Chapter Text
“I will go shower now, okay?” Ilya said, more of a statement than a question.
Shane nodded without speaking, and Ilya fled to the shower to wash away the intensity of his feelings. But as he waited for the water to get hot he suddenly missed Hollander with a fierce intensity. Before he let himself question it or let the shame rush in, he walked back to the bedroom and said, “Shower is big and you are dirty. Come.”
Shane just stared at him for a beat, and Ilya held his hand out. “Come.”
There was a pause, long enough for Ilya to feel stupid. But the second before he dropped his hand, Shane got up. He walked past Ilya and into the bathroom, now steamy and warm. The mirror wasn’t fogged up yet, though, and they both looked into it. Their eyes met in the mirror and Ilya felt a rush that he couldn’t identify. Fear? Desire? Something deeper and more dangerous?
Shane’s eyes widened slightly, like they had the first time they’d made eye contact in the showers years ago, but this time Ilya couldn’t read his expression. His own jangling, unnameable feelings were too loud.
So instead Ilya reached for the washcloth and pushed Shane face-first against the wall, then ran the washcloth slowly down his back. When he got to Shane’s ass he pressed his chest to his back, then cleaned him gently with his fingers. Shane’s whole body relaxed for a moment, then he gasped and turned and pulled Ilya into his arms so their hot, wet bodies were pressed fully together.
Ilya expected Shane to drop to his knees or reach for his rapidly-hardening dick, but instead Shane just held him close with one arm and grabbed the back of his head with the other. He licked the water dripping from Ilya’s ear, bit his earlobe slow and seductive, then slowly kissed his way across Ilya’s face until they locked into a deep, hot kiss. Then he pulled away and planted his forehead on Ilya’s. Ilya tried to kiss him again but he pulled back and held Ilya’s hair so he couldn’t follow.
Ilya waited.
Shane licked his own lips and stared at Ilya’s.
“Stay,” he whispered.
“Stay?” Ilya asked. Surely he’d misheard over the rush of water. Surely Hollander wasn’t saying such an insane thing.
“Stay here tonight,” he repeated. “It’s the weekend. Who cares what time you get home.”
“My team will notice…” Ilya stuttered.
“Tell them you got laid so good you missed your flight,” Shane said with a laugh. “They’ll believe it.”
“And,” Shane added, “it’ll be true.”
Ilya ran his eyes over Shane, wet and gorgeous and waiting. It was already true; sex with Hollander had been incredible and Ilya was still half-dazed with afterglow. He ran his hand up Shane’s side and held his face to kiss him hard. “Okay,” he whispered into that perfect mouth.
“Okay?” Shane grinned.
“Okay,” Ilya smiled back, then dropped to his knees and took Shane in his mouth. Sleeping in Hollander’s bed was dangerous and stupid and irresistibly delicious; he couldn’t wait.
They stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, then towelled off awkwardly. Spent and tired but wired with this crazy thing they were going to do, Ilya didn’t know what to say.
“What do you sleep in?” Shane asked as he led the way back to the bedroom. “Do you want to borrow some clothes?”
“Yes,” Ilya said immediately. Too fast; Shane gave him a slightly suspicious look. In truth Ilya didn’t care one bit; in his own house he frequently slept naked. But he wasn’t going to miss a chance to put on Hollander’s clothes.
“Okay, here,” Shane said, handing him a t-shirt, briefs, and loose sweatpants and getting dressed himself.
Ilya unfolded the clothes then threw them on the bed. “Umm…no!”
“Put them on!” Shane laughed. “You’ll look great in Metros gear.”
“I’d rather sleep naked,” Ilya said.
“Your choice,” Shane laughed again. “But the room gets cold at night.”
“Ah, then I will have to sleep closer to you,” Ilya countered, pulling a now-dressed Shane in close.
“Fine by me,” Shane said. “But we’re going to sleep in the guest room. This bed’s all dirty. What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed for bed,” Ilya said, peeling off Shane’s Gucci t-shirt from that stupid ad campaign and putting it on himself. “This looks very comfortable.”
Shane shook his head and put on the Metros t-shirt while Ilya pulled on the clean pair of Shane’s boxers. The boxers were tight in the butt but slightly loose in the front—a fact Ilya was 100% going to take to his grave.
The guest bedroom was decorated in blues and golds and browns and Ilya found it wonderfully cozy despite the million pillows on the bed. They climbed into the bed without speaking and Hollander lay flat on his back, uncertainty radiating from him. Ilya curled up facing him but wasn’t sure what to do next.
“Good night, Hollander,” he said.
“Good night, Rozanov,” Shane replied flatly. Then he pulled his arms out from under the covers and clapped twice, sharply. The lights turned off.
Ilya burst out laughing. “What was that?”
“The clapper. For the lights. It’s practical.”
Ilya clapped twice. The lights turned on. Twice more—lights off. He laughed heartily. “Hollander, only you and old people have this thing.”
“It works!”
“You can also lean over and turn off the light, no?”
“That’s annoying in the dark.”
“If you clap while I am sleeping, that is also annoying,” Ilya teased.
“There isn’t usually anyone else here,” Shane said quietly.
That was Ilya’s invitation. He wiggled forward and draped one leg over Hollander, then ran a hand up his chest and cupped his face to kiss him gently. “I am here tonight,” he whispered.
Shane made a purring noise and melted into his arms. He turned and snuggled into Ilya, nuzzling him gently and wrapping one arm around Ilya’s warm ribs. He tucked the other arm between them and Ilya caressed the curve of his body helplessly.
“Good night,” Ilya whispered again, and felt Shane smile in the dark.
“’Night.”
They fell asleep curled together.
*
Ilya woke up first. For a second he was confused, then he remembered everything. The perfect night; the perfect fuck with the perfect man. And now Hollander was sleeping in his arms with a face like an angel and everything felt magical and his brain was screaming alarm bells.
Before he could do anything about it—like run away and never text again—Shane’s eyes popped open and he looked straight at Ilya. He didn’t seem to register Ilya’s panic or feel his own.
Instead, Hollander lit up like a star. His face split into a wide, sweet grin that radiated pure joy and in spite of himself Ilya beamed back.
Ah, it was all too much—the sex and the warmth and being loved on like this. Ilya was on the edge of panic and needed to make this safe again. So he pounced on Hollander and held him down and ground against him.
“Aaagh, get off!” Hollander laughed, arching up. “Your breath is terrible!”
“Take sniff, Hollander,” Ilya said, breathing close, “smell familiar? Like ass, maybe?”
“I don’t know, Rozanov, you tell me,” Hollander chirped, then pulled Ilya’s head down and kissed him.
Ilya reached down between them…
…and the doorbell rang.
They froze, staring at each other.
“Stay here,” Hollander ordered. He got up, smoothed his hair down and adjusted his clothes, then went downstairs.
Ilya crept to the door of the room and listened.
“Mom, Dad!” Shane said. “What are you doing here?”
“Last night’s hailstorm grounded us here, of course. They grounded all the flights and everything, so we didn’t think it would be safe to drive home.” Ilya heard a man’s voice say. Shane’s dad.
“So we thought we’d take you out for brunch at the Ritz,” a woman’s voice said. Shane’s mom. “Our reservation is at ten.”
“What time is it now?” Shane stammered.
“Honey, did you hit your head last night?” Shane’s mom asked. “It’s eight thirty. You never sleep this late.”
“I was tired,” Shane said.
“I see that,” said Shane’s dad. “How about we let you freshen up and we'll come back later?”
“Can you add someone to the reservation?” Ilya heard Shane say. Alone in the room, he flinched and his eyes got wide.
“Add someone?” Shane’s mom sounded shocked.
“Yeah. Ilya Rozanov stayed here last night,” Shane said. Ilya sat down on the floor.
“Ilya Rozanov? THE Ilya Rozanov?” Shane’s mom gasped.
“Yeah. There was a mistake in the hotel bookings so they were short a room. As the captain of the team Rozanov insisted everyone else take a room and the city was all booked out because of the hail storm. So I invited him here. There’s enough space.”
“Well, that was very generous of you, Shane,” his mom said. That was insane of you, Ilya thought. And inviting me for brunch is…is…he didn’t even know what to call it.
“I’m sure we can add him to the reservation,” Shane’s dad said, sounding completely unfazed. “We’ll pick you up at nine forty-five?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Ilya heard quiet for a few moments, then the door opened and closed and Shane’s feet were on the stairs. Ilya stumbled to the bed and sat down before Hollander could walk in.
Hollander stopped in the doorway, not looking directly at Ilya. “You heard all that?” he asked.
“Yeah. You…you want me to come to brunch with you and your parents? You want this?”
Shane shrugged a little. “Sure, why not? Lots of guys have friends on other teams. Lucky for us there was a hailstorm, so there’s a reason you were here.”
Ilya snorted. “Not very good reason. There are many hotels in Montreal!”
“Maybe they were all full,” Hollander said. “It could happen.”
“Hollander,” Ilya teased, “You are maybe even better liar than me.”
“I barely lied! I just didn’t offer information they didn’t need.” Shane paused and looked at Ilya, still sitting on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to come,” he said hesitantly. “I’m sorry; I should have asked you first. It could be awkward.”
It was a knife-edge moment; they both sensed it. Brunch with parents…could anything be more loaded? But also, parents could make it all okay. If anyone saw them together they’d think it had to do with hockey or sponsorships or an advertisement or something; nobody would ever guess something romantic was happening.
Wait, romantic? Who said that. Certainly not Ilya.
Ilya watched Shane lick his lips and swallow nervously. It decided him. He told himself it was curiosity, a desire to tease Hollander and see how awkward he could be. Ilya loved pushing buttons and this was a glaring red nuclear-option button that he just had to push.
“Of course I will come. I cannot wait to meet your mother. Everyone says she is the best at getting top sponsorships. Maybe she will help me instead of you.”
Hollander laughed. “Sure, why not. You can have the sponsorships that don’t pay me enough. I’m sure my mom would love to have a second-string son.”
Mom. Love. Son. If Hollander had planned it, he couldn’t have come up with a more triggering set of words. But before Ilya could react or crash out Hollander was in his lap, kissing him hotly and peeling off his shirt.
“They’re coming back in an hour,” Hollander hissed. “So hurry the fuck up and get out of my clothes.”
*
The car is a terrible place for introductions, so they just talked about hailstorms and hotel bookings and flights in the few minutes it took to get to the restaurant.
But in the restaurant Ilya’s years of etiquette training kicked in. “Mrs. and Mr. Hollander, thank you for inviting me.”
“Please, call us Yuna and David,” Hollander’s mom said.
“And I’m Ilya,” he said. He noticed Shane hooking his thumbs in his pockets. They didn’t use first names; hearing his parents say ‘Ilya’ would surely get under his skin. Ilya grinned to himself.
“So, Ilya,” Yuna said, well-trained at making conversation with anyone, “do they do brunch in Russia? It didn’t really become popular here until, oh, twenty years ago or so. But now almost every restaurant offers it on the weekends.”
From there Ilya and Yuna and David talked easily about meals and etiquette and social rules. Ilya told comical stories about having to go to comportment classes so he wouldn’t embarrass his family in case he became a famous hockey player. He joked about having to walk around with books on his head, but stopped short of demonstrating with the menus. He knew he was being charming and delightful and he could feel Shane’s parents warming to him. He was having a marvelous time and at first he enjoyed Shane’s discomfort.
Shane watched Ilya closely, like he was some bright and colorful but possibly venomous creature. Ah, Ilya thought, he doesn’t know how hard I’ve trained to be a good son. I’ll show him. And it will be easier than with my own father, because your parents are the opposite of him. Yours clearly like me for who I am, and don’t like me for the things I only pretend to be.
Shane barely talked at first. He followed the conversation and smiled at the right times, but barely looked at his parents and always dropped his eyes when Ilya looked at him. Ilya started to feel bad for him; he’d walked into this situation with uncharacteristic bravery and now had to live through it. From wanting to tease him at first, now Ilya wanted to save him. He wanted Hollander to have a good time with him, to laugh and feel happy here, together, in this beautiful restaurant, with his parents smiling at them both.
So he reached out and tapped his foot with his own. Shane flinched and pulled away at first, and Ilya felt his heart catch. Too much?
But then he saw Shane take a deep breath and his foot came back to touch Ilya’s. Ilya caressed that foot with his own and was rewarded by a tiny hint of a smile. Yes.
Then Shane joined the conversation.
“You know, Mom, Ilya was asking about help getting sponsorships. I figured you’re the expert so maybe you have some advice.”
Ilya almost dropped his fork.
Ilya.
Ilya.
He called me Ilya. To his mom.
Shane gave him a sly look and Ilya almost burst out laughing, or maybe he was going to cry. The past twelve hours had been insane—from incredible sex to sleepy snuggles to Shane-fucking-Hollander asking his MOM to help *Ilya* get sponsorship deals.
This rivalry was something else. And Ilya was falling in love with every insane aspect of it.
Yuna handed him a piece of paper. “Give me your agent’s contact and your phone number,” she said, “and tell me what kinds of sponsorships you want. I already have some ideas…”
Yuna was smart and relentless and she and Ilya were immediately swept up in planning. Ilya noticed Shane and his dad talking quietly together and smiling at him and Yuna, and his heart skipped a beat. It took all his willpower not to reach out and grab Shane’s hand…and not to run away screaming with panic.
But at eleven thirty his phone began blowing up with messages from Marleau and from his agent about luggage and the rescheduled flight back to Boston.
“I am so sorry,” he said to the group, “but I have to go. My new flight is in three hours; I totally forgot.”
“Go, go,” Yuna said, “the airport is going to be a mess. Call Shane if you miss your flight.”
“I will pay for brunch,” Ilya said, getting up and putting a hand on the back of Shane’s chair.
“No, no,” Yuna scolded. “My treat. When I get you a sponsorship you can take us out to brunch at the All-Star game or something.”
Ilya laughed. “This is a deal. Thank you again.”
Ilya shook hands around the table, including with Shane.
“Thank you for saving me from the hail, Shane,” Ilya said, giving his hand a warm squeeze. Shane’s eyes widened at the use of his first name. Gotcha, Ilya thought.
The next second, Hollander got him right back.
“Yeah, well, hockey would be pretty boring if my biggest rival died in a plane crash,” Shane said in a shockingly calm voice, considering that he was holding Ilya’s hand in public. Ilya didn’t feel nearly as calm as Shane looked.
Dropping his hand, Ilya gave a sideways grin and said, “Ah, so you would miss me.”
“Wouldn’t want to live without you,” Shane said flatly, and now it was Ilya’s turn to go wide-eyed.
Desperate to appear nonchalant, Ilya nodded briskly and turned away.
“See you in a few weeks, Hollander,” he tossed over his shoulder, and then walked out of the restaurant and into the taxi and onto the airplane and back to his house…where he hugged himself in Shane’s shirt and screamed “fuck you Shane Hollander” and “why are you perfect” and “holy shit make it stop” and “fuck you never let me go” into his pillow.