Chapter Text
Ilya was pacing his penthouse. He’d fucked up, he should have ended things by text. Or maybe Skype? How the fuck was he supposed to look at Shane, see his smile, and tell him they wouldn’t be hooking up tonight. He could feel the anticipation in his body, the adrenaline remaining from the game, and that hum of arousal just below the surface. Shane is coming over , it said. Longing and need was seeping out of every pore. He craved Shane’s touch. He craved so much more than Shane’s touch.
He was so fucking in love with Shane Hollander. His heart felt too big in his chest, like it was straining to burst out of his ribcage. It was screaming at him not to go forward with his plan to send Shane away. But what choice did he have? This whole thing was so fucking impossible. They would fuck, and then Shane would leave. But Ilya wouldn’t be left feeling satisfied, like he’d scratched an itch, like he would be good until the next time they were in the same city. Because he wasn’t satisfied with that, not anymore. It was no longer fun or thrilling. It just left him feeling empty, yearning for something he knew he could never have.
And it was only getting worse.
Every time he received a text from “Jane” or saw Shane featured on TV, he felt the thrill in his chest. He caught himself thinking about Shane throughout the day, missing Shane the longer they went between games. When he jerked off, he only ever thought about Shane. Shane was consuming him, and he could never have Shane. Not really . Just like he couldn’t have taken a stroll on the beach in Tampa, couldn’t travel with him in the summer, Ilya could never have Shane the way he wanted him. He wanted everything.
He’d been psyching himself up for a month - since his last night in Moscow. He had rehearsed so many different things to say, and still, he didn’t know what he was going to say tonight. He just knew he couldn’t let Shane touch him. He had to shut it down immediately.
When Shane had come up to Ilya on the ice earlier, Ilya’s heart had rejoiced at seeing him again. It had been four long weeks since their Skype call from Moscow. Ilya had wavered then, as he wavered now, in his conviction that things had to end. But the way he was feeling - it wasn’t sustainable. He hadn’t been able to say no when Shane had confirmed they were still on for tonight. It would be the coward's way out to text Shane, or worse, ghost him. Ilya would tell him in person. Or did Ilya selfishly want to see Shane here one last time? Want to give Shane the opportunity to change Ilya’s mind? Ilya growled in frustration. He didn’t fucking know. He only knew that he could not keep feeling like this.
The elevator dinged, signalling Shane’s arrival. Ilya stopped pacing and went to open the door. Shane grinned when he saw him, moving towards Ilya like an eager puppy. Ilya’s heart clamoured inside his chest, demanding he react with similar enthusiasm. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here, it pounded.
Ilya took a step back from Shane as he closed the door. He pressed his lips together and clenched his fists at his sides so he wouldn’t reach for Shane. Fuck, why did he smell so good?
Shane’s brows knit together, confusion marring his beautiful face as he took in Ilya’s strange behaviour. “Is something wrong?”
“Hollander...” Ilya started. He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. I should have told you not to come.” This was already too hard.
“What do you mean?” Shane moved towards him again. Ilya stepped back, again. “Ilya...”
Ilya let out a pained sigh at hearing his name on Shane’s lips. “We can’t. Hollander. I can’t. We can’t do this anymore.” Ilya sniffed and rolled his shoulders back. “You should go.” Ilya felt awful. Shane had just got there. But he couldn’t very well do this after.
“What?” It came out on a shocked exhale. “I don’t understand.” Shane reached for Ilya and caught his wrist, even as Ilya tried to move away again. His thumb brushed over Ilya’s pulse, and Ilya closed his eyes against the onslaught of sensations that simple touch elicited. “Ilya...look at me. Please.”
There was no fucking way Ilya was looking Shane in the eye. Certainly not while Shane was touching him. “Let go.” Ilya said, his eyes still closed. Shane dropped his wrist. Ilya could hear Shane’s breath coming in short gasps. Christ, he needed Shane out of there now. Ilya walked around to the other side of the kitchen island, putting the large slab on granite between them - he should have done that from the beginning.
Placing both hands flat on the smooth countertop, bracing himself, he looked up to meet Shane’s gaze. He was not prepared for what he saw there. Shock - that didn’t surprise him. But the pain, the despair. Ilya hadn’t thought about the fact that causing Shane pain would absolutely wreck him in return. Ilya swallowed the lump in his throat. “Jesus, Hollander. Don’t cry. It’s only sex”
Anger blazed in Shane’s eyes. Anger was an emotion Ilya could deal with from him - though usually it was a twisted form of foreplay for them. “Fuck you!” Shane once again started advancing on Ilya but Ilya moved around the island, keeping it between them. “It’s not only sex, and you know it.”
Yes, that’s the problem , Ilya thought. But he didn’t say it. “We should have ended this years ago,” he said instead. “Is too risky. And it’s not even fun anymore.” Okay, that last part wasn’t quite true, but it wasn’t a lie either. It wasn’t fun when it left Ilya feeling bereft and wanting so much more than sex.
Shane stopped chasing Ilya around the island, his head rearing back as if Ilya had hit him. He took a shaky breath, his eyes searching Ilya’s, but Ilya was looking determinedly at a spot on the wall behind Shane’s head. “You don’t mean that,” Shane whispered.
Ilya ignored the way Shane’s bottom lip trembled, before he caught it between his teeth. “I do,” Ilya huffed out a humourless laugh. “I really do.” And he did mean it. They should have ended this years ago. It was too risky to continue. Not just for their careers. His heart couldn’t take another year of this, let alone the decade, or however much longer they played for the NHL. In seven years he’d fallen completely in love with Shane Hollander, despite vehemently trying not to. What would the next seven years bring - other than constant heartache?
Shane let out a whimper and spun around, covering his face with both hands. He leaned back against the counter and Ilya let his own mask slip. He watched Shane’s shoulders move up and down as he scrubbed his face. Shane’s shoulders tensed when he pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This isn’t happening,” he muttered. Ilya wasn’t sure if he was saying it to him, or if Shane was trying to convince himself.
Ilya didn’t respond either way. He didn’t trust himself to say anything at that moment. He glanced at his bedroom door, he could escape there, tell Shane to leave. But he’d have to walk past Shane to do that. Could Ilya do that without reaching out to comfort him? Ilya was breathing hard now with the effort of keeping still. His knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the counter so hard. His eyes took in the hard lines of Shane’s shoulders, his triceps, his back, tapering to his lean waist. Images of Shane’s naked body flashed through his mind unbidden, Ilya placing a hand between those shoulder blades. He could have been doing that tonight. He could have been doing that right now.
Ilya clenched his jaw and ripped his gaze away from Shane, he looked up at the ceiling instead. “You should go,” he said through gritted teeth.
Shane dropped his hands from his face, his shoulders slumping. This time as he moved slowly around the island, Ilya stayed perfectly still, jaw still clenched, eyes now focused on a fleck of granite in front of him. His heart pounded loudly and his chest heaved, but there was nothing he could do to hide that from Shane.
Shane tugged on Ilya’s forearm, and Ilya let it drop from where it gripped the counter, allowing Shane to slip in between Ilya and the counter. Shane’s hands slid up Ilya’s chest to cup his face. Fuck, Ilya heart beat even faster - with panic, with desire. He should push Shane away. He should move away. But Ilya was frozen.
“Don’t do this, Ilya,” Ilya made the mistake of looking at Shane then. His eyes were beseeching and glassy with unshed tears. And his freckles...Ilya closed his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. The only denial he could muster.
Shane rose up and pressed his lips against Ilya’s. Fuck, he was playing dirty. How fucking dare he? Ilya resisted for all of two seconds before opening up to Shane, taking him roughly. He pushed Shane up against the counter, his tongue demanding entrance. He groaned when Shane met his kiss with as much ferocity, as if trying to devour him before Ilya could absolutely destroy him. Shane’s fingers tugged at Ilya’s curls. Ilya revelled in it for a moment before wrenching himself away.
Ilya stumbled back, putting a good six feet between them. They stared at each other, Ilya drinking Shane in one last time. Squeezing his hands into fists, Ilya steeled himself. “Go.”
Shane reached for him again, but let his hands drop when Ilya stepped away.
“Ilya...please. I lo-”
“ Go!” Ilya yelled. “Leave. Hollander. Please.”
Tears spilled silently down Shane’s cheeks, across his freckles. Ilya almost lost it at the sight. He backed himself up until he met the fridge behind him, letting it support his weight. Shane gave a single nod, and lurched towards the door, not even closing it behind him as he took off towards the stairwell.
Ilya slid down the fridge to the cold tile. He let out a sob, and then another, before covering his face with his hands, elbows propped on his bent knees. He cried until his throat was hoarse and his head ached.
Fuck. What had he done? This was supposed to be easier. It didn’t feel easier right now. It felt awful. Like he’d ripped out his own heart, then ripped out Shane’s too. Maybe thrown them in a blender for good measure. He thought he felt empty before - he felt like a hollow shell now. His grief tore through him, leaving a husk of what he’d been before.
Ilya thought about getting the vodka he had in the freezer. It was good vodka. From Russia. But he didn't want to waste it. He didn't deserve good vodka right now. A part of him wanted to feel the pain. To remember the anguish he'd seen in Shane's eyes.
Remember the way Shane had almost said... something.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if Shane felt the same way. It meant nothing. They could be nothing. He was doing Shane a favour. Shane could move on now. The thought made Ilya feel sick.
When Ilya finally crawled into bed it was well past midnight. In the darkness of his room he curled up on his side and allowed himself to whisper the words so quietly, he couldn’t even hear them above the din of the Boston traffic outside. His mouth was really just forming the words, fresh tears falling as he did.
I love you, Shane.
---
Shane made it to the landing in between the fifth and sixth floors before he collapsed on the concrete. The bright stairwell light flickering in time with his racing heart. A sob wrenched out of him as he clutched at his chest. God, he felt like he was dying . Was this a heart attack? Could he be dying of a broken heart? His logical brain told him that was impossible but, it sure as hell felt like his heart was coming apart inside his ribcage. He was dizzy, and trembling. He couldn’t pick himself up off his hands and knees if he tried. Shit, he could have fallen down the stairs!
Shane cried out again as he struggled to catch his breath. Stars pricked the edge of his vision. He was going to pass out. He was going to die. No. He just had to breathe. He’d been anxious, even panicked before, but he’d never had a full blown panic attack like this. That’s what it was. He told himself over and over again. It was just a panic attack. He wasn’t dying. Breathe.
Shane gasped in a breath, choking on a sob as he did.
Again. Breathe. He ordered his body to do his bidding - it was the one thing he was always good at.
Breathe.
Breathe.
An unknown amount of time later, Shane moved from his hands and knees to sit against the wall, his right hand still fisting his jacket over his heart.
“What the fuck,” Shane whispered. Then more loudly. “ What the fuck!”
Shane looked up the stairs, hoping against hope that he might see Ilya coming down them. Should he go back up there? He was almost positive Ilya hadn't ended things because he didn't want Shane anymore. No, Ilya had kissed him just as fiercely.
Jesus, had he been about to tell Ilya he loved him? Did he love Ilya? Shane had never been in love, and he struggled with the idea that he could be in love with Ilya Rozanov. As he looked around himself now, sitting in a cold stairwell, having just felt like he was fucking dying after Ilya sent him away. What the fuck else could it be?
Ilya was infuriating, and it turned Shane on. He knew how to push Shane’s buttons, but he never pushed too hard. He was so fucking good at hockey, it made Shane want to be even better. Playing with Ilya in Tampa had been a dream. They fit perfectly together. On the ice. And off the ice. It wasn’t just sex either. Ilya had opened up to him. He’d opened up to Ilya. Everything they'd shared over the past three months...it had made Shane feel closer to Ilya than he did with Hayden - his best friend.
But Hayden didn't know Shane.
Ilya did.
Of course Shane was in love with him.
What a great fucking time to realize it.