Work Text:
The ice beneath Shane’s blades was slick, freshly prepared by the Zamboni only just now exiting the other side of the arena. He was already skating the perimeter, chasing the puck beneath his stick and maintaining a steady hold through challenging twists and dodges from the imaginary opposing team. Sometimes, he would send it ahead several feet for the rush of the recovery, for the burst of exertion in his legs as he sped in its path. It was exhilarating; it was meditative.
Here, he controlled the story, the outcome. All he had to do was keep hold of the puck, keep himself up right on his skates, and glide it into the net. It was a simple task with simple outcomes. If the puck goes in the net, his team gets a point. If it does not, they do not. Simple rules; simple answers.
It was why Shane often found himself at the rink before the rest of his team arrived, like he was today. Why he had spent more time on the ice than in his home since that night in Boston months ago. For just a moment in time, the laser focus required to keep charge of the puck would offer a fleeting reprieve from thoughts of Ilya. Of his pinning gaze. Of his soft and glorious curls that Shane could never help but run his fingers through. Of his kind nature that he hides from the world but allows, sometimes, to peek through for Shane. Of Ilya calling him sweetheart, biting down on his shoulder and collapsing on top of him. Of his low rumble of laughter that bloomed something warm in Shane’s chest. Just for a fleeting moment he could skate away his thoughts and focus on the one thing in his life that made sense. He couldn’t understand much else right now, but he understood hockey.
Shane braced himself against the board and grabbed a water bottle when his body begged him to take a breath. He slid off his helmet and climbed over, streaks of sweat cooling against his face in the chilled arena. His lungs heaved as he sat. Footsteps trailed in behind him and he knew who was approaching without needing to turn.
“Hey, man.” Hayden slid in beside him, sighing as he threw his buffel bag at his feet. “Saw your stuff in your locker. Figured you were out here already.” Shane nodded, still catching his breath.
“Yeah, I wanted to get some solo ice time before the morning skate.” It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the full truth. Hayden, unfortunately, seemed to know this.
“Right.” He replied. He eyed Shane, who looked pointedly at him and offered a forced smile. After a moment, he spoke again. “Look, if you’re nervous about tonight’s game-”
“I’m not nervous about the game.” Shane scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Okay, but if you were, you have no reason to be.” Hayden spoke louder over Shane’s protests. “I know it’s intense when we play Boston,” Shane laughed a little.
You have no idea.
“It’s only going to be worse if you wear yourself out before the game.” Hayden knocked his shoulder into Shane’s own and patted his knee before standing and extending his arm. “Come on. As Assistant Captain it is my duty to hold the Captain accountable. You need to go home and rest before the game tonight.”
Shane whipped his head up to look at him. Hayden remained standing with his arm outstretched, wiggling it a little to emphasize his impatience. He took it, hauling to his feet, and glared at his friend.
“What about the morning skate?”
Hayden scoffed. Shane thought he even heard him mutter something under his breath.
“You already had yours, dude. Go home. Rest. Be ready for the game. It’s an order.” He punctuated each sentence with a gentle shove at Shane’s padded chest, urging him towards the locker room. “ Otherwise, I’ll recommend Coach benches you tonight and I really don’t think you wanna be benched for the Boston game.”
Shane barked a laugh at Hayden’s empty threat. Coach wouldn’t bench him for the Boston game. It would be suicide. Hayden’s growing smirk proved he knew this too, but Shane was warmed by his attempt as well as his obvious concern. Shane, for once, decided to yield.
“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m going. I’ll see you tonight.” He patted his friend on the shoulder, smiling gratefully, before he headed back to change. He knew Hayden was just looking out for him, and Shane wondered if he was right to be worried. His body was heavy and aching as he washed up and headed back to his apartment, a testament to the countless hours spent pushing his limits.
The familiar and mindless drive home had his thoughts wandering to the very thing he’d been trying to escape. Ilya. They would be playing each other, once again, tonight. This was nothing new, and was always something Shane was immensely–albeit, secretly– looking forward to, but things had been…different between them. Ever since the All-Star Game a few weeks ago, but especially in the wake of his father’s death. Texts were exchanged in increasing frequency, even a few skype calls, and it was beginning to feel real. Neither man seemed able or willing to admit aloud that what they were doing was taking their situation way past casual. Every boundary was crossed. Almost everything had been laid on the table. Shane was at risk of folding his hand.
Maybe he should.
Rose had made him braver. Her kind and gentle nature, her lack of judgment, and her willingness to confront what Shane was too afraid to speak aloud had given him the space to try accepting what he was, and, if he was even more honest with himself, who he wanted. He’d tried, god, he’d tried, but there was no woman who made him feel the way he felt about men, and there were no men that came even close to Ilya. He could keep running, he could deny deny deny, but it would bear no fruits. He would only be delaying the inevitable. He was tired of running; he’d wasted eight years already cowering beneath fear. Shane knew that their situation was impossible; they could never really, in earnest, be together. This whole thing would probably, one day, blow up in their faces and end in heartbreak. But Shane’s heart has already been broken, all these years, pretending that Ilya meant nothing to him. He suspects that maybe Ilya’s has been too. It was stupid; it was irresponsible, but he was going to allow himself moments of indulgent happiness. Even if they were, inevitably, fleeting.
With newfound resolve, Shane flips out his phone and texts Ilya. That is something new, as well. Shane texting first.
Jane
See you soon.
The reply came instantly.
Lily
;)
Shane steeled himself with a deep inhale. Exhale. Once more for good measure. Then he sent the message.
Jane
Stay?
A moment passed, Shane’s pulse thrumming in his ears. He nervously bit on his thumbnail and prayed he hadn’t made the wrong move.
Lily
The night?
Jane
Yes.
Another breath. In. Out.
Lily
Okay.
Shane’s shoulders collapsed as he put his phone down, relief flooding through him at Ilya’s acceptance. He knew that his sudden departure the last time Ilya had asked him to stay had deeply hurt him, and it was unlikely Ilya would ask again. His walls were up too high; he was afraid of being hurt again. Shane needed to break them down. He needed to take the step for them. Ilya’s acceptance meant he was letting him in. Just as he had let him in more and more everyday since the phone call in Russia. Since Tampa, where Shane had admitted his feelings. Where Ilya had all but explicitly admitted his own.
He did not regret Rose because she was the catalyst that allowed him to finally accept himself. He did not regret Rose–except for that he was dishonest to her, and that he hurt Ilya. Ilya had taken a step to deepen their connection, to allow them moments enjoying each other’s company, moments of honesty. It was Shane’s turn to take a step. Tonight, he would.
The third period was shaping up to be a battlefield on ice as each team fought to break the 2-2 tie that had settled in after Shane’s second goal last period. One of Boston’s goals belonged to Ilya, the other to the leftwinger with an assist from the Captain. Only six minutes remained to take the lead until they would have to continue the fight into overtime. Neither team wanted that. Especially not Shane, whose body was beginning to ache with the telltale signs of fading adrenaline, and who also desperately wanted to kiss the man currently crouching across from him in the faceoff.
“You are having a good night. Showing off for someone, huh?” Ilya smiled as he leaned down. Shane dutifully avoided eye contact, but the corners of his lips tugged up despite his best efforts at playing it cool.
“Maybe.” A small, quiet laugh bubbled from Ilya, shared just between them. The ref was moving in with the puck, the commercial break coming to an end. As usual, Ilya decided to take the last word.
“Don’t work too hard. I won’t go easy on you tonight.” He supplied with a wink just as the referee arrived to drop the puck. Shane blushed from the double-meaning, momentarily distracted by thoughts of just how Ilya would reward him. They had all night.
Shane lost the faceoff and Ilya took off with a sharp laugh, obviously aware of his affect on him. It has been years, afterall. They know each other quite well. Shane took off in his path, pushing his remaining energy into his legs to catch up. He snuck up behind Ilya and snagged the puck off of his stick, pushing into him with his shoulder pads before gliding away in the opposite direction. In his periphery he spotted a Bears forward barreling towards him, shoulders angled down with intent. Shane shot the puck off to his rightwing before the man could make contact, causing him to pivot sharply with a spray of shaved ice in his wake. Boston had been playing a very physical game tonight, but the Metros were faster. Each team used their greatest advantage to try to snag the lead. The only player who could rival Shane’s speed was Ilya, but Shane was still faster.
This speed was exactly what carried him towards the opposing team’s net with Boston’s defensemen trailing just a fraction too far behind. His rightwinger passed the stolen puck back towards Shane, who caught it gracefully against the end of his stick, which he then pushed underneath the puck and sent it flying without hesitation. Boston’s goalie miscalculated the puck’s path, squatting and reaching left, just as it hit the top right of the net with a soft swoosh. Shane had known it would go in before the buzzer announced the goal. He’d straightened, allowing his previous speed to carry him back into the boards as his teammates raced to embrace him and jostle his helmeted head. A thrill ran down his spine, the exhilaration of a goal, let alone a hat trick, never getting old. He loved it. Nothing else made him feel as good. Well, almost nothing.
Shane skated back towards the Metros bench to swap lines, and his eyes met Ilya’s, who had been taking his time with a water break. His face was ever the stoic, cocky asshole front he showed to the world, but a small glint shone in his eye which Shane had become very familiar with in their time together. He was quite fond of it being directed at him. He looked away before someone could notice the heat rising to his ears.
His hat trick winning them a home game this close to the playoffs meant that Shane was pulled in a million different directions once the buzzer signaled the end of the period. He tried to rush, to escape the endless questions all asking the same things in different phrasing, and having to respond with the same answer dressed a million different ways. But it was no use. He was the star center, he was the only scorer this game, and he was, unfortunately, ridiculously well media trained.
By the time his tires rolled up in front of his apartment, it was just past ten o’clock. Well past the time the visiting team would’ve been released from the post game frenzy. He shut off the car, unbuckled, and breathed. A low buzz of nerves began to thrum through him. Earlier, he’d sent Ilya the code to the door and told him to make himself comfortable. Ilya would be waiting for him inside. He’d be here already; he’d be here all night. This time, Shane wasn’t scared. He was just very, very nervous.
One final deep breath led him inside, his eyes immediately catching on the extra pair of shoes by the door as he toed his own off. A small smile toyed at his lips, unable to help the warmth spreading in his chest at the sight. They looked like they belonged there.
He followed the faint light coming from down the hall, searching for the man he’d been dying to kiss all night. Well, and for weeks before that. And also for the past eight years. Faint sounds spilled from the living room. Shane followed them.
As he rounded the corner, the first thing he saw was the top of a soft, curly head leaned against the back of the couch. The second was some action heavy movie playing low on the TV, and the third was the can of coke resting on a bouncing knee. For a moment, he lingered in the hallway and just observed. Seeing Ilya relaxing in his space made his heart beat wildly in his ears. It took all his willpower not to embarrass himself by running across the room and mauling the man’s face with his mouth.
“Hi.” Shane spoke softly, attempting not to startle him, still lingering in the hallway. Ilya jumped anyway, cursing in Russian and clutching at his chest with his free hand. His eyes fell closed as he took a deep breath, and then they opened to meet Shane’s. The corner of his mouth tugged up as his hand rested over his heart.
“Hi.” Ilya replied and Shane paced towards the back of the couch until he was leaning over him, Ilya’s head tilted backwards to meet his gaze. Shane brought his hand to cup the side of Ilya’s face, the angle making the heel brush the soft curls and his fingers graze his jawline. Ilya’s eyes were soft, open, and searching in the way that they only ever were in private.
“Sorry it took so long. The media piranhas would not let me go.” Shane felt the stretch of Ilya’s face against his palm as he laughed. He leaned into Shane’s hand, turning slightly to place a kiss, and then flipped over to place his knees on the couch and meet Shane’s height.
“Is okay.” He smiled before leaning in and kissing him softly. Just one peck, and then another, and then another until Shane opened up to deepen it. His arms wrapped around Ilya, blindly mapping the familiar expanse of his body. A low sigh escaped his lips as Shane’s fingers carded through his hair. He tugged lightly on the ends, tilting his face back to slot his tongue against Ilya’s, and his moan vibrated against Shane’s lips. Their mouths broke apart as Shane smiled in satisfaction. He allowed his forehead to press against Ilya’s and used the moment to catch his breath. Wow. I will never get used to that.
“Wow,” Ilya voiced Shane’s thoughts, placing another peck against his lips before pulling back. “Someone is very eager tonight.” Ilya laughed as Shane pushed playfully at his chest. His heart clenched at the sound and the way his eyes crinkled, mouth splitting open to let it out. I would do anything to make him laugh like that again.
“Shut up, asshole, you kissed me first.”
“Mm, yes, but you kissed me like you wanted to eat my face.”
A breath passed.
“I do.” Shane spoke, softly, before he could think better of it. The humor slid from Ilya’s face as he searched Shane’s eyes, his hand still resting on his waist. A small admission, nothing like the ones that had been whispered in Tampa, but just another moment of honesty shared between two people who have spent years hiding from one another. It was Shane finding ways to reiterate what Ilya seemed to have trouble believing. I like you. I want you.
Shane brought his hand up once again to cup Ilya’s face as the other man’s eyes continued to flick between his own. His thumbpad grazed his cheekbone while he memorized the hints of jade speckled in blue irises.
“We have all night, yes?” Ilya nearly whispered, his voice lacking all previous bravado and filled with a bit of uncertainty. Shane wanted to eradicate it.
“Yes.” He replied confidently, and affirmed with another soft press of their lips.
They lay breathless, limbs entwined in Shane’s bed as a familiar and restful euphoria took over his body. Ilya was pressed against his side, face tucked into the crook of his arm and his messy curls tickling Shane’s armpit. His lips repeatedly brushed against his pec as he murmured praises Shane did not catch. English, Russian, he wasn’t even sure. Shane was too blissed out to distinguish, his mind only able to focus on his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and the soft caresses of his-someone.
An unknown amount of time passed before Ilya began to pull away. Shane made a sound of protest and reached out to latch onto his wrist, halting his movements. Ilya leaned down and brushed his lips against his own. “I am just cleaning up. I am not going anywhere.” He whispered, granted another peck, and then slipped away into the bathroom.
I am not going anywhere.
Shane’s eyes fell closed as he reveled in the truth of the statement. Ilya was staying. After years of seeing each other, tonight they would not separate. They would fall asleep to the sound of the other’s breathing, and wake up in the same bed. It was an irreversible step; an undeniable admission that this meant something to both of them.
The bed shifted as Ilya returned and began gentle wipes with a warm, wet towel. The towel moved slowly, at first, unsure if it would be swatted away, until Shane hummed his assent. Ilya moved more deliberately, but still delicately, as he cleaned him. He started with Shane’s chest, then his stomach, and then down to his tender ass. Shane hissed as the towel grazed him, the sting reminiscent of the night's activities.
“I know, дорогая, I am sorry.” He soothed, touching only for as long as necessary to remove the sticky lube. Shane kept his eyes closed, despite the sting, and relaxed into his gentle touches. He felt a soft kiss pressed against his thigh and the bed shifted again as Ilya stood. Only when he returned, slipping back his spot against Shane’s side, did he open his eyes. Ilya met his gaze and smiled. “Have you remembered English?”
“Asshole.” Shane laughed and swatted his chest halfheartedly, allowing his hand to remain there after. Ilya’s own reached up to cover it.
“I think you like it.”
“Yes, I do.” He admitted breathily.
I am yours. Are you mine?
A moment passed as they gazed at each other, the air simmering with everything that remained unsaid between them. It broke when Ilya spoke again.
“Should we sleep?”
Their eyes met in a moment of hesitation. They should. Shane was tired, exhausted, really, the game had been a brutal battle until the end. But he did not want tomorrow to come. He wanted to remain in this safe bubble of timid intimacy for as long as possible.
“Want some ice cream?” He offered instead. The smile that stretched across Ilya’s face made him want to say it a million times more.
The soft yellow glow of the kitchen lamp cast glorious shadows upon Ilya’s face as he watched Shane scoop ice cream into a bowl. Shane stole glances at him from the corner of his eye, memorizing the reflection of the light in his eyes and the feel of his body in Shane’s kitchen. It was intimate; it was domestic; it left Shane wanting more.
“I did not think you ate ice cream, Mr. Healthy.” Ilya chided with a playful knock of their shoulders, reminiscent of an earlier check into the boards, but softer, gentler, and just for them.
“I don’t.” He replied simply, offering nothing more and smiling a bit shyly because he knew where this conversation was going. He stole a glance and caught Ilya’s brows furrowing as he was handed the bowl. Ilya looked down into the bowl for a moment, still confused, until something settled and he raised his head once again. Shane finally turned to meet his eyes. They scanned Shane’s face and whatever they found had the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a small smile.
“You buy this for me.” It wasn’t a question. Shane nodded anyway. He ducked his head and reached for his ginger ale, the intensity of Ilya’s gaze making him squirm. The spoon clanked against the bowl and a soft sigh fell from his lips as he took a bite. Shane was meticulously studying the brand logo on his soda when he felt a firm hand on his chin and the sweet press of ice cream lips. He savored the taste of the dessert on Ilya’s tongue, a bit of it exchanged into his own mouth before Ilya pulled away. Shane’s chin remained firmly in his grip as he met his eyes. “Thank you, дорогая.”
Shane nodded with a soft smile. If Ilya wondered how the ice cream just so happened to be his favorite flavor, cookies and cream, he did not ask. If he wondered how Shane knew this, he did not mention it. Enough honesty had been shared in the offering of it. Perhaps more was just too much to handle in one night.
“Consider it an apology for kicking your ass tonight.” Shane steered the conversation in a new direction to allow himself a moment to breathe. Before he said something he could not take back. Ilya barked out a surprised laugh and then took another bite of the ice cream in an unnecessarily seductive manner. Shane rolled his eyes.
“I forgot, you are asshole.”
“No! You’re the asshole, asshole!”
“No, no,” the glint in Ilya’s eyes as he set down the bowl had Shane pivoting to run. “You are the asshole!” He shouted as he took off in his path. Shane laughed as he cut corners and threw pillows from the couch in an attempt to slow the other man down. He could hear Ilya’s laughter edging closer. In the end, just as he’d cleared the living room, a firm grip yanked his hips back into a solid chest, spun him around and pressed him against the hallway wall. His shoulder had barely collided with the surface before his lips were on Shane’s once again.
Shane was faster than Ilya. He just wasn’t as dedicated to running away as Ilya was to catching him.
This time, it was Shane who was being eaten alive. Ilya’s hand caressed his face and tilted it as Shane parted his lips to let him in. They both sighed into it, hands roaming desperately for purchase against one another’s bodies. Shane felt his fingers wander from the broad expanse of chest to abs, to shoulders, to soft, unruly hair and back around again. The skin under Ilya’s touch was on fire, burning under the heat of his palm and their shared desire. Their mouths separated as Ilya’s nose nudged Shane’s to gain access to his neck. He kissed a path from his cheeks to his jaw, nibbling a little at the soft skin under his chin, before dropping to his knees.
“Oh, god,” Shane exhaled, overwhelmed by his worshipful touch and the reverence in his eyes as he gazed up from where he knelt in front of Shane. Like he was an altar, and Ilya was a deeply pious man.
I am yours. It feels like you are mine.
After, Ilya helped erase the damage of their chase on the living room as Shane cleaned the bowl of ice cream. Then, they cut out the lights and padded over to the bedroom. Ilya replaced his boxers with a pair of loose sweats and Shane pulled on his favorite blue and white striped pajama pants and navy sweater. Ilya, of course, made fun of his pajamas, but he wouldn’t stop slipping his arms up the sleeves of the sweater and claiming he needed warming up. They brushed their teeth side by side and stole fond glances in the mirror, elbows nudging slightly when they caught the other looking. They slipped into the bed on their respective sides, a moment of uncertainty passing between them before Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane and pulled his back against his chest. Shane sighed into the embrace. The steady rise and fall of Ilya’s chest against his back dragged him into unconsciousness.
The evening had progressed as though it was always this way. Shane found himself wishing that it was.
Sometime in the night, Shane was roused from his sleep by a heavy pounding in his ear. He stirred, confused and groggy with sleep, and felt a strong grip wrap around his waist. He lifted his head, which he realized had moved to rest on Ilya’s chest at some point, and met the man’s gaze. Ilya was wide awake, and looking down at him. Moonlight reflected in his glassy eyes.
“Ilya,” his voice barely a whisper and strained from sleep, “is everything okay?”
The arm that was draped over Shane’s waist now moved up to cradle the back of his head, fingers carting gently through his hair. Ilya offered a slight smile before breaking his gaze and turning it towards the window.
“I am scared.” He admitted.
Shane felt his heart skip. Another moment of honesty. He rewarded it with the press of his lips to Ilya’s heart, and an offering of his own. “I am scared, too.” Shane sat up and reached out to pull Ilya’s face back towards him, kissed him softly, and then guided them to flip so that Shane was lying on his back with Ilya nearly on top of him and wrapped safely in his arms. They let the truth hang in the air as they drifted back into sleep.
When the morning sun seeped through the windows, Shane awoke first and found the vision that was Ilya in dawn’s light. His face, which was pressed against Shane’s chest, was relaxed and unguarded in a way he’d never shown before. His hair stuck in four directions and was afire with rays of golden sun that cast over it. Their chests rose and fell in tandem. Shane was impossibly, and undeniably, in love with him.
It wasn’t a revelation, sudden and shocking. No. It was a quiet truth that crept in over time, through touches and glances and shared laughter. It was the warmth of his gaze and the calmness that descended upon his heart in his presence. That his absence was felt in every room he was not in. That he was thought of in places he did not go. That Shane wished to speak to him every moment of every day. He had been running from it all these years but it snuck in and took root inside his heart. He loved him. He loved Ilya. And, behind the fear that clouds his mind, he knew that Ilya felt something too. Perhaps not love, as it was for Shane, but at least a fondness. A desire to be something more than they were. A desire for more than what they could have. Shane didn’t know what they would do about their impossible situation. Whether they would continue on as they had been, whether they would push the boundaries, or whether the whole thing would collapse on top of them. But he did know that he was not in this alone. That Ilya was right there beside him, just as confused and scared, and that this tempest was worth it for even just a handful of stolen moments and nights in his embrace.