Shane did the same, digging his finger into the divots, the hard angles of his hips, his waist. Ilya felt so good and sturdy beneath him.

“Yes, in Russia.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Ilya kissed him again, his fingers trailing under Shane’s shirt, roaming across his abdomen, caressing his right nipple. He sighed into it, tilting his body forward, searching, searching, until the fronts of their pants met and Shane gasped into Ilya’s mouth, rotating his hips forward.

“Yeah, Hollander.” Ilya groaned directly into his mouth, his breath humid.

“I need–” Shane panted, pulling away. “I need –”

“I know.” Ilya traced his jawbone. He pulled back and unzipped his pants, raising an eyebrow at Shane. “This is what you need?”

Ilya pulled his pants down his hips, reaching out a hand to fumble with Shane’s button and zipper. Once his pants were undone, Shane felt that he could breathe a bit easier. His heart was pounding, though, hands shaking in anticipation.

He grabbed Ilya by his shoulders, turning their bodies so Ilya was pressed against the wall. He didn’t give himself a chance to think about it as he sank to his knees. The ground was soft and damp beneath him.

Ilya lowered his underwear and Shane watched in utter fascination as his cock popped out, hard and – fuck, really big. Shane gulped and stared at it for a minute before he leaned forward, licking the tip tentatively. Ilya made a noise above him. Encouraged, he licked the underside, preparing himself to take it in his mouth. When he did finally sink down, it was heavy and warm and tasted like nothing. Shane had worried that a dick might taste gross.

Ilya was groaning above him. “Da, Hollander, that.” He instructed. Shane fed off the instruction, taking in as much as he could before he gagged, then reset the pace. Ilya placed a hand on his shoulder, his other carding in Shane’s hair, not pulling, just resting with its weight.

Shane liked this a lot. He reached a hand down to press at his dick in his briefs, rubbing at the wet mark where the head of his cock rested. “Fuck, Hollander, stop –”

But Shane didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He sucked Ilya faster, jerking back a bit when he felt the rush of cum enter his mouth. It was really hot and tasted salty, a little bitter. Not pleasant, but not entirely disgusting. He swallowed it down (next time, Shane thought, he would probably spit it out), looking up at Ilya who heaved with wide eyes.

“You – you did not have to.”

“I wanted to.” Shane shrugged.

“You are bad boy.” Ilya grinned as he helped Shane to his feet. “Your turn.”

Shane gasped as Ilya pressed him against the wall, pulling him in for another heated kiss. Shane moaned into it, worked up from sucking Ilya off. He didn’t know he’d like to do it so much. He wanted it again.

Ilya started sinking to his knees and Shane gripped his shoulder, watching him descend to the ground. Ilya kissed along his waistband then dug his fingers in, pulling Shane’s briefs down. He shivered.

Ilya wasted no time in taking Shane into his mouth, much further than Shane had gotten on the first try. The sudden warmth and wetness around his dick filled Shane up with pleasure that pooled in his groin, spreading out through his body.

“Fuck, Rozanov.” He whined. Ilya had technique, bobbing his head up and down, dragging his mouth to the tip, letting Shane’s cock brush against his tongue. Ilya sucked hard at the head, causing Shane to grip onto his head. “Stop, stop I’m gonna – fuck, stop, yes, oh my god.” He almost yelled when he came, Ilya sucking him through it until there was nothing left to give.

Shane slumped against the wall, chest rising and falling. Ilya stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He reached his finger out, wiping at the corners of Shane’s lips, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, then square on his lips.

“That was fun.” He declared.

Shane nodded, feeling simultaneously sober and more drunk than he had been. His mind had a bit more clarity, but his limbs were heavy. Ilya pulled his pants up and Shane followed his example.

“Do you –” Shane’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. He cut himself off, biting his lip. “Wanna like, see each other again? Before you leave?”

“Yes. I will text you. We should go back, before anyone notices I’m gone. And then they say, ‘oh, Hollander, you are here too.’”

Shane smiled, feeling something blossom in his chest.

After making sure they both looked presentable, Shane entered the party first after finding his abandoned cup on the patio. Hayden spotted him from the couch, waving him over.

“Shane, c’mere, I was just telling Jackie about that time we – why are your pants muddy?”

Shane and Ilya texted a lot after that.

Ilya: u mis me?
Shane: If you keep typing in shorthand you’re never going to learn English
Ilya: :P
Ilya: u are boring
Ilya: do u wanna meet @ voyage cafe thurs @ 5?
Shane: Okay, sure.

Shane had been excited all week, and then sad when he remembered that Ilya would be leaving soon. Ilya had mentioned applying to schools in Canada, he would need to see if he got in. Shane wished they had been good friends the entire time. Shane could have helped him with applications. He wished he’d told him about McGill University and how great their hockey team was, how they’d be lucky to have a great player like Ilya.

Shane had considered the draft, but felt it important to develop other skills along with hockey. Ilya had said something similar. Shane wished they’d talked more.

Thursday came and Shane was up at 6am, already fretting about their planned – date, hang out? Butterflies were using his stomach as a highway, he was practically vibrating with excitement.

At 4:30, he borrowed his mom’s car and headed to the cafe. He was a few minutes early and got them a seat. He ordered Ilya a coke, because he knew he liked those. Shane drank an iced green tea.

5:00 came and went. It was 5:15, and Ilya still hadn’t shown up. Shane had sent him a text, asking where he was. At 5:30, he called him.

He felt so pathetic. The waitress came over frequently in the beginning, a middle-aged woman with hazel eyes. As time stretched, she gave Shane space. The ice in Ilya’s coke had melted to near non-existence, the color of it turning a lighter brown. At 5:50, he called again. At 6:00, he paid for the two drinks, got in the car and drove him.

Ilya never responded to his texts or called him back.

Shane tried the next day and it went straight to voicemail.

Now, Shane was 28 and feeling the fossilized emotions he buried buzzing back to life. The what-ifs tumbling on top of each other, each barreling forward for attention. Shane felt a lot of things he hadn’t felt in over ten years. The shame of liking someone, the fear, the rejection.

When Ilya hadn’t shown up at the cafe, Shane had been so angry and mortified. As the time ticked away, the lump in his throat grew bigger and bigger as he sat in his seat. He gave it an hour – an hour of his life wasted, waiting for someone who would never show up. When Shane had made it home, he trudged upstairs, the click of his bedroom shutting behind him acting as a transition; that’s when the tears fell. And they fell, and fell, and fell. Shane cried so hard his throat felt raw. Cried so hard he had to hold ice cubes up to his eyes, trying to coax the puffiness into submission. He looked like he’d been stung by a bee. He had to pretend to be sick, so his parents wouldn’t ask questions. He skipped dinner. He wouldn’t be hungry again for a while.

Shane had grown since then. He had a career he loved, doing physiotherapy for McGill University’s men’s hockey team, the same team Shane played for in college.

Shane had been devastated when he sustained an injury during a game, an injury that made his parents wince and doctors speak to him in soft voices. He had to do physical therapy for a long time, it hurt when he walked until one day it didn’t as much. Now Shane was working with hockey players to insure they got to live their dreams. He was content.

And now, ten years later, Shane was face-to-face with a ghost – an apparition that haunted Shane’s dreams, sometimes. Shane could never forget about Ilya, no matter how hard he tried.

“It was really fucked up. What you did.” Shane couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Ilya looked down, finger tracing the bottom of his glass. “I know.”

“Great, well, glad you know.” Shane blinked, rearing his head back and exhaling through his nose.

Ilya heaved a sigh, tossing his head back with a groan. “Do you really want to talk about it?”

“Yes. I do.”

Ilya murmured something in Russian.

“You are still stubborn.”

“You’re still an asshole.” Shane retorted. Ilya’s lip twitched into a small smile.

“Some things never change, right?”

Shane shrugged and Ilya placed a hand on the table, flexing his fingers. Some things could stand to change. Shane noticed a large, smooth scar near his thumb.

“Shane…sorry, feels maybe embarrassing to talk about, now. I really liked you, back then. You knew that, right? I wish I could go back, I wish I handled it better that day. I was just a kid. We were just kids.” Ilya’s face was twisted, all pinched inward at the center. He blew out a breath. “That morning, the day I was supposed to meet you, my father died and I had to go back to Russia – my brother, he told me I had to go back that day and it was –” he wiped a hand down his face. Shane had stopped breathing. “A lot. I could not text you or call you in Russia. I wanted to. I thought about you sitting at the cafe, once I was back in my home. I felt awful. I tried to friend you on Facebook but…”

“I blocked you.” Shane finished for him, wincing. After he had been stood up and Ilya hadn’t responded to his texts or phone calls, he sent Shane a friend request on Facebook three days later. Shane had blocked him with a single click of a button, cutting off contact.

Shane had been petty. He was hurt.

Ilya straightened up a bit and gave an amused smile. “Yes, you blocked me. Mean, Shane Hollander.”

“You left me sitting at a cafe like an idiot! I was mad, okay? I know it’s late, but…I’m really sorry to hear about your dad.”

Maybe Shane had always been mad, after that. Maybe the anger never really went away. But now, with Ilya across from him, he felt something from inside him unwind, his muscles loosening.

Ilya waved a hand, batting away the apology.

“I understand.” Shane believed him. “When Troy said he had a friend he wanted to introduce me to…I asked to see a picture and it was you. Can you blame me, that I’d want to see you, after all this time?”

Shane suddenly felt like he might cry. “No,” he croaked. “I don’t blame you. I’m honestly really glad to see you. This feels special, maybe. The world is so large and here you are again.”

“Here I am again.”

Their waiter had given them a wealth of time. Shane spotted him with another table.

Suddenly, he didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to talk to Ilya in a shared space. He felt greedy. He felt stupid. He felt easy – all it took was an apology to wash away some of the ache ten years instilled in his bones. He wanted Ilya all to himself.

Shane slammed his drink back and looked around the restaurant. “Do you wanna maybe go somewhere else? I wanna catch up. And – this table is really small and the chairs are uncomfortable.”

“Oh, you do not like the nice restaurant I picked out for our date?”

Shane laughed, “Oh my god, stop it. It’s a nice place!”

“But your place is nicer?”

Shane blushed, feeling it reach the top of his ears. “Yeah, actually. It is.”

Ilya paid the check, which Shane didn’t protest, considering he picked up the bill the last time ten years ago. Ilya rolled his eyes when Shane pointed this out.

Ilya drove them to Shane’s place – “Hollander, I did not even finish my $18 cocktail, it tasted like shit” – and once Shane’s ass hit the leather seat on the passenger side, everything became real and vivid. He was being driven in Ilya’s car, a nice sports car, and they were going to Shane’s condo that he paid for each month with money from his adult job.

Ilya whistled once they entered Shane’s condo. “Nice place, Hollander.”

“Thanks. Shoes off, please. Can I get you anything?” Shane toed his own shoes off and walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“No, thank you. McGill pays you well, yes?”

Shane put the glass of water down. “How do you know I work for McGill?”

“Troy told me.”

“Oh, right. I forgot for a second why we’re in the same room.” Shane laughed. “How do you know Troy, again?”

“We met at an event in Boston. I was working for the women's hockey team.”

“What do you do now?”

“I just moved here for a job offer. Coaching the Montreal women’s team.”

“What? Ilya, that’s amazing. Wow. You’re young to be a coach.”

“Assistant coach, not as big a deal. But yes, it is amazing. I’m excited. I like working with women more.”

Shane walked towards Ilya, who had taken to standing against the dining table, hands flat on the table behind him.

He directed Ilya to the couch and they both sat down. Shane opened his mouth to speak when Biscuit jumped up onto the couch, nuzzling into Shane’s thigh.

Ilya gasped. “Who is this?!”

Shane smiled, scratching a finger under his cat’s chin. “This is Biscuit.”

“Can I pet Biscuit?”

“Yeah, she’s friendly.”

Ilya gingerly scooted down the couch, trying not to spook Biscuit, evidently. His hand rubbed Biscuit’s back, landing on her head. His hand was massive compared to Biscuit’s head, completely covering her furry skull.

“Oh, who’s a good girl?” He leaned his head down to whisper near Biscuit’s face. Biscuit was enjoying the attention, butting her face into Ilya’s palm.

Shane was also enjoying the attention. They were so close, now. The hand that wasn’t petting Biscuit was lying limp near Shane’s thigh. Shane angled his leg so the side of his thigh brushed against Ilya’s pinky. He felt it twitch.

“Why is she named that?”

“Oh, it was just the name she had at the shelter. I didn’t change it.”

“You should have. She does not look like a Biscuit. Too much of a lady. She should be named something fancy.”

Biscuit was a very pretty cat, petite with a small face and pink nose, her coat completely white except for a black spot on her belly.

“We–I couldn’t think of anything.”

“Oh, this cat is a child of divorce?”

“Shut up.” He laughed. “I mean, yeah, maybe. I got her with an ex. I assumed Troy told you.”

Ilya shook his head, “No, Troy only showed me a picture and said you were nice. That was enough for me. The picture.”

“Oh.”

Biscuit had tired of the attention, sliding out from under Ilya’s hand and plopping onto the ground.

Ilya turned his eyes on Shane. They were close. They were sitting on Shane’s leather sectional. It was hard to wrap his mind around; first, that Ilya Rozanov still existed, or that he ever existed, not just a figment of Shane’s imagination. Second, that Ilya Rozanov existed here, right now, with Shane.

He watched Ilya’s eyes travel to his lips.

Shane broke the silence.

“I thought we both were going to end up playing for the NHL. We were both really good.” His voice sounded thick.

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

“Isn’t it funny, both of us out of hockey, and yet…Hayden Pike plays for the Metros?” Shane said with a grin. Hayden was his friend, so he felt it okay to use him as the punchline of a joke. Hayden was a good hockey player, good enough to have a professional contract, but he remembered the bickering between him and Ilya back in school. He wanted to make Ilya laugh.

And Ilya did laugh, it started as a shocked chuckle, his eyes searching all over Shane’s face like he couldn’t believe what he just said, then it formed into near hysterics, Ilya wiping a finger at the corner of his eye.

“I guess since we were out, there was more room.”

Shane’s shoulders shook with his own giggle. He felt drunker than was possible from one negroni consumed almost an hour ago.

“Are you happy with what you do now, even though you don’t get to play hockey?” Shane himself had been shocked by how content he became in his career. The proximity to hockey helped. He still got an ache in his belly, a craving for it, but it didn’t tear him up inside like it used to.

“Yes, I am happy. I think maybe I like it more than playing hockey.”

“Whoa.” Shane said.

“Yes, whoa. I don’t know. There were a lot of things about hockey that didn’t make me happy.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, now this is a therapy session? Are you going to charge me?”

“Maybe. I can think of a few forms of payment.”

Ilya sucked his teeth, tamping down a grin. He placed a hand on Shane’s thigh. The warmth of Ilya’s hand spread throughout his body, lighting up his lungs.

“When I played hockey, I wasn’t an individual. I wanted to control my life, make my own decisions. Hockey was fun, I loved it, but I loved it for long enough. When I played for Boston College, I went to a party and made out with a guy. I think one or two of my teammates saw and gossiped. Everyone treated me differently. My coach pulled me aside and said I didn’t need to ‘shove in their throats’. I was so angry. I gave everything to them, I made us win, I was friends with them all, and because of who I kissed I was being punished?” Ilya’s hand was firmer against Shane’s thigh now, not gripping, but steadying himself. “I decided I didn’t want to play hockey anymore if it meant I couldn’t be myself. That was important to me.”

Shane placed his hand on top of Ilya’s, rubbing his thumb over the top. “I understand. I think about that, too, how if I went to the NHL I would’ve had to hide. It’s fucked up. Maybe I could’ve changed things, who knows, but I try not to think about what-ifs anymore. I – I got injured in my last year playing for McGill. Fucked my left knee up. It hurt so bad," in more ways than the physical, "I’m glad that it happened before I had a contract, though, or else I think I wouldn’t have been able to make my life worth living.”

“Yeah. Things don’t really work out how you think they will, yes?”

“No. No, they don’t.”

Ilya’s hand came up to rest on Shane’s left knee, rubbing a circle with his thumb. “Does it still hurt?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“No.” He answered. It was the truth. Nothing hurt. Shane could feel his heartbeat all over his body, jumping along his spine, dancing in the dip of his neck.

“Would I sound crazy if I said I never stopped thinking about you?”

“Yes,” Shane confirmed with a smile, “but that just means I’m crazy too.”

Ilya leaned in and kissed him. It was the logical next step.

Shane felt a swell of anger for a moment. At Ilya. At himself. At the universe – because what a life he had wasted, only having kissed Ilya once.

Ilya’s lips were forceful in the best way, guiding the rhythm. Their lips parted together, breathing as a unit. Shane didn’t always like kissing with tongue, often found it messy and awkward, but Ilya knew how to do it, licking into his mouth, mapping out each curve.

It was so easy to give in, to deflate his spine and lean inward into Ilya’s sturdy body. Their hands were everywhere, chasing every line, fingers catching on fabric. Ilya tugged at the hairs on the back of Shane’s neck, longer than he wore it in high school. Shane cradled Ilya’s neck with his palm, trying to get him closer, needing him closer.

Shane bent forward onto his knees, walking them until he was in Ilya’s lap. Ilya made a small sound and Shane swallowed it, sticking his tongue into Ilya’s mouth, looking for more.

Ilya pulled back, two hands trailed down Shane’s chest. His face was flushed, lips wet and shining.

It scared Shane how much he wanted him. He was shaking with desire.

“This is ridiculous.” He panted, kissing a line up Ilya’s neck.

“What, that you want it so bad?” Shane could hear his smile.

“Yeah, honestly. Seems like you do, too.” He punctuated his sentence with a roll of his hips. Ilya hissed, grabbing at his waist.

Ilya pressed his face into Shane’s neck, nipping at his earlobe. “Yeah. I want to fuck you.”

The words hit him like lightning. He kissed Ilya again while fumbling with the buttons on Ilya’s shirt. Unsatisfied with how hard it was to get the tiny buttons open, he slid the fabric up above his nipples, sitting back to admire. Ilya took very good care of himself.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

“Your turn.” Shane nodded. He was so hot underneath his outfit. He grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and sweater, pulling them over his head. He threw them towards the end of the couch. He’d need to wash them, anyway. Ilya had managed to pull his own shirt over his head.
Their chests rose and fell in tandem. Ilya pressed a finger against Shane’s nipple, meeting the other with his lips. Shane groaned, tangling his hands in Ilya’s hair.

He ground his hips down, rolling them forward to press his cock against Ilya’s abdomen.

“Fuck. Why are we still on the couch? Bedroom.” Shane stepped backwards off Ilya’s lap, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him up.

“Eager.” Ilya grinned.

“I think I’ve been pretty patient.”

Shane turned to walk to the bedroom. Ilya grabbed him by the waist, hugging him and kissing up and down his neck as he guided them to his room. Shane barely had time to flick the light on before Ilya was pushing him down onto his back.

Ilya kissed him slowly, planting his hands on the bed by Shane’s hips, not joining him on the bed yet. Ilya gave him a soft, playful tap on his cheek and Shane followed the hand, licking his palm, tracing his tongue between Ilya’s middle and index finger.

“Need to suck on something, baby?”

Ilya’s eyes were almost entirely black. “Yes, needa suck your dick, Ilya.”

He said something in Russian as he unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down and stepping out of them. He moved to Shane, next, guiding his hips up on the bed to help him shimmy them off.

The bed was high enough off the ground that Shane could get on his belly and suck Ilya’s cock while he stood at the end. Ilya was still wearing his briefs – black, Calvin Kleins. Hot. Shane nuzzled his face into the fabric, taking in an inhale. He didn’t smell much besides clean laundry.

Ilya placed his hand on top of Shane’s head, gently guiding him as Shane mouthed at him through his underwear. “Fuck,” he hissed, digging a hand into the waistband to pull them down. His cock sprang free. Shane’s mouth watered.

Shane pushed the foreskin back and pressed a kiss to the head. He licked a stripe from the middle to the top. He wasn’t in the mood to tease, though, and pulled it into his mouth. Ilya and Shane moaned in unison. Ilya was big, his cock heavy against his tongue. He worked his way down, reaching a hand to rest on top of Ilya’s hand in his hair, a silent instruction that Ilya followed, tightening his grip and pulling Shane further down his cock.

“Fuck, Shane. Feels so good.”

Shane had learned quite some time ago that he loved sucking dick. He liked it more than getting his own dick sucked sometimes. He worked hard to perfect his technique.

He fondled Ilya’s balls between his legs, scooting further down the bed to wrap his other hand around the base to what he couldn’t reach – yet. He worked his throat, breathing through his nose as he guided his mouth down further and further until his nose brushed the neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair.

Ilya groaned above him. Shane looked up from beneath his eyelashes, blinking wetly.

“So good, Shane. You take me so well. You like sucking my cock?” Shane pressed his hips against the bed, nodding the best he could with a mouthful of dick. “Yeah, you love it. Fuck.” Shane started bobbing up and down, Ilya’s cock hitting the back of his throat. He squeezed around it, reveling in the noises above him.

“Okay, fuck –” Ilya pulled him back with a gentle push to his forehead. Shane popped off with a whine. “I want to fuck you properly, don’t make me cum yet, sweetheart.”

Shane rolled over onto his back and Ilya joined him on the bed, on his hands and knees, kissing the tops of Shane’s feet, his knees, kissing a line up from his bellybutton to his chest, stopping at his lips. Ilya rubbed his palm over Shane’s cock through his underwear. Shane gasped into his mouth, lifting his hips off the bed.

Ilya pulled Shane’s briefs off, throwing them off the side of the bed. He shuffled back on his knees, pressing his lips to Shane’s balls before putting his cock in his mouth and sucking Shane down almost to the base in one, even move.

“Fuck!” Shane yelled, hands scrambling to grab at his duvet. He was burning from the inside out. His organs were liquid, muscles quick to follow. Ilya was sucking him hard and fast, leaving no room for Shane to breathe or think, his body becoming a vehicle for pleasure.

One of his hands left its clutch in the duvet, twisting in Ilya’s curls. Ilya could have been sucking Shane’s dicks for eons or twelve seconds, there was really no way to tell, all concepts of time falling into the same warm, black hole Shane was tumbling around in.

Ilya pulled off, raising himself up to look at Shane. “Good?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“I want to fuck you, now. Get on your knees.”

Shane obeyed, moving to the head of the bed so he could rest his chest against a pillow, angling his chest down, ass in the air. He heard Ilya suck in a breath.

“You follow instructions so well, Shane. Don’t you?” Ilya grabbed a handful of his ass, giving it a squeeze and a smack. Shane whined, arching his ass back, asking for more.

“Yes –”

Ilya squeezed the other cheek, then ran a finger between the crease, tapping at Shane’s hole with the pad of his finger. “You’re a good boy, hm?”

Shane’s dick twitched, trying to answer for him. “Yes, mmm – I’m a good boy, Ilya, please –”

Please fuck me. Please give me whatever you want. Please do anything to me. Please.

Ilya grunted his reply, using both his palms to spread Shane’s cheeks apart. Shane felt his breath against his hole before his tongue licked a stripe against him. Shane shouted, pushing back.

Ilya’s tongue worked over his hole, alternating between licking and sucking at the rim and fucking the tip of his tongue inside. Shane was reduced to a whining, babbling mess against the pillow. He had to suck in a river of saliva that collected in the front of his mouth, some falling out and dampening the pillow. Ilya ate his ass better than anyone ever had – it was mind numbing, his eyes squeezed so tight, a kaleidoscope of colors danced behind his eyelids.

It felt so good he tried to close his legs, his body attempting to escape the pressure building inside him. Ilya grabbed his thighs, pulling them apart, wiggling his tongue inside him.

“Oh, Ilya – you have to stop. I’m gonna cum.” He whined.

Ilya pulled back, kissing his lower back. “Isn’t that the point?”

“Yeah, but I want the first time I cum to be on your cock.”

Ilya growled, grabbing his hips to flip him onto his back.

“You cannot say shit like that, Shane. I will not be able to control myself.” He grabbed Shane’s cock, giving it a few hard strokes.

“Don’t control yourself, then,” Shane panted. He was hungry for it. Parched for something he couldn’t name.

Ilya smirked at him, eyes dark, and let go of his cock. “Lube?”

Shane twisted his torso, extending his arm to reach the bedside table, grabbing a bottle of lube and a condom. He held them out in his palm. Ilya only grabbed the condom.

“I want to watch you open yourself up for me.”

Shane gulped. The words went straight to his dick – he wasn’t sure if it was possible, but he could swear he felt himself get even harder.

Ilya sat back on the bed, his ankles planted on the duvet, knees pointing outward. His thighs were strong, lines of muscles defined.

Shane squeezed a generous amount of lube on his fingers. If Ilya wanted a show, he’d give him one.

He bit his bottom lip, rubbing the pad of his finger against his hole. He took in a large inhale as he pushed the first finger in, looking Ilya in the eyes, taking in his reaction. Ilya’s breath hitched. Shane’s eyes trailed down, watching him stroke his cock, in a slow, lazy tempo.

Shane groaned as his finger went past the knuckle. He crooked it in the way he liked, sticking out his tongue as he panted. He went in for two – it was making him dizzy, watching Ilya watch him. Ilya’s eyes took in every movement, bouncing from Shane’s fingers to his face, watching the way his lips parted, his nostrils flaring with deep, concentrated breaths.

Shane grazed his prostate and jolted, his hips careening upwards. He slammed himself back down on his fingers, pumping them in and out.

“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya exhaled from the other side of the bed.

“Ilya,” he tipped his head back, baring his throat. It was too much. He brought his chin back down and met Ilya’s eyes. “I need you – I need you to fuck me.”

Ilya murmured something unintelligible and ripped the condom open, sliding it down his cock. He wasted no time in getting back in Shane’s space, flipping him back over onto his stomach. He tapped the back of Shane’s thigh. “Knees. Now.”

Once Shane was in position, Ilya gripped his hips, sliding his cock against the length of his ass. Shane keened, pushing himself back onto him.

“You ready for it, Hollander?”

Shane pressed his face into the mattress. “Fuck me. Now.”

The moment the head of Ilya’s cock pushed past the rim and entered him, Shane saw stars.

There was a god, and his name was Ilya Rozanov. Or maybe it was just Ilya’s cock, holding the answers to the universe.

Shane couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands when Ilya bottomed out, sitting inside him hot and thick and long.

Ilya kissed the nape of his neck before he started moving. Slow, languid strokes at first that had Shane panting and babbling between commands and pleas.

His fingers splayed along the duvet near his head, elbows bent. Ilya pulled all the way out to his tip and slammed his cock back inside, pressing a hand between Shane’s shoulder blades, holding him down.

“Ooohh my god,” Shane yelled as Ilya fucked inside him at a punishing pace. Ilya angled his hips up and his cock pressed right against his prostate, hitting it over and over again at a breakneck speed.

Shane wasn’t sure if he was making noise anymore. The stars he thought he saw before paled in comparison to the way Ilya was fucking him now.

Ilya draped himself over his back, slick with sweat.

“Been waiting your whole life to get fucked like this, haven’t you Shane?”

“Yes, oh my god, yes.” Shane might have been crying. He couldn’t tell. It almost scared him, how good it felt, how he seemed to have no control over his body anymore. Shane wasn’t anywhere near virginity, but he truly had never felt this kind of pleasure, the kind that seemed to recharge his nerves, like he’d stepped on a fallen powerline, let the electricity course through him.

Two magnets puttering across oceans to find each other. It was like they were one person, chasing the same end.

Ilya pulled out and Shane started to whimper at the loss. He was flipped over onto his back. And yes – he liked this, liked seeing Ilya’s face flushed red, his hair sticking to his forehead, a vein popping in his neck. Ilya pushed himself back in, grabbed Shane under his right knee, bringing his leg up to his chest. He was so impossibly deep, Shane didn’t know how it was possible he didn’t split in two.

“Yeah, fuck. You love my cock?”

“Yes. Yes. Love your cock. Feels so good. Fucking me so good.”

“Good boy. Take it, yeah like that, Shane.”

“Ilya, I’m gonna –” he could barely give a warning. He’d felt on the verge of an orgasm when he and Ilya kissed on the couch. It was hard to distinguish that he was about to cum with how good he felt.

He came in long, hot ropes, untouched. He felt a drop splatter on his cheek and chin.

“Fuck, Shane – did you just –” Ilya fucked him through it. Shane was limp everywhere but his hole, squeezing around Ilya, milking every last drop.
Ilya pulled out and rolled over. They both lay there for a moment, trying to catch their breath.

Shane was the first to speak.

“That was –” his voice was hoarse. He struggled to find the words. What just happened was beyond words, maybe.

“Yeah.” Ilya finished.

Shane rolled over onto his side and pressed his face against Ilya’s sweaty chest. Ilya wrapped his arm around Shane’s back, pulling him in closer.

“We should shower.” Shane declared once the sweat had cooled, quickly becoming unbearable. Ilya grumbled but stood up, twisting his torso from side to side, raising his arms over his head.

Shane’s knees buckled when he planted his feet on the floor, grabbing at the bed behind him. Ilya rushed to his side, grabbing his elbow. “Are you okay?”

He laughed, embarrassed. “Yeah, uh, guess I need a second.”

“No, come here.” Ilya grabbed Shane by his waist and hoisted him up, pressing him against his chest. Shane had to wrap his legs around Ilya’s torso to not fall.

Shane shrieked “Ilya, stop, you’re gonna drop me!” Shane was 187 lbs of hard muscle. Ilya seemed to have zero problem with walking Shane to the attached bathroom, turning on the shower one-handed.

He deposited Shane onto solid ground, keeping a hand around his waist.

“You’re ridiculous.” Shane rolled his eyes. He stuck his arm out to test the water. Satisfied with the temperature, he stepped inside.

“I think you like it.” Ilya stepped into the shower after him, knocking Shane out of the way to get under the water.

“Hey! Move over, asshole. It’s my shower.”

“You should be kinder to your guests, Shane Hollander.”

Shane took Ilya’s advice, pressing him against the shower wall to lick inside his mouth. It was a medical miracle that they both got hard again, and a supernatural event that they both came when Shane wrapped his hand around both of their cocks.

The entire bathroom was fogged with steam when they got out. Shane pointed Ilya in the direction of his closet to find whatever he wanted to wear while Shane did his skincare.

When he came back into the bedroom, Ilya was gone. Shane stepped out into the living room, his heart sinking for a moment when he didn’t immediately see Ilya. It took him rounding the corner into the kitchen before he spotted him in a pair of navy sweatpants, no shirt, standing in front of the open fridge door.

“Hey,” Shane came up behind him, propping his chin on Ilya’s shoulder.

“I’m hungry.” Ilya whined. He shut the fridge door, turning his body to pull Shane against his chest.

“Help yourself to whatever you want.”

“No, I do not want your food – you do not have anything fun.”

Shane laughed, “What’s ‘fun’ food?”

“You are not seriously asking that question.” Ilya jutted out his bottom lip dramatically. “Can we get McDonald’s?”

Shane scrunched his nose. “Uh, no. This is a McDonald’s free household.”

Ilya gasped, widening his eyes. He loosened his grip, “Okay, well nice catching up with you, I must go –” Shane grabbed his wrist, trying to even out his smile.

“Shut up, you’re such a baby. I can make you something. What time is it? We could order in. Something besides McDonald’s, maybe.”

“It’s past 12.”

Shane gasped, turning his head to the clock on the stove. “No way. Did we seriously fuck for like, what, 3 hours?”

Ilya gave a wicked grin. “Yes. You are so greedy, Shane.”

“Oh, yeah, like you were complaining.”

Shane opened the fridge. He was hungry too, now. They had skipped dinner and just had a very active night.

“I could make some egg whites and avocado toast? Sorry, I usually go grocery shopping on Sundays.”

“Egg whites?”

A gasp.

“Yeah, like without the yolks.” He pulled out the carton, setting it on the counter, closing the fridge with his hip.

“What did the yolks do to you?”

“They have a lot of cholesterol. Go sit down.” He gestured to the stools on the other side of the kitchen island. He heard one squeak against the floor.

Ilya sat watching him with his cheek resting in his palm, offering his unwelcome commentary. “You do not have butter? Can you put cheese on mine? What do you mean you don’t have cheese? Does all of your money go to rent? Do you need a loan, Hollander?”

Shane put their food on two plates, sliding into the chair next to Ilya.

Ilya took a bite of his toast, wiped his fingers on his sweatpants and put it back on the plate. “Hollander,” he started in a serious voice, “I do not want to alarm you, but –”

“What?” Shane asked, looking up from his eggs.

“There are seeds in this bread. Did you mean to feed this to birds?”

Shane kicked his ankle, giggling at the face Ilya made. “Do you ever shut up? Is there a button to turn you off?” He poked between his ribs and Ilya leaned back, batting his hand away.

“Yes. Make me cum two or three more times, then I fall asleep, sleep like a baby. Very quiet.”

“Doubt that. I bet you snore.”

“I do not snore!”

Ilya, despite his hysterics, finished his entire plate and then asked for a snack. Shane gave him a protein bar.

“Next time, I am bringing my own food.” Ilya said with a grin, balling up the protein bar wrapper.

“Next time?” Shane asked. He felt his heart catch in his throat.

So much had happened since he left the house at 6:30 for a 7pm blind date. It scared him how natural it felt being with Ilya. How much he didn’t want this night to end. It was later than Shane usually stayed up, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He would stay up all night if it meant getting to see Ilya’s face. He didn’t know it was possible to miss someone when they stood right in front of you, some anticipatory grief at their potential departure.

“Yes, next time. I’m not done with you.” Ilya’s smile was soft, this time. He grabbed Shane’s hand, bringing it up to his mouth, brushing his lip against his knuckles.

“You wanna – do you want to stay the night?” Shane felt shy asking. He felt 18 again, and yet so much older at the same time. They weren’t the same people they were back then.

“Of course, Shane.”

Shane pressed a kiss to the corner of Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya put the dishes up – “rinse them before you put them in the dishwasher, Ilya” – and then they went to the bedroom. Shane tore the duvet off and grabbed a few extra blankets from the closet. He preferred not to sleep with sex-damp objects. He was an adult.

They settled into bed. Shane felt giddy as he pressed against the warmth of Ilya’s side. Ilya, who smelled like Shane’s body wash and shampoo.

“Hey, Ilya,” he was whispering. The end of the night felt fragile.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for standing me up the first time.”

Ilya scoffed and laughed at the same time. “Seriously, again, Shane?”

“No, I mean it.” He turned his head into Ilya’s chest, rubbing his lips against his skin. “I think that – us, now, wouldn’t have happened if we met up that day. I just, I feel like we were meant to –” he stopped himself, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

Ilya pulled him in closer, raking his fingernails down his back. Shane sighed.

“I know what you mean. We are different now, yes? We were kids. I think this is how it was always supposed to end.”

“Don’t say end,” Shane corrected. “This is how it was always supposed to begin.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Now, we begin.”

“Oh, Ilya?”

“Hmm?”

“I meant to say this earlier. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Shane.”

“If you ever wear Boston hockey merch around me, I’ll set you on fire.”

“Go Raiders.”

Shane bit his nipple. Ilya laughed.

They fell asleep.

Troy: told you that you’d like him

Harris: i love that the last texts shane sent were him wanting to “see it through”

Rose: how many times did you see it through tonight shane?