ILYA
It's past ten o'clock when they arrive back at his place. Ilya is bone tired as well as mentally exhausted from the rollercoaster of a day. He'd quite happily discard all his clothes and drag Shane straight into bed, wrap himself around him and burrow into the sheets and not move again until the next morning. He won't even mind not having sex, he is that tired.
Shane, on the other hand, is wired. Ilya knows all too well that Shane's mind is still in overtime, still running circles around every conversation they had with every single person tonight. Shane's brain needs time to process and decompress, time to cool down. Especially after something as big as tonight.
So instead of heading straight for the bedroom, Ilya walks into the living room and grabs the remote control from the coffee table. "You wanna watch a game?"
Having hung up both their coats in the coat closet, Shane follows him at first but then takes a detour into the kitchen. "Yeah, sounds good," he says over his shoulder. "You want another drink? I'm making some herbal tea."
Ilya grimaces. He's flicking through the on-demand menu until he finds a replay of one the latest fixtures and presses play. There will be plenty of pre-game talk and interviews to allow them to change into something more comfortable and sort out their drinks. "Can of Coke, please?" he calls back. He's definitely not drinking any of Shane's heals-everything-except-broken-socks concoction. He chucks the remote onto the sofa and heads to the bedroom to change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.
The electric kettle in the kitchen is still going when he comes back into the living room, but he finds a cold can of Coke sitting on one of the coasters on the coffee table. The lights have been dimmed, and the footstool has been moved closer to the sofa. In the kitchen, the kettle cuts off. Shane is puttering around the house somewhere. Ilya hears the downstairs toilet being flushed and the tap being turned on, then back off before the bathroom door clicks open. He hears Shane jog up the stairs and disappear into the bedroom.
By the time Shane comes back down in sweats and a hoodie, Ilya has finished making Shane's tea and lit the fire in the big fancy fireplace in the corner.
"What are we watching?" Shane asks. He flops down on the sofa and puts his feet up on the footstool.
"Boston-New York." Ilya places Shane's mug on another coaster on the coffee table, close enough for Shane to be able to reach it from where he's sitting.
"Thanks." Shane smiles. He looks tired but not unhappy. He pats the cushion next to him and Ilya doesn't have to be asked twice. Taking up almost the entirety of the rest of the sofa, he lies down and rests his head on Shane's lap. Shane's brain might still be online, but Ilya's is closer to an endorphin induced coma than anything functional so he might as well be prepared to fall asleep.
"Boston lost that one, didn't they?" Shane asks.
"Yes, but was a good game. Would've been better if I was still there."
Shane chuckles. "Of course it would."
This is good. This is safe. They know the score already, so they can watch without the emotional up and down that comes with anticipating a winner. Of having to choose a side. It's just hockey. They both went so far out of their comfort zone today, they both need something safe.
They do have to talk. But right now, Ilya is way past the point of putting his feelings into words, never mind into the right order. And he probably needs Galina's help for that. He and Shane jumped in with a big splash tonight and those usually cause ripples. He is of no illusion that there won't be repercussions.
He might have to start with telling Shane about Galina, but the 'Hey-I'm-seeing-a-therapist' conversation can wait for another day.
"Is Marlow back from his injury?" Shane asks as he reaches for his tea.
"Da. Been back a couple of weeks now, I think."
"Cool."
The game gets underway, and Ilya soon is pulled into the comfort of sharing space with Shane. It's warm and peaceful, speckled with nothing but the occasional comment about a sick pass or a particular hard hit on screen.
He must have fallen asleep, as he wakes to Shane running his fingers through Ilya's hair, his fingernails gently scraping over his scalp. It makes Ilya's skin tingle, spreading like liquid honey over his head and down his spine. It feels incredible. His body goes taut as it wants to cat-stretch into every possible direction all at once, but then the tension dissipates just as quickly, and he lets out a long sigh as he sinks even deeper into the cushions of the sofa.
Shane chuckles softly, giving Ilya's hair the lightest of tug. Ilya closes his eyes and hums at the divine pull on his scalp, then opens them again so he can look at Shane. Shane's face is bathed in flickers of lights from the TV and the fireplace, but Shane doesn't pay attention to either, his gaze soft and content, and solely focus on Ilya.
Ilya smiles. "You okay?"
"Mm-hmm." Shane smiles back. He looks just as blissed out as Ilya feels as he gently brushes a stray lock from Ilya's forehead.
Ilya wants to close his eyes but can't bear the thought of letting Shane out of his sight. This feels so good, and big, and them, and Ilya doesn't want to miss of single moment of it.
"Today was good," Shane says.
Ilya's breath hitches. "It was."
Shane reaches for Ilya's hand and brings it up to his lips to press a soft kiss to Ilya's palm. "I love you."
Ilya couldn't look away if he wanted to. "I love you too."
It feels raw. Exhilarating. Almost too good to be true, especially when only earlier today, Ilya didn't think he would find a way out, or forward, or even sideways. When he felt so unbearably alone and thought his heart was going to break for good.
But Shane came back. And on top of that, Ilya now has someone else who knows about them. And not just one person. His friends, and God, he hopes they'll be Shane's friends too at some point in the future, because he genuinely loves that bunch, but right now they are hisfriends. He might even be able to bring Shane to other socials again. Possibly not when the whole team is there, but he won't have to decline anymore, when Wyatt and Lisa invite him over for dinner on a night Shane is with him. Or he won't have to make up a story when Troy or Luca ask him about his weekends.
The whole idea is still a little foreign and so fucking fragile, but God, he hopes that it all holds up. That Shane hasn't sacrificed too much tonight. That neither of them will regret this come the morning.
Shane still hasn't taken his eyes off him. The sensation of Shane's fingers against his scalp is still delicious, and with his free hand, Ilya reaches over his head and tangles his finger in the fabric of Shane's sleeve. His whole body vibrates with something warm that can only be longing, and suddenly, Ilya wants nothing more than for Shane to touch him.
He swallows hard and squeezes Shane's hand. "Can you touch me?" It's merely a whisper, but the corner of Shane's mouth twitches. He's heard him.
Shane raises an eyebrow. He extracts his hand from Ilya's and places it over Ilya's pec. He splays his fingers, then, using his thumb, teases the fabric of Ilya's t-shirt over his nipple. "You mean here?"
Ilya half moans, half laughs. This is a conversation they know how to have. "Asshole."
Shane smirks. He holds Ilya's gaze and runs his hand further down Ilya's body until it comes to rest near the waistband of his sweats. All still agonisingly above the layer of Ilya's shirt. "Here?"
"No," Ilya breathes, because he knows what it does to Shane when his voice goes all husky and needy. He decides to take matters into his own hands and slowly pulls up the hem of his shirt until, finally — finally — the barrier is gone and Shane's fingers are touching his skin. Warm and tingling and so close to where Ilya wants them.
"Show me," Shane says.
Ilya feels drunk with how quickly his blood seems to rush from his head into his groin. He's loose and hard, and hot and cold; he wants to bury his face in the warmth and softness of Shane's hoodie, crawl into it with him until there is nothing left between them.
Shane looks just as dazed, his smile drowsy. He doesn't take his eyes off Ilya's, not once, when he starts teasing the skin around Ilya's happy trail with one hand while he continues to massage Ilya's scalp with the other.
Ilya's vision blurs as his eyelids grow heavy.
"Show me," Shane whispers, again.
It's like wading through molasses, but Ilya's hands finally find his own waistband, and he manages to lift his hips and pull his sweats and briefs down over his ass. The rush of air on his skin does nothing to calm his body, never mind what is going on between his legs, but when Shane's hands suddenly disappear from both, Ilya's stomach and his head, he feels like he's been stripped naked.
The panic of exposure only lasts a few seconds, and then Shane's hands are back. Gentle fingers run through his hair, and then he finally touches Ilya where Ilya wants him.
Ilya gasps, hips jolting. Shane has wrapped his hand around Ilya's length, warm and wet, almost too loose, and Ilya wants to tell him to stop teasing but also to keep going, and where the fuck did Shane find the lube? Then Shane starts moving and Ilya almost cries out.
It's all too much. Too good. The sensation of the gentle drag and pull on his hair, the heat building up in his groin. The way Shane watches as Ilya's mouth falls open, his breathing growing ragged, then louder still. His senses are on fire, and he can't take his eyes of Shane, can't look away, because if he does, it might all just disappear, and he can't let that happen, he can't—
"It's okay," Shane murmurs, his voice as soothing as the gentle touch against the shell of Ilya's ear. Shane is hard too, the fabric of his sweats straining against Ilya's cheek. And yet Shane just watches, pupils dark and blown but grounding, as he takes Ilya apart with his hands. "Baby, it's okay. Let go."
Baby.
Ilya unravels. Let's go in a way he hasn't for a long time, arching, legs restless, writhing. He clings to the sleeves of Shane's hoodie with clenched fists, holding on for dear life. Shane's hand speeds up around his length, and Shane doesn't use endearments, and Shane's eyes are just as hooded as Ilya's, and Ilya still can't look away. The pleasure hits him with such force, he comes with a cry, hot and hard, his whole body growing taut, tumbling into whiteness as he spills onto his stomach.
The burn in his groin is delicious. For a moment he feels completely weightless. Free. Safe. When the high ebbs away, Shane is smiling down at him, his hand placed over Ilya's racing heart, rising and falling with the up and down of Ilya's chest.
Loved.
It's pure bliss. Ilya sucks in a deep breath and buries his face against Shane's hoodie, revelling in how it smells of fresh laundry detergent but also of Shane. Of home. With a long sigh, he nuzzles against Shane's belly.
Something damp touches his chin and he flinches, shifts slightly so he can see what it is. He smirks and raises a teasing eyebrow when he realises Shane has come in his own pants.
Shane just grins and shrugs. "I can't help it. You're hot."
Ilya laughs and then has to stretch again because apparently his body is not quite over what just happened as it wants to lock up in another wave of pleasure.
"Feels good?" Shane asks quietly, gently stroking Ilya's hair again.
"Hm-mmm." Ilya closes his eyes and burrows back into Shane's lap. He feels heavy and sated. He could quite happily fall asleep like this, even with his pants pulled down and his come drying on his skin.
"Don't fall asleep," Shane chuckles. "We need to shower."
"In a minute," Ilya mumbles. He clumsily pulls his sweats back up over his ass. They have all night. And tomorrow morning. And the rest of their lives, hopefully.
On the TV, the third period is about to start. The score is 3 – 2 for the Admirals already, which is what the game finished on. Ilya must have dozed off pretty swiftly earlier because he didn't catch any of the goals. Apart from Scott Hunter's, which was shown on every News reel on the actual night of the game.
"I had fun tonight," Shane suddenly says.
Ilya turns his head so he can look at his boyfriend. He's still afraid they will regret what they did tonight, but when he meets Shane's eyes, he finds an unusual calmness in them that he hasn't witnessed very often before. Maybe even only once, the day they had said "I love you" to each other for the first time.
"They are nice guys," Shane continues. "Even Troy Barrett."
Ilya snorts. "He was too busy making heart eyes at Harris to be an asshole. But yes. Even he is nice. And also gay."
Shane laughs at that. "He's very different from what I expected. To be honest, they all are."
Ilya watches Shane curiously. "You're not panicking." It's a statement, rather than a question.
"Oh, I will be," Shane assures him with a smirk. "Most definitely. But not tonight." Then he shifts and nudges Ilya to get moving. "Come on. Shower. We know there are no more goals, anyway."
Ilya grumbles in mock-offence but pushes himself up and reaches for the remote control. His can of Coke still sits unopened on the coffee table, but he ignores it as he switches off the TV and pulls Shane with him towards the stairs.
They just came out to eight more people tonight. Actually, nine, because Hazy will definitely tell Lisa. And if nine people can accept and be normal about Ilya Rozanov being in love with Shane Hollander, maybe someday the rest of the world can too. Not all of them will, he knows that, but for tonight he'll keep believing they might.
He undresses on the way through the bedroom and follows Shane into the shower. They can panic together tomorrow.
Not tonight. Tonight, it is just him and Shane, and the rest of the world can fuck off.
ILYA
It's past ten o'clock when they arrive back at his place. Ilya is bone tired as well as mentally exhausted from the rollercoaster of a day. He'd quite happily discard all his clothes and drag Shane straight into bed, wrap himself around him and burrow into the sheets and not move again until the next morning. He won't even mind not having sex, he is that tired.
Shane, on the other hand, is wired. Ilya knows all too well that Shane's mind is still in overtime, still running circles around every conversation they had with every single person tonight. Shane's brain needs time to process and decompress, time to cool down. Especially after something as big as tonight.
So instead of heading straight for the bedroom, Ilya walks into the living room and grabs the remote control from the coffee table. "You wanna watch a game?"
Having hung up both their coats in the coat closet, Shane follows him at first but then takes a detour into the kitchen. "Yeah, sounds good," he says over his shoulder. "You want another drink? I'm making some herbal tea."
Ilya grimaces. He's flicking through the on-demand menu until he finds a replay of one the latest fixtures and presses play. There will be plenty of pre-game talk and interviews to allow them to change into something more comfortable and sort out their drinks. "Can of Coke, please?" he calls back. He's definitely not drinking any of Shane's heals-everything-except-broken-socks concoction. He chucks the remote onto the sofa and heads to the bedroom to change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.
The electric kettle in the kitchen is still going when he comes back into the living room, but he finds a cold can of Coke sitting on one of the coasters on the coffee table. The lights have been dimmed, and the footstool has been moved closer to the sofa. In the kitchen, the kettle cuts off. Shane is puttering around the house somewhere. Ilya hears the downstairs toilet being flushed and the tap being turned on, then back off before the bathroom door clicks open. He hears Shane jog up the stairs and disappear into the bedroom.
By the time Shane comes back down in sweats and a hoodie, Ilya has finished making Shane's tea and lit the fire in the big fancy fireplace in the corner.
"What are we watching?" Shane asks. He flops down on the sofa and puts his feet up on the footstool.
"Boston-New York." Ilya places Shane's mug on another coaster on the coffee table, close enough for Shane to be able to reach it from where he's sitting.
"Thanks." Shane smiles. He looks tired but not unhappy. He pats the cushion next to him and Ilya doesn't have to be asked twice. Taking up almost the entirety of the rest of the sofa, he lies down and rests his head on Shane's lap. Shane's brain might still be online, but Ilya's is closer to an endorphin induced coma than anything functional so he might as well be prepared to fall asleep.
"Boston lost that one, didn't they?" Shane asks.
"Yes, but was a good game. Would've been better if I was still there."
Shane chuckles. "Of course it would."
This is good. This is safe. They know the score already, so they can watch without the emotional up and down that comes with anticipating a winner. Of having to choose a side. It's just hockey. They both went so far out of their comfort zone today, they both need something safe.
They do have to talk. But right now, Ilya is way past the point of putting his feelings into words, never mind into the right order. And he probably needs Galina's help for that. He and Shane jumped in with a big splash tonight and those usually cause ripples. He is of no illusion that there won't be repercussions.
He might have to start with telling Shane about Galina, but the 'Hey-I'm-seeing-a-therapist' conversation can wait for another day.
"Is Marlow back from his injury?" Shane asks as he reaches for his tea.
"Da. Been back a couple of weeks now, I think."
"Cool."
The game gets underway, and Ilya soon is pulled into the comfort of sharing space with Shane. It's warm and peaceful, speckled with nothing but the occasional comment about a sick pass or a particular hard hit on screen.
He must have fallen asleep, as he wakes to Shane running his fingers through Ilya's hair, his fingernails gently scraping over his scalp. It makes Ilya's skin tingle, spreading like liquid honey over his head and down his spine. It feels incredible. His body goes taut as it wants to cat-stretch into every possible direction all at once, but then the tension dissipates just as quickly, and he lets out a long sigh as he sinks even deeper into the cushions of the sofa.
Shane chuckles softly, giving Ilya's hair the lightest of tug. Ilya closes his eyes and hums at the divine pull on his scalp, then opens them again so he can look at Shane. Shane's face is bathed in flickers of lights from the TV and the fireplace, but Shane doesn't pay attention to either, his gaze soft and content, and solely focus on Ilya.
Ilya smiles. "You okay?"
"Mm-hmm." Shane smiles back. He looks just as blissed out as Ilya feels as he gently brushes a stray lock from Ilya's forehead.
Ilya wants to close his eyes but can't bear the thought of letting Shane out of his sight. This feels so good, and big, and them, and Ilya doesn't want to miss of single moment of it.
"Today was good," Shane says.
Ilya's breath hitches. "It was."
Shane reaches for Ilya's hand and brings it up to his lips to press a soft kiss to Ilya's palm. "I love you."
Ilya couldn't look away if he wanted to. "I love you too."
It feels raw. Exhilarating. Almost too good to be true, especially when only earlier today, Ilya didn't think he would find a way out, or forward, or even sideways. When he felt so unbearably alone and thought his heart was going to break for good.
But Shane came back. And on top of that, Ilya now has someone else who knows about them. And not just one person. His friends, and God, he hopes they'll be Shane's friends too at some point in the future, because he genuinely loves that bunch, but right now they are hisfriends. He might even be able to bring Shane to other socials again. Possibly not when the whole team is there, but he won't have to decline anymore, when Wyatt and Lisa invite him over for dinner on a night Shane is with him. Or he won't have to make up a story when Troy or Luca ask him about his weekends.
The whole idea is still a little foreign and so fucking fragile, but God, he hopes that it all holds up. That Shane hasn't sacrificed too much tonight. That neither of them will regret this come the morning.
Shane still hasn't taken his eyes off him. The sensation of Shane's fingers against his scalp is still delicious, and with his free hand, Ilya reaches over his head and tangles his finger in the fabric of Shane's sleeve. His whole body vibrates with something warm that can only be longing, and suddenly, Ilya wants nothing more than for Shane to touch him.
He swallows hard and squeezes Shane's hand. "Can you touch me?" It's merely a whisper, but the corner of Shane's mouth twitches. He's heard him.
Shane raises an eyebrow. He extracts his hand from Ilya's and places it over Ilya's pec. He splays his fingers, then, using his thumb, teases the fabric of Ilya's t-shirt over his nipple. "You mean here?"
Ilya half moans, half laughs. This is a conversation they know how to have. "Asshole."
Shane smirks. He holds Ilya's gaze and runs his hand further down Ilya's body until it comes to rest near the waistband of his sweats. All still agonisingly above the layer of Ilya's shirt. "Here?"
"No," Ilya breathes, because he knows what it does to Shane when his voice goes all husky and needy. He decides to take matters into his own hands and slowly pulls up the hem of his shirt until, finally — finally — the barrier is gone and Shane's fingers are touching his skin. Warm and tingling and so close to where Ilya wants them.
"Show me," Shane says.
Ilya feels drunk with how quickly his blood seems to rush from his head into his groin. He's loose and hard, and hot and cold; he wants to bury his face in the warmth and softness of Shane's hoodie, crawl into it with him until there is nothing left between them.
Shane looks just as dazed, his smile drowsy. He doesn't take his eyes off Ilya's, not once, when he starts teasing the skin around Ilya's happy trail with one hand while he continues to massage Ilya's scalp with the other.
Ilya's vision blurs as his eyelids grow heavy.
"Show me," Shane whispers, again.
It's like wading through molasses, but Ilya's hands finally find his own waistband, and he manages to lift his hips and pull his sweats and briefs down over his ass. The rush of air on his skin does nothing to calm his body, never mind what is going on between his legs, but when Shane's hands suddenly disappear from both, Ilya's stomach and his head, he feels like he's been stripped naked.
The panic of exposure only lasts a few seconds, and then Shane's hands are back. Gentle fingers run through his hair, and then he finally touches Ilya where Ilya wants him.
Ilya gasps, hips jolting. Shane has wrapped his hand around Ilya's length, warm and wet, almost too loose, and Ilya wants to tell him to stop teasing but also to keep going, and where the fuck did Shane find the lube? Then Shane starts moving and Ilya almost cries out.
It's all too much. Too good. The sensation of the gentle drag and pull on his hair, the heat building up in his groin. The way Shane watches as Ilya's mouth falls open, his breathing growing ragged, then louder still. His senses are on fire, and he can't take his eyes of Shane, can't look away, because if he does, it might all just disappear, and he can't let that happen, he can't—
"It's okay," Shane murmurs, his voice as soothing as the gentle touch against the shell of Ilya's ear. Shane is hard too, the fabric of his sweats straining against Ilya's cheek. And yet Shane just watches, pupils dark and blown but grounding, as he takes Ilya apart with his hands. "Baby, it's okay. Let go."
Baby.
Ilya unravels. Let's go in a way he hasn't for a long time, arching, legs restless, writhing. He clings to the sleeves of Shane's hoodie with clenched fists, holding on for dear life. Shane's hand speeds up around his length, and Shane doesn't use endearments, and Shane's eyes are just as hooded as Ilya's, and Ilya still can't look away. The pleasure hits him with such force, he comes with a cry, hot and hard, his whole body growing taut, tumbling into whiteness as he spills onto his stomach.
The burn in his groin is delicious. For a moment he feels completely weightless. Free. Safe. When the high ebbs away, Shane is smiling down at him, his hand placed over Ilya's racing heart, rising and falling with the up and down of Ilya's chest.
Loved.
It's pure bliss. Ilya sucks in a deep breath and buries his face against Shane's hoodie, revelling in how it smells of fresh laundry detergent but also of Shane. Of home. With a long sigh, he nuzzles against Shane's belly.
Something damp touches his chin and he flinches, shifts slightly so he can see what it is. He smirks and raises a teasing eyebrow when he realises Shane has come in his own pants.
Shane just grins and shrugs. "I can't help it. You're hot."
Ilya laughs and then has to stretch again because apparently his body is not quite over what just happened as it wants to lock up in another wave of pleasure.
"Feels good?" Shane asks quietly, gently stroking Ilya's hair again.
"Hm-mmm." Ilya closes his eyes and burrows back into Shane's lap. He feels heavy and sated. He could quite happily fall asleep like this, even with his pants pulled down and his come drying on his skin.
"Don't fall asleep," Shane chuckles. "We need to shower."
"In a minute," Ilya mumbles. He clumsily pulls his sweats back up over his ass. They have all night. And tomorrow morning. And the rest of their lives, hopefully.
On the TV, the third period is about to start. The score is 3 – 2 for the Admirals already, which is what the game finished on. Ilya must have dozed off pretty swiftly earlier because he didn't catch any of the goals. Apart from Scott Hunter's, which was shown on every News reel on the actual night of the game.
"I had fun tonight," Shane suddenly says.
Ilya turns his head so he can look at his boyfriend. He's still afraid they will regret what they did tonight, but when he meets Shane's eyes, he finds an unusual calmness in them that he hasn't witnessed very often before. Maybe even only once, the day they had said "I love you" to each other for the first time.
"They are nice guys," Shane continues. "Even Troy Barrett."
Ilya snorts. "He was too busy making heart eyes at Harris to be an asshole. But yes. Even he is nice. And also gay."
Shane laughs at that. "He's very different from what I expected. To be honest, they all are."
Ilya watches Shane curiously. "You're not panicking." It's a statement, rather than a question.
"Oh, I will be," Shane assures him with a smirk. "Most definitely. But not tonight." Then he shifts and nudges Ilya to get moving. "Come on. Shower. We know there are no more goals, anyway."
Ilya grumbles in mock-offence but pushes himself up and reaches for the remote control. His can of Coke still sits unopened on the coffee table, but he ignores it as he switches off the TV and pulls Shane with him towards the stairs.
They just came out to eight more people tonight. Actually, nine, because Hazy will definitely tell Lisa. And if nine people can accept and be normal about Ilya Rozanov being in love with Shane Hollander, maybe someday the rest of the world can too. Not all of them will, he knows that, but for tonight he'll keep believing they might.
He undresses on the way through the bedroom and follows Shane into the shower. They can panic together tomorrow.
Not tonight. Tonight, it is just him and Shane, and the rest of the world can fuck off.