Chapter Text
Unfortunately, as much as Shane didn’t want to admit it, the Raiders had just beaten the dogshit out of Montreal. It was a shutout. 5-0 with Ilya scoring a hat trick to top it all off.
The thunderous chant of ‘Rozanov’ throughout the Boston home crowd after his fourth goal still bounced off his brain.
Half the team was down with the flu, including the other two of Shane’s usual linemen, and it was clear as they subbed a pair in that the three had zero chemistry. Every time Shane looked up he was alone somehow, no one to pass the puck to, and thus usually lost possession.
Between that and the fact he’d tweaked his ankle a little on the treadmill that morning, Montreal was a mess. Their line was weak and Rozanov saw through every damn hole. Shane hated it. He had nowhere near the amount of focus a formidable opponent like Ilya took and it showed.
He’d come close to a couple goals, was sure one was headed inside, but at the last second Laurent, the goalie for the Raiders, seemed to move at the speed of light to block the shot. It was so impressive Shane found it difficult to be upset about.
Difficult, but not impossible. The whole game had been infuriating.
“Next time, Capitaine,” J.J. said, appearing from nowhere and clapping his giant hands against Shane’s shoulders.
“Yeah, next time,” he said, tone clipped.
He placed his helmet on the shelf with more force than necessary.
Rozanov was going to be insufferable. He was after any win against Shane, but he’d never gotten a shut out and a hat trick against him.
He almost didn’t even want to see him, but as he imagined the cocky grin spread across his face, he couldn’t deny the warmth that pooled deep in his stomach, despite the irritation blooming in his chest.
His phone vibrated against the shelf.
Lily: 5-0
Shane gave an annoyed huff.
Jane: Yeah, I was there. I saw the score, thanks.
The dots appeared immediately.
Lily: Were you there? I did not notice.
Then.
Lily: Did you hear the way they scream my name? It’s so difficult deciding who I will go home with on days like this.
Shane grumbled at the screen, locking it and beginning to undress roughly.
As if the loss wasn’t bad enough, now not only would he not be meeting up with Rozanov, but he’d spend his night imagining what kind of prize he would take home. Probably someone tall and blonde with legs for days. Someone far more appropriate than Shane.
Hayden cleared his throat as he all but threw his shoulder pads in the cubby.
“He’s right, you know,” he tried. “We’ll get him next time.”
Shane couldn’t help the dry chuckle that left him. “Oh, yeah? We’ll get a shut out and I’ll score a hat trick?”
Hayden only put his hands up, retreating to his locker.
He should apologize. He didn’t. Instead, he turned around.
“Alright guys,” he clapped once, hushing the already quiet locker room. “That was a tough one.”
“Fucking brutal,” somebody agreed tersely.
“Yeah, alright,” Shane shrugged. “Pretty fucking brutal. Nothing will bring a game down faster than an unfamiliar line. And that’s our fault, we got too comfortable.”
He was quiet as he looked around the room. He didn’t want to put the full blame on his wingers, but he noticed they were avoiding eye contact, so it seemed they felt it nonetheless.
“All we can do is put our heads down, put in the work, and make sure they forget what it feels like to win next time we see them.”
“Fuckin right,” another grumbled.
With that, Shane turned back to his locker, signaling the end of his short speech.
Beside him, Hayden and J.J. were arguing in whispers.
“I wouldn’t even bother, man,” Hayden warned J.J. lowly.
He didn’t heed it.
“Capitaine,” J.J. started, his tone making Shane nervous. “We’re all going to Nocturne. Gonna drown our sorrows, ease them with the company of beautiful women. Try to forget this horrible night. You in?”
Shane very much wasn’t in. In fact, he was out, but something about the incredulous laugh Hayden gave that J.J. would even ask sparked something in him.
He remembered Ilya’s text. It’s so difficult to decide who to take home. It didn’t seem to be a tease. It hadn’t been followed by an invitation. No room number of a nearby hotel. It hadn’t even seemed like an offer. It seemed more like a boast. A gloat. Not only had he beat the breaks off Shane, but he could fuck anyone he wanted afterward. And anyone would die to have Ilya.
So why the hell should he be alone tonight? He knew that he wouldn’t actually go home with anyone, he wouldn’t even flirt. Was pretty sure he couldn’t flirt even if he wanted to.
Sometimes he talked for a while to some of the beautiful women that approached him, if only to not be rude about their excitement. But that usually didn’t last long when they realized how stiff conversation with him was. They tried to initiate something more physical after that, which, of course, never ended well. He felt bad rejecting them; there was nothing wrong with them.
As some of them peered up at him in what he could only describe as their best bedroom eyes, he could almost see the trance he might fall in. But unfortunately for everyone involved, he just couldn't bring himself to feel the same way he did when he was with Ilya. As open to it as he tried to be, a woman's touch just didn't light him ablaze the same way.
But he could still go out, he didn’t have to sit alone in a hotel room and hope Ilya texted a room number whenever it was he finally got home.
He could have a beer or two and bond with his teammates after a tough loss. From the evident lack of chemistry on the ice tonight, he’d all but convinced himself it was for the good of the team, if nothing else.
“Sure, why not?” He shrugged, acting as though it was no big deal.
“Woo!” J.J. hollered sharply into the room.
Conversations around them halted slightly, looking over.
“Le Capitaine is coming out!”
Much to Shane’s chagrin, the locker room all but erupted—their captain's rare presence an instant salve to the sting of loss.
There. He could be fun. He had the capability of being spontaneous. So what if Ilya found someone else to celebrate with. He could have fun in other ways.
—————
In the locker room opposite, Ilya was riding a high that could surely only be rivaled by a cup.
A small part of him thought scoring a hat trick and shutting out Shane Hollander was almost sweeter than a cup.
He’d bring this up for the rest of his life.
He bit his bottom lip a little as he waited for a response from Shane.
It was true that he had no intention of being alone tonight. He just wanted to fuck with him a little more before he made it clear that someone he planned to spend it with was, of course, Shane.
“Fuckin’ A, Cap!” Kuzrick yelled, shaking his shoulders as celebrations flowed around them.
He locked his phone quickly and put it down.
“This guy’s a fuckin beaut!” Marlow laughed, ruffling Ilya’s curls.
“Making that shit look easy!” Somebody yelled from across the room.
Finally, he waved them off, laughing.
“Maybe next time you fuckers join me, yes?”
Everybody gave a good-natured laugh.
“You see, my back is so sore,” he began, seemingly waiting for someone to egg him on.
“If he says from car—“ Marlow started, pointing at him threateningly.
Ilya was quick to beat him to the punch line.
“Carrying you guys is much harder than I make it look,” Ilya sighed dramatically, stretching his back. "You are very heavy."
“Fuck you!” Several players laughed. Someone even threw a towel.
“Yes,” Ilya grinned, winking. “Someone should fuck me for such good game. I deserve it.”
The room erupted in laughter, giving a few hoots of enthusiasm.
He checked his phone once more, nothing.
He rolled his eyes, placing the phone face down on his shelf.
“Okay, okay,” he said, switching to captain mode and hushing the room. He took a dramatic pause, waiting until eyes started to flit between each other, nervous for what he might say. “Montreal went home crying. Job well done, boys. Was mostly me, but you guys probably did something useful, sometimes.”
The room gave him a mix of cheers and boos, making Ilya grin as he turned around to finish undressing.
He waited until after he showered, and checked his phone for the last time.
Nothing.
Fuck it, then. If he wanted to pout he was welcome to do so.
Marlow stood next to him, pausing towel drying his hair as he looked at Ilya’s phone in hand.
“Oh, no,” he shook his head. “You’re coming out tonight, shithead.”
Ilya locked his phone, looking over at him. “Who said I wasn’t, asshole?”
Marlow gave him a pleased grin in return.
——————
Hours later, Shane stood in between J.J. and Hayden, where he stood nursing a beer for so long it had long since lost its chill.
“Cmonnn,” J.J. drawled. “Juste un tir, Capitaine.” (Just one drink, Captain)
J.J. usually only spoke French when he didn’t want someone to understand what he was saying, when he was angry, or when he was drunk. Tonight, as he swayed lightly on his feet, it seemed to be that latter.
“Je pense que c'est suffisant,” Shane replied, grabbing at the spilling shot he was holding. (I think that’s enough.)
“‘Assez, assez, assez,’” J.J. whined, throwing his head back. (‘Enough, enough, enough’)
When he tipped his head back up, he had a dangerous look on his face.
“Either I take it, or you, Capitaine,” he grinned.
If only for effect, he swayed once more.
He looked to Hayden for help. Except unfortunately for Shane, Hayden was also drunk.
“Ugh, just take the shot!” Hayden yelled. “You’re so uptight allthatime.”
He was slurring, at this point.
“Fuck you, guys,” Shane grumbled back. “It’s not being uptight, it’s called having discipline.”
“Kinky,” J.J. wiggled his eyebrows, making Shane blush.
He sighed deeply. “If I take the shot, will you two shut up?”
“For now,” J.J. grinned, holding the shot of clear liquid out.
“What is it, anyway?” Shane asked, making the mistake of smelling it.
“Vodka,” J.J. answered. “Fuckin Russians knew what they were doing with this one!”
Shane grimaced slightly, remembering the taste from the hotel room in Vegas.
Steeling himself, he took the shot in one go, resisting the urge to cough as it went down, burning his esophagus on the way.
Hayden cheered, shaking his shoulders a bit until Shane shrugged him off.
His heart raced a little, almost in anticipation of what was to come.
He knew that his discipline did, in fact, pay off--no matter how undisciplined others were. It showed in every game he played, every stat he had, every award he won. No matter how much of a ‘buzzkill’ that may make him at times, it was worth it. Unequivocally.
However, even he was aware of how tightly wound he was. He had no idea how to let go. He held on to everything around him with such a steady, certain, unrelenting grip. Hockey, conditioning, diet, routine, even things like his family—even things like Ilya.
From the moment their hands had touched in the gym after the draft, maybe even from the moment they’d touched in Seskatchewa, Shane had sort of latched on to Ilya. At first he’d told himself it was just competition. People were saying this guy might be better than him. Obviously, that meant he needed to know everything about him so that he could beat him and prove he was the best.
And ever since, his thoughts of Ilya never abated. They never ceased.
But he was finding alcohol was loosening his grip on everything. It was intoxicating—literally.
Feeling brave, and a little desperate to prove something, he made his way to the bar.
————
“Another round?” Ilya asked, looking around at the handful of teammates closest to him.
He received enthusiastic agreement, and made his way over to the bar, tripping over Marlow’s extended foot.
He smacked the back of his head on his way out, laughing as he disappeared into the throng of people, Marlow still trying to figure out what had happened.
The club was nice. A little gothic, but nice nonetheless. Most of the furniture, paint and decor was a variety of the darkest shades of black, red and purple. But with the dramatic lighting, it all came together quite nicely.
It was decently crowded, but being that it was a nicer club, the bouncers weren’t letting enough people in for it to be uncomfortable.
Ilya paused as a train of girls passed in front of him, pausing to linger on the last girl. She had long black hair that flashed blue in the throbbing lights, shiny and straight. Tattoos crisscrossed over most of her very exposed skin. Some of them were bright colors, others black and shaded. Her ass cheeks poked from the bottom of the flare of her black pleated mini skirt, bouncing just a little with each step she took. Confidence seemed to ooze from her pores, and Ilya was intrigued.
Maybe feeling his heated gaze, she turned around and met Ilya’s eyes. Her seemingly permanent glare and set face dissolved immediately, her features both softening and resharpening with lust, this time. Her eyes ran over his body just the same, a smile breaking across her face. She even had freckles.
Ilya squinted a little and found some kind of piercing just above her top teeth. He wondered if he could feel it if he kissed her.
Then, she disappeared into the crowd, pulled by her friends.
He made a mental note to look around for her later.
“6 vodka shots, please,” he yelled at the bartender over the music. “Your least offensive brand.”
The song was a little ridiculous, it was hard to hear exact words and translate them over the throbbing bass line and people around him, but he was pretty sure he was saying something about a club and Tuesday. He wasn’t sure what one had to do with the other. But the people around him seemed to like it.
“Holy shit, you’re Ilya Rozanov!” The bartender yelled back.
“Yes,” he grinned.
The bartender blushed a little.
Interesting.
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he grabbed the bottle. “Yeah--no, I--sorry, I just...hell of a game, man.”
Ilya looked at him for a little longer than necessary. He was cute. A redhead. Nothing alarming, dark red hair, just shy of copper under the lights, sleeves pushed his forearms. Ilya liked redheads.
“You had time to watch?” He gestured around him, grinning a little at the madness.
“Caught most of it between orders,” he said, giving him a glance as he lined up the glasses.
His eyes flicked over Ilya’s exposed shoulders, down his arms, and lingered on his hands a little before they flitted back up.
Ilya smiled.
“Have the bottle,” he said, sliding it forward with a slight shake of his head. “On the house.”
He reached for his wallet anyway, pausing halfway as the bartender shook his head.
“No, seriously.”
For a second, Ilya just looked at him, then he pulled a bill free anyway. .
“Tip,” he grinned, holding it loosely between his fingers.
The bartender hesitated at the large bill in his hand. “You don’t have to do that.”
Ilya said nothing, just looked at him and waved him closer with two fingers.
The bartender leaned in.
Ilya leaned in just a little, and he appreciated how immediately spellbound the man was. His lips parted and his eyes fell to Ilya’s mouth.
“Good service.”
Ilya grinned a little and folded the $50 in his fingers, tucking it into his shirt pocket, knuckles grazing his chest as he did.
The bartender exhaled sharply, clearing his throat a little and pointedly looking away from Ilya’s lips.
“Enjoy the drinks,” he said, his voice a little rougher than before.
“I will,” he winked, already turning away.
—————
Shane finally made it to the bar. He felt he must’ve said ‘excuse me’ a hundred times, and accidentally touched at least half the people in this building.
“Holy shit,” the bartender blanched.
“Hi,” he said, sheepish.
“Sorry, it’s just, you’re--you’re Shane Hollander!” He laughed.
“Yes,” Shane laughed back.
“First Ilya Rozanov, now Shane Hollander! What a fucking night man,” he shook his head a little. “What can I get you?”
Shane’s stomach dropped.
“Rozanov’s here?” He yelled over the music.
The bartender pointed, and Shane found the back of Ilya’s head. He was wearing a black tank top, which was riding up a little as he held the bottle of vodka and shot glasses above the crowd of people. It was sinfully hot, which only made everything that much more difficult. Shane could see the dip of where his spine sat, where the muscle built around it.
His jeans were dark wash, and they were tight in the ass, making Shane’s mouth water a little.
“Can I actually get two shots of vodka? Or like what is that, a double?” He asked, turning back around before his eyes could travel any further.
“Tough night?” He laughed in an understanding way, pouring the vodka.
“Something like that,” he muttered. “Can I get another beer, too?”
After refusing the change on a $50, he retreated back to his table.
“Holy shit, dude!” Hayden cheered as Shane sat down.
Before anyone else could notice, Shane prepped his beer in his right hand and used his left to quickly take the shot.
It was a lot. Far more than he’d been expecting. By the time he’d managed to actually get it all down, there was no stopping the coughs that ripped from him.
“The beer!” Hayden reminded him.
Shane took a swig, and then another to ease the burn.
“How the hell do you guys do this all the time?” Shane yelled. “This shit tastes terrible!”
“You don’t do it for the taste, buddy,” Hayden laughed, patting his back.
Half an hour later, Shane was drunk. Not shitfaced, not wasted, but drunk.
He could see Ilya, he was sitting talking animatedly to the group. It was mostly his teammates, but there were some very beautiful women around them. He waited to see which one Ilya turned to most, trying shamelessly to figure out which one was ‘for him.”
A leggy blonde--not at all unlike who Shane had imagined--was next to him laughing loudly at something he said, throwing her head back and resting her hand on his knee. As he smiled down at her, Shane had to look away.
Stupid. This all was so stupid. The bitter loss. The fact that he was out at a club right now. The fact that he was a little drunk. Certainly the fact that the Raiders were here right now. Certainly the fact this woman was touching Rozanov.
Shane wasn’t so stupid as to think Ilya never hooked up with women—in fact, it seemed a somewhat popular point of discussion in the hockey sphere. But something about seeing it unfold in front of him sent him back to the bar.
“What’ll it be, Mr. Hollander?” The bartender asked.
“Shane,” he waved him off, feeling strangely friendly. “What’s your name?”
“Spencer,” he smiled. “You gonna relax at some point? Or should I keep these coming?”
“What?” He questioned. He was fucking drinking, for fucks sake. What else did people want from him? “I am relaxed!”
Spencer laughed now as he poured him another beer. “I can feel the tension rolling off you from here.”
—————
Ilya made his way back to the bar, for Marlow this time. The girl he was trying to seduce, a bit clumsily in Ilya’s opinion, had requested some sort of mixed drink. And since, for the most part, these days Ilya only played wingman for Marlow, he’d sent himself to the bar to retrieve it. The girl's legs were currently laying over Marlow’s and she was pulling him close, whispering in his ear.
Clumsy or not, it was clearly working.
As he got closer, he saw a muscular, broad back wearing a plain white, tight tee. His hair was black and cropped fairly short in the back. Whoever it was instantly reminded him of Shane, except he wasn’t quite so rigid.
Shane, who if he ever went out, absolutely would wear jeans and a white tee. Shane, who would never be found at a club like this, especially not at the bar.
Shane, who wasn’t answering his fucking texts.
“Oh, yeah?” The bartender was talking to the man. “Take the shot and we’ll see if you’re still so tense, handsome.”
So, he’d been right about that part.
As he came to a stop next to the man, leaning against the counter a bit, he curiously looked over at him.
“Shane?” He blinked.
Shane immediately blushed deeply, recognizing his voice before seeing his face. Unfortunately for him, he’d been mid-shot. He immediately started spluttering and choking on the liquid he’d gasped into his lungs by accident. It burned everywhere.
He put his hands on his knees and gave another few coughs, eyes watering at the sensation of vodka seemingly in every facial cavity. Next to him, Ilya was all but crying, patting his back in a halfway helpful and halfway condescending way between fits of laughter.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ilya asked him as he rose back up.
Seeing Shane under the club lights felt somehow dangerous to Ilya. His cock twitched in his pants as a blue light caught Shane’s face. Even if Shane was glaring at him.
“My team wanted to come out,” Shane shrugged easily. He almost slurred his words a little.
Was Shane drunk? Ilya’s cock gave another twitch. The thought of Shane, boring and uptight Shane, slightly off kilter, relaxed and having fun—not to mention in a place like this…it was wrong, and oh so thrilling.
“Explains why they are here. They need to get drunk to forget how terrible they were tonight,” he grinned as annoyance flooded Shane’s face.
As he frowned up at Ilya a little, his brows set and his full eyes looking up at him through his lashes, Ilya quickly decided that was in fact his favorite face of Shane’s.
“But why are you here?” He asked, genuinely curious.
“I go out, sometimes,” Shane grumbled, his brow furrowing deeper. “Besides, what do you care?”
Ilya shrugged, not caring so much about the girl's drink anymore. He turned away from the bar and leaned against it. “I just hardly see you go out. Does my win sting that bad?”
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Shane all but snarled. The venom in his voice went straight to Ilya’s dick.
Ilya could only smirk back at him. There were too many ears to say what he wanted to, too many eyes to do what he wanted to.
“Are you drunk, Shane Hollander?” He asked him, smiling lightly.
“No!” Shane said back, offended.
Ilya only looked at him for a moment. But it was long enough for Shane to soften a little.
“Are you sure?” He grinned, voice lower.
“So what if I was?” Shane asked, tone still sour.
It was harder for Shane to not rise to Ilya’s bait the more he drank.
“Well, if you were, I would tell you to be careful,” he began, amusement on his face. “People might actually start to think you’re not so boring.”
“Fuck you,” he said for the second time that night. “Don’t you have plans tonight, anyway?”
“What?” Ilya blinked.
“I thought you ‘weren’t going home alone tonight,’” Shane said, throwing up air quotes. He even put on a terrible Russian accent.
Ilya laughed loudly. Drunk Shane was even more fun than he thought he’d be. He was fiesty, uninhibited. Things Ilya usually had to pull from him. That only he could pull from him.
“Yes, that is the plan,” he said. He wiggled his eyebrows at Shane, trying to throw him a somewhat subtle hint.
Shane didn’t catch it.
“Yeah, well, there’s plenty to choose from,” he gestured around the room. “Go crazy.”
With that, he turned back to the bartender. Then, Ilya remembered the conversation he walked into.
Were they flirting? He distinctly remembered the bartender calling him handsome. And he could definitely see the pink in Shane’s cheeks as he talked to him now. Could see it in the flirty smile he was giving the bartender right now.
It hit Ilya in the gut like a stone.
And as Shane laughed at something he said, as the bartender's eyes danced all over his face as he tipped his head back, Ilya laughed a bit.
This was not a game you wanted to play against Ilya.
————
He was definitely doing it on purpose. He felt Ilya’s eyes burning into the side of his face as he let his head fall back.
It was a very fine line to walk. To drunkenly, yet not obviously at all, flirt with the male bartender in front of your years-long also male situationship, while in a very public and high profile nightclub, surrounded by both of your teams.
It was a very dangerous game to play, against a very formidable opponent. But the vodka running through his veins made him brave enough to try.
But something about the quiet chuckle that left Ilya’s mouth made his otherwise very warm blood run cold.
When he turned over to look at him, Ilya was gone. Shane felt a sort of pit in his stomach open.
He awkwardly mumbled his goodbyes to a confused Spencer and made his way back to his team, drink in hand.
“There you are!” Hayden announced as he returned.
He had returned to find his familiar table flooded with new, very beautiful, painted faces.
“Oh my god! You’re Shane Hollander!” One of the women cried out.
“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding,” the one hanging off J.J. said, eyes wide.
A brave one stood up from the table, throwing her glossy black hair over her shoulder.
“Hi,” she said, eyes low. “I’m Lyla.”
Lyla was no exception from the seeming dress code of being beautiful. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of green, the dark eye makeup she had applied only made them stand out that much more.
She pulled him down into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing as much of her body as she could into his.
It was never clearer just how simple things could be than in moments like this. Shane could talk to this woman, Lyla, now. He could dance with her all night. Let her body grind and writhe against his, let her lips brush any bit of skin she could reach, and no one would bat an eye. If anything, they might watch in astonishment, in pride. He could all but fuck her on the dance floor and he’d get nothing but approval.
But all he really wanted was something he was quite sure he would never get even tolerance of, let alone acceptance—let alone pride.
All he wanted was suddenly rather close by, letting a woman with dark blue hair do all that he just mentioned to him.
All he wanted was doing what they could never have.
And then, Shane felt that weird prick of competition. Fuck Ilya. He thought he could do whatever he wanted and that Shane would never say a word otherwise. That Shane couldn’t do exactly what he was doing.
And normally, Shane wouldn’t. But normally, Shane wasn’t decently drunk. Normally, Shane wasn’t watching women drip off Rozanov like water.
“Is that fucking Rozanov?” Hayden asked, all but spitting his last name.
“What?” Shane all but squeaked.
He gestured to the dance floor in front of them, where they dotted themselves throughout the crowd, dancing and chatting.
“Dude, the fucking Raiders are here,” Hayden whined to the group.
J.J. sat up, looking around. “Jésus-Christ, they’re everywhere!”
The girl removed her legs from his lap, standing with her hand out. “Well, sounds like we need to even things out.”
She wiggled her eyebrows at him and laughed. He picked up his drink, winking at everyone as he followed her onto the dance floor.
Shane held his breath.
“Wanna dance?” Lyla said, flashing him her most dazzling smile.
Shane couldn’t want to do anything less on earth. But as he looked over at Ilya in the crowd, lights flashing purple and blue over his skin, he found the girl’s arm snaked around his neck, covered in tattoos. She looked dangerous, almost. As he gave a real laugh at something she said, he felt that irritation flare again.
“Sure,” he said, allowing her to pull him into the crowd.
“Cap! Cap! Cap! Cap!” His teammates cheered as they passed.
As he folded deeper into the crowd, his strange rush of courage began to wear off. He didn’t recognize the song playing, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do here.
At first she faced him, jumping and flicking her body in time to the beat. It was a fast song. Shane hated fast songs. In a slow song he almost had enough time to think about what he would do next, but there was no time with a song like this.
Mercifully, the song bled into the next one, which was much slower.
He recognized the voice of Kanye West flooding the building.
Lyla’s black hair shimmered under the lights as she turned, backing up tight against him and beginning to sway in time to the beat.
At first he focused on moving alongside her, but as her movements began to get more controlled, ticking in time to the intricacies of the beat, he resorted to standing mostly still. The least he could do was provide a good base if she was going to give it everything she had.
And why wouldn’t she? He was Shane fucking Hollander.
It was honestly mesmerizing, the way she could move her hips. Even though beneath his jeans he felt nothing, he could acknowledge that objectively this woman could dance very well.
Not for the first time, he felt guilty that a woman had wasted her best work on him.
Her hand reached back, pawing at his abs, gripping his shirt instead. Almost instinctively, his hands found her hips. She gave him another stunning smile as she twirled her ass against his crotch.
It seemed most of the women at their table had drug his teammates to the dance floor, for suddenly he heard cheering behind him as the woman danced on him.
————
Following sudden cheers from the center of the dance floor, Ilya’s eyes found a woman bent over in front of Shane, her short dress riding dangerously high as her hips circled his crotch.
Ilya’s eyebrows rose damn near to his hairline.
“What the fuck?” He breathed.
He must have not been as quiet as he thought, for Colin looked over at him.
“Is that fucking Hollander?” he asked, bewildered.
“Holy shit!” Austin, a rookie, yelled.
Shane’s hands were on her hips, riding every swivel. He didn’t even look that focused. In fact, as everyone around him cheered, he looked a little sheepish.
Ilya’s cock twitched in his pants. And it wasn’t from the woman in front of him.
He felt a lot of things at once. First and foremost, he was struck by how adorable it was to look anything close to embarrassed at a moment like that, with such a sexy woman throwing her body against you so expertly. Secondly, he was bewildered with how hot he found it; watching Shane with a woman, being publicly sexual in any way. Third, he was confused by how wildly annoyed he was.
He had never once cared about the sexual practices of other people. He never put himself in positions of commitment, so it was never his business.
It technically still wasn’t.
So why the hell did it sting so bad? Why was it so hot?
————
Instead of focusing on the cheers of everyone around him, or even on the girl bent over in front of him, he zoned out--letting everything blur at the edges, focusing only on the words to the song. Which he was liking more by the second.
I mean after all the things that we’ve been through...
His grip on the girl’s hips loosened slightly.
I mean after all the things we got into...
As his eyes drifted over the crowd around him, he found Ilya. Close. A couple bodies away, dancing with the girl with tattoos.
She swayed against him, slow and deliberate, and Ilya followed easily, like it was second nature.
Ilya must’ve known the song, for just as the beat faded back in, Ilya’s hand came to the small of her back, pressing her forward in one smooth motion.
Talk and talk and talk and talk, baby let’s just talk it out
She laughed, bracing her hands on her knees as she bent, grinding back against him in tight, practiced circles.
Shane’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t just the movement, it was how easy it looked. How familiar.
Baby let’s just knock it off...
Ilya’s hands settled more firmly on her hips now, guiding her rhythm, controlling it. Every movement deliberate. Every shift precise.
They don’t know what we been through, they don’t know ‘bout me and you.
Something in Shane’s chest twisted. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?
No one knew. No one ever would.
The girl pushed back harder, sharper this time--but Ilya didn’t follow. His eyes had met Shane’s eyes as the lyrics rang throughout the building, seemingly speaking to them.
So I got something new to see...
For a second, everything else dropped away. The music. The crowd. The heat.
There was just Ilya, looking at him like that.
--------
He hadn’t meant to look. Not really. He’d been focused on the girl--on the rhythm, the game of it, on the easy attention and the way her body moved against his.
Until he spotted Shane. Too close. Too visible. Too--
His hands stilled on the girl’s hips before he even registered why.
And you just gon’ keep hatin’ me...
The girl in front of him pushed back against him, harder this time, but he barely felt it. Didn’t follow. Didn’t move. His focus had narrowed completely, locked on Shane in a way that made everything else feel distant.
She flung herself back up at the start of the next line, body rolling against Ilya in time with the music.
But Ilya had long gone still, eyes boring into Shane’s from across the floor.
And we just gon’ be enemies
-------
Something about the distortion of the audio and the liquor flowing through him made the words hit Shane like a ton of bricks.
Inevitably, that’s all they would ever be. Enemies. Rivals.
And if you can’t make it right, I’m gon’ take off tonight, into the night
He reached forward, tapping Lyla on the shoulder.
“Gotta run to the bathroom,” he told her as she leaned in.
She leaned in real close, lips almost brushing his ear. “Try not to miss me too much.”
Her lips pressed against the bottom of his earlobe, the chastest of kisses.
He turned to Hayden.
“I’m gonna get some air,” he yelled to him.
Hayden nodded, hand flicking in some weird motion to the beat.
Shane dug through the crowd as politely as he could, stumbling towards the nearest exit.
Finally, he broke into the street, quickly ducking into a nearby alley when he saw the throng of people out front.
Between the alcohol and the dancing, the cold air all but brought him to his knees as it washed over him. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned back.
It was quiet for a while before a very close voice broke the silence.
“Having fun?” Ilya’s voice rang out.
Shane gave something close to a laugh. “Sure.”
“Didn’t know you had that in you, Hollander.”
“Me neither,” he said, another laugh.
“She is very beautiful,” Ilya said casually, coming to a stop directly in front of Shane.
“Yeah, she is,” Shane agreed. But Ilya detected a lack of conviction. “So was yours. Where is she anyway?”
Ilya ignored him. “Will you go home with her, Shane Hollander?”
He took a step closer to Shane. Shane pressed fully into the wall.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice a little breathy.
Ilya’s eyebrows raised. “Will you? You will fuck her?”
Shane couldn’t help the look that flashed across his face.
Ilya looked around, still nobody.
He grabbed Shane’s face, squeezing his jaw a little tighter than necessary. Shane went limp.
Ilya’s cock jumped and he closed his eyes, taking a calming breath.
“I asked you a question, Hollander.”
Shane did his best to shake his head against Ilya’s firm grip.
“Use your words.”
He couldn’t help it. He leaned in and ran his nose along the side of Shane’s neck, tilting his face up and out for better access. Then, when he reached the hollow of his throat, Ilya slipped his tongue out, licking boldly up the side of Shane’s neck.
“No,” he whispered.
It was a little salty, but still sweet like Shane.
Shane, who let out a little whimper as Ilya’s teeth grazed his pulse point.
There was nothing to stop the blood from flowing straight down now.
Pulling back, before he bent Shane over in this very alley, he moved Shane back to look at him.
“Go back to your hotel,” he said.
Shane’s eyes, previously blown and bleary with need, sharpened.
“What?”
“Go back to your hotel.”
“B-but—“ he shoved his hand away from his face. “I thought—fuck you.”
He made to leave, but Ilya reached out, quickly pulling him back and pinning him against the wall. It was even better than holding him against the boards. Here, there was no padding or face guards between them. Here, Ilya could feel the hard length of Shane’s cock against his thigh as he pressed his knee between his legs.
He held both of his hands against the wall with one of his. Whether from alcohol or lust, Shane wasn’t fighting very hard.
“Go back to your hotel.” Then, he leaned in close. “3626.”
As Ilya slipped a key card into his pants pocket, stopping to lightly graze his dick, the rest of Shane’s fight fell out. And finally, Ilya couldn’t hold it in anymore. Keeping his grip on his hands, he pressed his lips against Shane’s.
He immediately responded, pushing closer to Ilya, curling his body against his. They both gave a soft moan as Shane rocked against his thigh.
Then, the door banged open.
They both separated like they’d been shot.
They let out a breath of relief when whoever it was immediately began throwing up. Clearly, they had bigger things going on.
Without another word, Ilya waved his phone at Shane and quickly walked in the other direction.
A moment later, Shane’s phone buzzed.
Lily; Leave now. I tell team I leave.
Jane: What about my team? I should tell them I’m leaving.
Lily: Fuck your team. They suck. Text someone.
Jane: Fuck you, you suck. I’ll do what I want.
Shane grinned a little, but did in fact leave immediately. Well, after he sent a quick text to Hayden that he made sure was grammatically correct—not that Hayden would notice.
He ordered an Uber back to the hotel, and he kept his hands folded tightly over his lap the whole time.
His pants had long since become uncomfortable.
He made it up to the room without incident, anticipation biting at him with every passing moment. He grabbed at his chin faintly, remembering the pressure of Ilya’s hand against it.
He had been so firm, rough almost. It made Shane’s skin light up even now. It was no secret that Shane liked it when Ilya went a little hard, but they’d never done anything more than some rough thrusting for a few minutes.
And remembering the look in Ilya’s eyes as he held him against the wall, rougher was all Shane wanted.
With equal parts genius and liquid courage, Shane got an idea. After some light freshening in the bathroom, Shane stripped down to nothing. Taking time to fold each article of clothing, which was significantly more difficult after a couple shots.
Finally, he checked his phone.
Lily: Be there in 5
That was sent three minutes ago. He clicked his phone off and put it face down on the dresser. Then, he sat in the bed.
He let his mind drift back again, to Ilya’s tongue on his neck. The fact that it’d be there again in mere moments. Immediately, Shane’s already semi-hard dick responded. He gave himself lazy strokes, just waking it up.
He wanted to be hard and naked the moment Ilya walked in. He wanted Ilya to snap. To lose that control he always held, only ever let go of in minute spurts.
As Shane was tracing his mental image of Ilya, just as he’d reached the sharp line of his ‘V,’ he heard the lock disengage.
Precum leaked from his tip.
He heard the lock and chain snap into place, Ilya taking off his jacket and shoes in the corridor cut off from view.
He was drawing this out, playing games of his own.