Chapter Text
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were clutching hands over the center console, white-knuckled, as the airport came into view. It looked severe and sterile and exposed. There were still woods to their right, and Shane turned the car in that direction abruptly, almost recklessly, where the grass thinned and the trees gapped. He needed another minute with Ilya in private, before their surroundings were all harsh concrete and unfiltered August sun.
“Shane,” Ilya said, as they pulled into the dappled gloom.
When he thought they were sufficiently hidden, Shane threw the car in park and turned towards his boyfriend. “I just needed…” He reached up and gently pulled off Ilya’s sunglasses—his eyes were red from crying. Shane gently wiped at the tears collecting in the corners then pulled him into a desperate kiss. “I love you. And I’m gonna miss you so, so much, Ilya. But we have a plan, and we’re gonna be okay.”
“I know,” Ilya said and crushed his forehead against Shane’s, the snaps of his ball cap pressing a pattern across Shane’s brow. “I love you too.” Ilya closed his eyes. “Fuck. I did not think this was going to be so hard,” he whispered and then laughed nervously at himself.
Shane rubbed the back of Ilya’s neck. “Why would you? We’ve been apart more than we’ve been together.” Saying that out loud made Shane’s eyes sting—the sad, hollow truth of it. “Do you regret staying? Did that make it worse?”
Ilya pulled back and sniffled. “Of course not.” He grazed Shane’s cheek with his thumb and Shane sighed about it. “I mean, maybe it made it worse, I don’t know. But I don’t regret it. I would never regret it.”
Two days before Ilya’s scheduled departure, they started dancing around the idea of extending their stay at the cottage. Who had what obligations, what could be moved and to when. After Ilya’s goodbyes with Yuna and David (and a promise from them to leave Shane and Ilya alone for their final days), they had taken to putting their phones on silent and abandoning them, shutting the world out completely. Which meant that when Shane finally grabbed his phone to start investigating his calendar and new flights for Ilya in earnest, he was startled by a dozen texts from his mom. “Oh, fuck.” He threw Ilya his phone. “My mom is saying they’re talking about a potential lockout.”
Ilya cancelled his flight immediately and Shane called his mother. They bought an extra week, and that week was about to expire.
“Good,” Shane said softly. “I don’t regret it either.” He checked his watch. “We have some time. We can stay here for a bit,” he said while leaning into Ilya, the last word swallowed by their kiss. It was sloppy and juvenile—too much spit and too many teeth, devouring and unabashed.
Ilya’s hands were around Shane’s waist, trying to pull him closer than the front seat of a car would allow. “Get in the back seat, Hollander,” he said.
Ilya Rozanov wasn’t crying anymore, and Shane quickly moved through his own anxious thoughts (being late, being out in the open) to do as he was told.
They opened the rear doors in unison, leading with their outstretched hands, seeking each other before their bodies had breached the space. Shane touched Ilya’s wrist and tee shirt and mouth in that order.
Ilya pushed Shane up against the car door and started rubbing the front of his shorts. “I am sorry about last night,” he murmured into Shane’s mouth. “Let me make it up to you.”
“Hey. Hey.” Shane held Ilya’s face and steadied it in front of his own. “You don’t have to apologize. And you don’t have to make anything up to me.”
Ilya’s eyes danced. “Oh. So you don’t want blowjob, then?”
Shane smiled. “Of course I do. But it’s not owed. It’s never owed.”
Ilya’s eyes softened and he nodded. He kissed Shane’s forehead and cheek and neck. Shane let his head thump back against the window and watched his boyfriend rearrange his giant limbs in the backseat of a car. He felt like a teenager for a minute. Or what he assumed other teenagers felt like when he was a teenager. Teenage Shane Hollander was not getting rushed blow jobs in cars in the woods and even if he had, he probably would not have enjoyed it.
Being gay was surely a huge part of it, the majority, the biggest piece of the pie, but there was something else. Shane Hollander had never known desire outside of Ilya Rozanov. It was more than just learning the joy of sex. It was a craving for another person, the type of need where a glimpse of the moles on Ilya’s stomach or the flex of a tiny muscle in his jaw could send Shane’s heart and dick into convulsions. Where catching Ilya’s scent, not his hair product or his cologne (though that too), but the natural aroma of Ilya Rozanov, the smell of his skin, could make Shane dizzy. It’s been true since Shane was 19, but he spent all those years in between waiting to catch this feeling in another direction: guy, girl, fictional character, inanimate object. But it never happened.
There was only Ilya, or Not Ilya.
There was only Ilya or withdrawal.
The object of his desire planted another messy kiss on his lips and said, “Talk to me, Shane. And tell me when you’re going to come. I will know, but I want to hear you say it, please.”
Ilya moved down and backed up, as much as his long legs would allow. He freed Shane’s dick from his shorts and turned his sea-glass eyes up, staring him down as he licked before fully taking Shane in his mouth.
The sight of it made Shane whimper. He put a hand on top of Ilya’s head (his hat was still on and the curls were out of reach, but Shane liked this too—he wanted to pass a note to his 15-year old self that said I know you’re confused now but don’t worry, one day the hot jock of your dreams will blow you in the backseat of your sensible car) and shoved the other down the back of his shirt, needing to feel Ilya’s skin because he couldn’t smell it. “Fuck, you look so good like that, Ilya, you have the best mouth, your lips are fucking perfect. You look so fucking hot sucking my dick. I can’t wait until I can see this every day I love you so much—” Shane’s mind was starting to melt. He felt laughably close already. If he closed his eyes he might last a few minutes longer, but he wouldn’t. Buying a few minutes was not worth the price of missing Ilya’s hollowed-out cheeks. “ —I can’t look at you without getting hard it’s fucking embarrassing and I love it and I love you and—” Ilya started moaning and Shane could feel it through his entire body. “ —Shit howdoyoudothistomesofast, I’m gonna come.” He grabbed onto the headrest for support, leaving half-moon indentations that would linger. He’d check on them later, after Ilya was gone, to see if any sign of them still remained.
Shane had barely recovered before his boyfriend was back up and kissing him. Ilya grabbed Shane’s chin and slowly shook it back and forth, forcing Shane into a “No.” “You are wrong. You do not have my view when you’re sucking my cock. You are the one with the perfect lips.” He kissed Shane slowly, hotly. “Show me.” He pulled Shane’s lower lip with his teeth.
Shane let himself be pulled. Ilya Rozanov could hook a finger in his mouth and drag him around all day like he was a prize catch and Shane Hollander would allow it. He was caught.
Now Ilya was up against the door on the passenger side and Shane kissed down his chest and settled between his bent legs. He kissed Ilya through his pants before pulling them down. Despite not having time, Shane Hollander took his. After their mismatched moods last night, Shane wanted to relish this. He licked from the base up, slowly. He swirled his tongue over the tip. If Ilya wanted to see Shane’s perfect lips in action, he would oblige.
“Fuck, Shay,” Ilya exhaled. Shane smiled while he worked. “Shay” had been an accident, an interruption by orgasm, that Ilya adopted immediately and that Shane responded to like a shelter dog receiving a new name in his Forever Home: tongue-out and slobbering.
Shay sounded like an incantation, a whispered prayer.
As Shane wrapped those lips around Ilya, he felt both Ilya’s hands in his hair, pushing him down and holding him in place. “I wish you could see what I see. Your lips were made for my dick.”
Despite being held down and choking on his boyfriend, Shane nodded as enthusiastically as he could. Yes, this is exactly what my lips were made for.
Every time Shane took him deeper, Ilya’s hips bucked up. His eyes watered but he would never be able to go deep enough—Shane wanted to feel Ilya's cock in his chest. Shane wanted Ilya to come all over his heart.
Ilya started murmuring in Russian and his thrusts got faster. Shane caught an “I love you” in there. He wrapped his arms around Ilya’s thighs for support.
Ilya Rozanov quietly started panting Shane’s name and Shane was thrilled to be exactly here—in a car, in the daylight, where anyone could find them. They all thought Shane was made for hockey, but really he was made for this. Shane wanted everyone to see what he was actually best at, which was reducing Ilya Rozanov to a groaning, growling, humping animal.
Ilya was about to explode and Shane was so proud, every time, that he wished he could hang Ilya’s orgasms on the fridge and show them off. He wanted to assemble magnetic poetry about them.
Ilya made one final thrust up and push down and graffitied the back of Shane’s throat. Property of Ilya Rozanov. Shane moaned at the feel of it. He moaned at Ilya’s moan. He squeezed Ilya’s thighs. Ilya.
Shane slowly pulled off, sat up and licked his lips. Ilya was breathing heavily and laughing.
“What?” Shane asked, momentarily self-conscious.
Ilya leaned forward and brushed Shane’s lips with his thumb before putting his palms to either side of Shane’s jaw and massaging. “Jesus, Hollander. You thought it was a good time for some deep throat action? We’re on the clock.” His eyes were sparkling.
“Shut up,” he said loosely, letting Ilya work his stretched jaw. “AND it didn’t take you very long. AND you started it.”
“Ah, no, I did no such thing.”
Shane playfully batted away one of Ilya’s hands, pinched his side and fell on him laughing. “Liar. Liar. What were you saying?”
“When?”
“In Russian.”
“We should go,” Ilya said lightly and started sitting up, wrestling Shane off of him, looking mischievous.
“Wait, wait. Fine. I’m putting a very brief pin in that so I can…” and Shane kissed his boyfriend, here, under the trees, for the last time for a while. If the dispute was resolved soon, they likely wouldn’t see each other until October. Ilya’s thumbs were rubbing his ears. Their noses brushed as their kiss switched directions, then switched back. “I’m gonna miss you a lot.”
“And I am going to miss you a lot. And getting deep throated at moment’s notice.”
“Asshole,” Shane said but he was smiling. “Let’s go.”
A chorus of car doors. The chime and rustle of pants and shorts being readjusted. The brush of hats and hair getting smoothed. A car door refrain.
Back in the front, Ilya slid his sunglasses on and put his hand on Shane’s thigh.
“Ready?” Shane asked. Shane was not ready but it was happening regardless.
“I mean, not really, but.”
Shane backed the car up slowly and wheeled back onto the road. Once they were moving again, he said, “So? Please tell me what you were saying in Russian. I heard 'I love you.'”
Ilya side-eyed him and smirked. “Of course you did. What does it matter? Do you think I was talking bad about you while my dick was in your mouth?”
“It doesn’t, and no, of course not. But. I don’t know. I’m not trying to invade your privacy or anything. I just spent literal years not knowing what was going on in your head and now I guess I just want to know it all.” He shrugged. He didn’t have a better explanation. He'd become hyperfixated on Ilya's Russian since their conversation in the laundry room. An entire world existed within Ilya that Shane did not have access to and he wanted in. Maybe there were things it would be easier for Ilya to talk about, express in his native tongue. “When I learn Russian, it's OVER for you, Rozanov.”
“Hey,” Ilya said softly and rocked Shane’s leg a bit. “I am just giving you a hard time. Of course I will tell you. I said I loved you. I said you were beautiful. And I said I wished you could blow me and dirty talk me at the same time. Would be perfect.”
Shane beamed and blushed. He gave Ilya’s shoulder a playful shove. “I never should have opened my stupid, horny mouth.”
“Hey, whoa. Don’t ever say that.” Ilya looked dramatically aghast. “Discovering that filthy mouth is one of my top 5 greatest accomplishments.” Ilya started counting off on his fingers. “It goes winning the cup, winning the cup before you, taking your gay virginity, fucking you so good you babble a bunch of smut at me, and finally beating Marleau at air hockey. He's a fucking beast.”
Shane knew he absolutely should not take this bit seriously, but he found himself choked up.
“What, why do you look serious?” Ilya asked.
“I’m three of your five greatest accomplishments?”
Ilya was quiet. “Four. Beating Marleau doesn't compare to getting your room number first time, but I thought I was starting to sound corny and obsessed with you.”
Shane grinned despite the tears filling his eyes. He realized, not for the first time, but apparently he needed to keep realizing it before it fully sunk in, that he was Ilya’s most important person. It made him briefly, involuntarily, shake his head in disbelief. It felt like a privilege to know and understand this, and it was a privilege he didn’t take lightly. “You are obsessed with me! You can admit it, I think it’s safe now.”
“Oh admitting that is easy, I am 100% obsessed with you. Corny, I can’t deal with though.”
“I’m surprised the draft isn’t on your list. You love to remind me you went first.”
“Eh.”
“Eh what?”
“Eh, I really think it could have gone either way and eh, I think we ended up on the right teams, and eh, it wasn’t something I had a lot of control over. So, eh. You giving up your room number, much bigger accomplishment.”
Shane pulled into an airport parking lot. They had decided together against the stress and chaos of the Departures lane so they could sit and hold hands and stare at each other as long as they could before Ilya had to go. Their trip to the backseat had cut into the allotted staring time, but Shane wouldn’t trade it.
He was surprised at how light he felt compared to even an hour ago but knew he shouldn’t be surprised at all. As he suspected, they needed to fuck each other through it and last night they just couldn’t. get. it. together.
He parked as far away from other cars as he could. He turned his whole body to face Ilya and Ilya mirrored him. They held hands.
“Shay. This sucks and I love you and I’m going to miss you.” He squeezed a pulse into Shane’s hand.
“This definitely sucks and I love you and I’m going to miss you, Eel.” Shane sent the pulse back.
One afternoon on the couch, while scrolling their phones during their brief, daily screentime, Ilya broke the silence by asking, “Did you know moray eels have two sets of teeth?”
“What? What are you reading?” Shane had stretched his neck up, trying to see what Ilya was looking at.
“I don’t know how I got here, but I’m reading about moray eels. Did you know they have two sets of teeth? Not two rows of teeth but two completely separate jaws with teeth.”
“I did not. Why? Like, what’s its function?”
“The first set traps its prey. The second set kind of, like, shoots out and bites it.”
Shane’s eyes got wide. A joke popped into his head that was so un-Shane-Hollander-like and so Ilya-Rozanov-like that a laugh practically barked out of him.
“What, I thought it was a fun fact,” Ilya said. Shane giggled uncontrollably. “Whaaat, Shay, what’s so funny?”
Shane dislodged himself from where he was pinned between Ilya and the couch to climb on top of him. “It’s just like you,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“Excuse me?”
“Your face trapped me and your dick shot out and bit me.” Shane Hollander couldn’t stop laughing, and the look on Ilya Rozanov’s face was a mixture of shock, awe, and pride. “I’m your prey. Eel-ya Rozanov.”
They wrestled. They made out. They fucked. Eel stuck.
Back in the car, Ilya asked, “Which are you going to miss more, my face or my dick?”
“Honestly, Eel, it’s a toss up.” Shane popped the trunk and it sounded like a warning shot. “Okay. Remember, you can call me when you get through security. If you want.”
Ilya picked up Shane’s hand and kissed it. “I will want.” He let go and opened the door.
Shane held his breath. There was only Ilya, or Not Ilya. There was only Ilya or withdrawal.
Shane Hollander braced for tremors.
He jumped at the sound of Ilya slamming the trunk, and then Ilya’s face was at his window. He tapped it slowly even though Shane was looking right at him. Shane rolled it down and asked, “Can I help you, sir?” and Ilya Rozanov was on him, holding his head, kissing his lips. Half of his body was through the window, pushing Shane up against the seat and obscuring his face. Shane held the taste of him in his lungs.
Ilya broke the kiss, grazed Shane’s freckles one more time, and said, “...bye.”
“Bye.” But Shane wasn’t sure any sound came out. Ilya was gone.
Shane Hollander rested his head on the steering wheel and exhaled slowly. He was feeling about 10 different emotions at once, and one of those was grateful—grateful that every day he learned he had the capacity for a new feeling, and the ability to hold a bunch of those feelings inside at once even when they contradicted each other.
He felt fucking sad about being apart from Ilya and his chest was heavy with it, but happy that he was in love, and that he knew without a doubt he was loved back.
He also felt scared about being exposed which could lead to being reviled which could lead to hockey being an unwelcome place for him and/or Ilya which could lead to a fracture between them which could lead…Shane Hollander was spiraling.
Then there was the anger. He was angry that the world and society and sports and hockey weren’t just a little bit different. But that just led to anger at himself for not being a little bit different, for not yet having the courage to show everyone the truth. Which led to guilt. Because every time he looked at Ilya, he thought how can I keep hiding this? Ilya Rozanov does not deserve to be a secret.
His love and need for Ilya Rozanov was starting to tip the scales, and fear was slowly being left in the rearview.
Shane took another breath and reminded himself of a few things, that he'd been repeating to himself and to Ilya for days:
- Even if they could come out to nothing but quiet support, they’d still be separated because they play for different teams in different cities. This distance exists even in their current best case scenario.
- They were in this together now.
- There was still a benefit to hiding: they had more time to build their relationship alone, without the world’s eyes on them.
Another feeling was awe. Awe at the fact that he could know someone for so long, love someone for so long, and also feel like everything was brand new.
Shane sat up and turned around, inspecting his headrest for any sign of his nail marks. They weren’t there anymore, but he could still imagine the ghost of where they'd been.
Next he opened his glovebox and pulled out a crossword puzzle book. He didn’t intend on leaving the airport until Ilya was airborne. Just in case.
The call came when he was halfway through his first puzzle. Ilya. It had only been 20 minutes.
Shane almost dropped the phone in his rush to answer. “Hi, that was fast.”
“Can you turn around? My flight was cancelled.”
“What?”
“My flight was cancelled. Issue with whole airline. They are working to rebook everyone right now but it won’t be tonight. I’d rather be with you than stuck here.”
“I’m still here, I’m still right where you left me.” Shane’s heart was pounding.
Ilya was silent for a moment. “Oh. Okey. I need to make some calls and cancel some other bullshit tomorrow. I will be out when I get rebooked. I don’t know how long it will be.”
“Okay. However long it takes. I’ll be here.”
Ilya said “I love you” in Russian and hung up.
Shane felt drunk. He dialed his mother.