Chapter Text
“Ilya, I swear to God! You might be gorgeous, but if you don’t put me down right now, I will kick you in the face!” Shane was thrown over Ilya’s shoulder, kicking his feet and slapping his hands on Ilya’s back.
Ilya laughed loudly, echoing throughout the empty hallway. “Aw, so sweet, baby! You think my face is gorgeous. But I am hockey player, so face is always at risk.”
Shane groaned, “Then I’ll kick your dick!”
“You would not!” Ilya paused, looking over his shoulder where he couldn’t possibly see Shane’s face. “You love that too!” A humorous laugh fell from Shane’s lips.
When the two boys had finally arrived at Ilya’s dorm, the Russian let them in and dropped Shane back to his feet in the middle of his room, a satisfied smile on his face as he heaved slightly.
“You are so pretty when angry. Like a little kitten.”
“God, you’re such an asshole,” snarked Shane playfully.
“Ah, ah—no, not asshole. You know word now, huh?”
Shane rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that night. “Fine, Мудак.” Ilya chuckled at the butchered pronunciation, to which Shane swatted at his chest. “Stop laughing, I’m trying my hardest, Ilyushka!”
Something softened in Ilya’s eyes, and his expression dropped into a sly, soft grin. He stepped forward, gently grabbing Shane’s chin before leaning down to press a chaste kiss. He whispered against his lips, “Ah, but you have mastered saying my name so well.” Shane couldn’t help the sparkle in his eyes or the blush beneath his freckles. With his other hand, Ilya rubbed softly against Shane’s cheek. “Прекрасный.”
“I love when you call me that,” murmured Shane, entranced as he stared at Ilya.
“Mm, I know.”
The next kiss was heavy and heated, and everything that Ilya had wanted since he had last had Shane completely four days before. That night had been magical, if only Ilya’s brain hadn’t gone and ruined it for them. They could’ve been doing this at least four more days by now.
Ilya guided Shane to the bed until the shorter man’s knees pressed against the edge of the mattress. They fell unceremoniously together, giggling on their way down between kisses. Through a blur of clothes being tossed and folded, skin being caressed, and love being made, Ilya couldn’t stop the emotions rushing through his mind, pushing any darkness in his brain into a corner.
About half an hour later, when they’d finally been able to catch their breaths, both naked and sweaty, but so full of one another, Ilya wrapped Shane up against his chest, breathing in his scent.
“You’re really good at that,” commented Shane tiredly. Ilya was endeared by the blissful smile on his lover’s face.
“Mm, and no one would ever know you’ve only slept with one man,” quipped Ilya, only to cry out when Shane slapped his chest with his palm. “Okay, okay! You are so violent.”
“Asshole,” muttered Shane against his chest. “I was trying to be cute.”
“See, that was mistake one you made—you are always cute. No need to try.”
Shane finally pulled back so he could glance up at Ilya through his lashes. Ilya wanted to tell him he loved him.
Instead, he cleared his throat before saying, “So, you say you want to talk?”
Shane nodded, wriggling himself from Ilya’s arms, who whined in protest but didn’t try to hold him down. “Yeah, but maybe we should shower first? We’re sticky and gross, and your sheets are wet.” The grimace on his face gave Ilya the impression that Shane wouldn’t be able to focus on anything until both things were resolved, so he agreed.
“You shower first while I change sheet, and then I shower next, okay?”
The two men made quick work of their plan, with Shane showering in Ilya’s attached bathroom while the Russian swapped his dirty sheet for the spare sheet he bought for Shane. Ilya was dropping the other sheet into the hamper when Shane exited the bathroom, hair wet and hanging on his forehead, and a towel wrapped snuggly around his waist.
“Fuck, Hollander. You cannot just walk out of bathroom like that—I just changed dirty sheet.”
Shane scoffed but it wasn’t serious. “Like you could go another round, Rozanov. Go shower.”
After Ilya’s shower, both boys settled on the floor, a can of ginger ale cracked open for Shane and a Coke by Ilya’s side. Ilya watched Shane intently with his frosty-colored eyes, roaming over his freckles, cupid’s bow, and over his chin.
“So,” started Ilya, accent dragging out the sound.
“So,” replied Shane, smiling. “The other night, when I came over, you said I wasn’t your boyfriend and I didn’t owe you anything.” Ilya hummed affirmingly. “What if I want to be?”
The Russian’s heart stuttered, as did his words. “W-what? You want to be…” He couldn’t help it as he trailed off.
Shane nodded, “Your boyfriend. Yes.”
Ilya didn’t intend to allow the silence to stretch, but it did anyway. He had tried to prepare himself for these words, considering what Shane had hinted at prior to practice, but between practice and having sex with Shane, he had barely any time. Even if he had longer, Ilya doesn’t think anything could have truly prepared him for hearing the words come from Shane’s mouth.
The darkness he had managed to shove into the corner of his mind crept back in, trying to tell him that Shane deserved better—that Ilya wasn’t deserving of Shane’s love, of Cliff or Zane’s friendship, of Brendan and Norma’s kindness.
He felt a caress on his cheek, bringing him back to the present, where Shane’s concern was waiting for him. “Hey, where’d you go?”
Ilya shook his head. “You do not want to be my boyfriend, Hollander.”
“Shane,” corrected the man. “Hollander is only for the ice, remember? I want you to call me Shane right now.”
“Still. You do not want to be my boyfriend, as Shane or as Hollander.”
Shane signed, retracting his hand from Ilya’s face, only to place it over his knee. “I do. So much it’s kinda scary. I can’t keep pretending like I just want to do the physical stuff with you, Ilya. I can’t keep pretending like I don’t like you.”
The head shaking was more vehement this time. “You don’t like me.”
“Yes, I do,” responded Shane forcefully, a furrow in his brow, more from confusion than anger. “I think I like you a little too much, actually.”
“Shane, no,” but Ilya stopped himself, turning away from Shane. “You cannot like me. I…you are too good for me. I make everyone leave. I make my mother leave, I make my father and brother leave…I cannot make you leave too. It is already risk having us be more than hookup as friends.”
He didn’t dare look at Shane, afraid to see whatever emotions fell over his face. He also didn’t want Shane to see the tears that had already built up along his waterline. He had been so vulnerable around Shane this week—he couldn’t show any more weakness. Grigoria Rozanov was already turning in his grave. Even in death, he had managed to disappoint his father.
“Hey,” muttered Shane, climbing over himself to sit closer to Ilya. He managed not to flinch when Shane placed his hand back on Ilya’s cheek, attempting to turn Ilya’s face towards his. “Hey, look at me, baby. Please.” Weak to any request from Shane, Ilya fluttered his eyes to meet Shane’s dark eyes. “There you are.”
“Shane,” pleaded Ilya, but he was promptly shushed.
“No. No, Ilyushka, stop. Whoever is in your head telling you these things—they’re wrong.” Ilya’s face was held firmly between both of Shane’s strong hands. “Your mother was depressed, and she was never given the help she deserved. You were a kid, and it wasn’t your responsibility. Your father and brother—they were wrong. They will always be wrong. You have always been good enough; you’ve just never had someone tell you what you deserve to hear. You are so good, and kind, and…and I am not going to leave. I…I—.” Shane trailed off, something catching in his throat. He swallowed thickly. “I have never felt so strongly about someone before. I want to be your boyfriend. I want to prove to you that you are worthy and deserve to be cherished. I want to be your boyfriend, Ilya. So, please, let me make decisions for myself and let yourself try to be happy.”
Ilya was unable to stop the tear that dripped down his cheek, but both boys ignored it. Ilya instead responded, “What if you get sick of me? Everyone gets sick of me, Shane.”
“No. No, Ilya. I don’t know the last time you’ve been told this, but there are so many people around here who have not and will not get sick of you, okay? And my name is at the top of that list.”
Ilya wanted so desperately to believe Shane, but he couldn’t help but doubt, “You have only known me short while, Shane. You do not know me yet.”
“Then let me,” begged Shane gently. “I can’t promise you that everything will work out perfectly. We’re young, and relationships come and go, as friendships do, but…but I do know that I like you a lot, and I don’t like just anyone. And I want to try. And I think you do too.”
Ilya sniffled, meeting Shane’s eyes once more. “You are so sure of this?” Shane nodded, looking so earnest, and Ilya couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss him deeply. Shane was quick to accept the kiss, relaxing into it. Ilya pressed harder, pulling back to place several kisses onto Shane’s cheek, over his freckles, and on his chin, whispering, “Я люблю тебя.”
“What’s that mean,” questioned Shane breathlessly.
Ilya closed his eyes briefly before lying, “It means I like you too, Shane.” It was too soon to tell Shane that Ilya loved him, but he knew he was already there. This…this would have to do for now.