Chapter Text
“That was -” Shane started once he was scrambling to put his key in the door to his cottage. There was a noticeable tremor in his hands, but Ilya stood smiling beside him. “Yes, good?” Ilya shut the door behind them as Shane let out a shaky breath. It sounded like a leak in a tire - a long “hsss”. It seemed like Shane had been holding his breath for hours and was finally letting go, deflating into himself.
“Yeah, I think so? Right? Maybe? Oh god”. Every word came out like a question. He slid down the wall of the warmly lit foyer, with his arms covering his face, and rolled up into a ball. Ilya followed suit and turned to Shane while grabbing his hands.
“It went better than you were expecting”, Ilya squeezed, running his thumbs over the battered knuckles of the man he loves. “And”, he cocked his head with a sly grin, “soon they will like me better. Not so boring. Unlike you”. Shane was already crawling out of the defense pose he was in, looked up, and lightly smacked Ilya’s shoulder. “You are still Rozanov, star center for the Boston Raiders. I don’t think my mom will ever get over that.” Shane was now smiling too. “Why? Because I am better player than her son?” Ilya let out a breath and cackled, secretly more relieved than ever.
That had gone well. He was jealous. Coming out to his family would not go well. Granted, that is mostly because his own parents were dead. And his brother may as well be. There was no family really left for him. But he could almost hear his father screaming at him, a steady flow of scathing Russian, likely to cut Ilya Rozanov deeper than any English words could. His father would disown him from his grave if he could. From the casket Ilya picked out not that long ago. However, his mother, his sweet mother, with her sad but loving eyes. He knew she would cradle him into her chest once the initial shock wore off. If it was there at all. Even by age 12, he was able to realize that his mother knew him better than even he did. She would insist on flying all the way to North America to meet Shane. His Shane. His boyfriend, Shane. Other people knew now. It filled him with hope that one day the world would know.
“Better player? As if. Even if she likes you as a person, she will never respect you on the ice,” Shane finally went to move to a standing position, dragging Ilya out of his thoughts and along with him. And then he was off, running up the stairs and giggling before Ilya had time to retaliate. Ilya allowed him a head start, silently counting to 3, before hurrying after him.
“You were so slow,” Shane was complaining as Ilya pushed him down onto the bed, draping his body over Shane’s. He always reveled in that feeling. Ilya is his safety blanket. Home. More so than any of his houses would ever be.
“That is not what hockey fans say. And that is no way to talk to your boyfriend”, Ilya scolded while pursing his lips in a signature pout above him. The word still felt foreign on his tongue and teeth, even though he had said it over one hundred times in his head since announcing it earlier today. They had been having sex in the hidden shadows for years. It was fantastic sex, but they had kept it a secret for eight years. It took over eight fucking years to admit that they had feelings for each other, to say the “I love you’s” and sweet nothings they’d kept from each other behind desperately gritted teeth. All before either one of them dared to suggest to the other that they might be a couple. Their whole relationship was so weird and backwards. They call it “queer” for a reason, Ilya supposed.
Shane’s eyes glimmered, and Ilya could tell that he was also enamored with the word. Such a small thing, and yet… “Boyfriends", it came out as a whisper from Shane. “Please say it in Russian,” Shane asked. Slowly, Ilya sounded out the word “возлюбленный” with Shane touching his lips to feel the vibration of the vowels. “How do you say it in some of the 8 languages you speak?” Ilya was rolling his eyes at Shane. “I do not speak 8 languages,” Shane murmured. He spoke three - English, French-Canadian, and Japanese. Instead of using his mouth, he made fists, knuckles touching each other vertically, and twiddled his thumbs against each other in front of his chest. “What? Pretty mouth not working?” Ilya was confused. “It means “Sweethearts”, in ASL,” Shane was quick to clarify, moving his hands to hold Ilya’s face. “A.S…what?” “Sign language,” Shane was shrugging. “Since when do you fucking know sign language? Can you speak that without accent too?” Ilya was incredulous. He was always learning something new about this Shane Hollander - the stupidly beautiful Canadian with freckles arranged into perfect constellations over his sweet nose and cheeks.
“Rose taught me. Her mom is Hard o-” Ilya knew no patience and was already cutting him off. “Rose Landry?” he was sneering now. “You sign for Rose Landry but not for me?” There was mostly fake agitation in his voice. Hollander’s girlfriend-turned-best-friend was a sore subject, even though Ilya had had his fair share of relations in the past. In fact, it was his claim to fame. Ilya Rozanov - the foul-mouthed Russian Boston Raiders star-center, with a coy smile and a woman hanging off of each arm. That didn’t change the fact that all he ever wanted was the man beside him. He thinks he knew it before he could even speak. This is who he was waiting and searching in sweaty clubs for. “I just did”, Shane was quick to remind him. A low “hmph” was blown into his ear. “You have no group sex rule, and yet you are talking about Rose Landry in bed? Guess you’re not too gay to have sex with her. Give me phone. I will call her now,” Ilya was waving his hand in the air and gesturing like he was about to sit up. “Do not,” Shane was already pulling him back down. “Besides, you know I couldn’t uh…y’know during it”. He had fucked Rose. Approximately 2.5 times. And they had dated. Until she discovered the truth Shane hadn’t allowed himself to learn yet. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. But he eventually realized that may not be true in the case of his entire sexuality.
“I will invite her into bed with us for real” Ilya was grabbing at air. “You, Rozanov, are the worst". Shane didn’t know if it was humanly possible to roll his eyes any harder than he already was. “Mm..Rose will not think so”, Ilya gave up on waiting for Shane’s phone to magically appear in his hand. Insead he brought his hand to his ear mimicking a phone, “Hello, Rose. This is Ilya Rozanov - allegedly the worst. Anyway, Hollander wants you to join us in bed. Or you can just watch. Maybe we make Shane watch instead. I don’t mind. Is fine for me either way,” Ilya was waggling his eyebrows as Shane scoffed. “I stand by my previous statement. You are the worst”, but Shane’s face was already declaring defeat. This was the game they played. Compliments and flirtations disguised behind insults. “Come here, you idiot,” Shane was guiding Ilya’s forehead to his. They were gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes, chestnut reflected in a golden hazel, until their vision doubled, pupils wide, and they were no doubt disgusting.
“Remember how I was so strong and brave for you earlier?” Ilya had that dark twinkle on his face. He said it as a joke, but it was the truth. He came out as bisexual, and met his secret boyfriend’s parents for the first time. He was more than happy to do so - finally admitting it was a massive weight off his broad shoulders. That didn’t change the fact that it had been a lot. Somehow, everything in Ilya’s life is a lot. Everything, All the Time, All At Once: The Biography of Ilya Rozanov. “Yes… what do you want?” Shane was narrowing his eyes and scrunching his nose, not exactly sure of where this was going. Although he had some guesses. “I think I deserve a treat, no?”, Ilya declared while bringing Shane’s hand to his crotch. God, he was starting to get hard already. A little “oh-” escaped Hollender’s lips, but he was not surprised. Not really. This is the game they play. That they have been playing for what felt like many lifetimes. It still never got old.