Transcript of Ottawa Centaurs Video - Vote Hollander All-Star Game 2011
Ilya Rozanov: When I came from Russia to Canada, first person from the team to greet me was Shane Hollander.
Cut to video clips of Shane and Ilya competing at their last World Juniors Championship game, Shane being presented with the gold medal, Ilya with silver.
Ilya Rozanov: He beat me in World Juniors, was hard to think of playing on a team with him, you want to hate that guy, right? But Hollander, right away he said was good to see me, he is excited to play with me. So. (Ilya shrugs) We become friends. What else to do?
Clips of Shane and Ilya assisting each other on goals, celebrating during games, talking and laughing on the bench.
Ilya Rozanov: He learned how to say hello to me in Russian for first day at training camp. Hollander is nicest Canadian boy.
Footage of Shane making some brutal steals, close-up of him laughing as he rips the puck off an opponent's stick.
Ilya Rozanov: Nobody as serious about hockey as Hollander, he will practice practice practice later than everyone else, even though he is already better than everyone. Except me of course. (Ilya winks).
Behind the scenes footage of Shane practicing on the ice, shooting at an empty net with no one else around.
Ilya Rozanov: Our friendship, it is very important to me. So would mean a lot to have Hollander with me for All-Star Game our rookie year. Plus, you want good hockey? No better hockey than Rozanov and Hollander together.
Interviewer (offscreen): They actually changed the format of the game this year. There will be two teams, but it's not East vs. West. There will be a draft for each team. So what would it be like if you ended up playing against each other again?
Ilya Rozanov: Even better. Rematch. Only thing better than playing with Hollander is beating him. I will not go easy on him, Hollander knows I play hard, always.
Cutaway to a clip of Ilya and Shane facing off at their last World Juniors game.
Voiceover of Ilya Rozanov: Vote Hollander for All-Star Game 2011The start of All-Star Weekend was a whirlwind, and Shane hardly had any time to think. He was completely overwhelmed with the media, the schedule of events, the way every single one of the biggest stars in the NHL were all gathered together like it was no big deal. At only 19, he was literally achieving one of his life-long dreams. He should be happy. And he was happy. But he also felt kind of alone.
When they arrived, Delzy went off to reconnect with a group of former Centaurs players, and Ilya was going to a lunch organized by the Russian national team for all their players at the All-Star game, which left Shane on his own until the official welcome party that night. The next day, they would have a fan meet and greet and a Q&A press conference in the morning, and the All-Star game draft in the afternoon, then they'd have dinner with the teams they were drafted to. And finally on Sunday, they'd play the actual game. But right now, he was at a loss.
Shane decided to hit the hotel gym and take a nap — the jet lag was catching up to him. He spent his time on the treadmill daydreaming about Ilya, thinking about going to the hotel pool during their break the next day, then thinking about the last time he saw Ilya at a hotel pool. Shane tried to stifle the giant smile threatening to take over his face when he remembered the way Ilya had kissed him that day, wet hair dripping all over him, pushing him up against the cold tile wall. A pool visit at this hotel would probably be a lot more crowded, but Shane would be happy just to hang out together, enjoying the California sunshine.
After the gym, he headed to his room for a nap. He didn't want to totally fuck up his sleep schedule, but he was exhausted. He stripped down to his underwear before cozying up under the covers of one of the beds — he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
What felt like a split second later, Shane's alarm was going off. He groaned but didn't open his eyes and reached out to smack the alarm clock. But his hand didn't hit the clock, it landed on a warm lump that confused Shane's fuzzy post-nap brain. He creaked his eyes open and the confusion morphed into fondness when he realized who it was. Ilya had apparently gotten back from lunch, and he was lying on Shane's bed, fully clothed and on top of the covers, also groggily opening his eyes.
"Stop the sound," Ilya groaned.
"You're between me and the alarm clock," Shane rolled his eyes, as much as he could when they were only half open.
"You do not have arms or legs?" Ilya croaked, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Oh fuck you, can't you just turn over and turn it off?" But Shane was propping himself up on an arm as he spoke, and he reached his other arm over Ilya's bulk to smack the alarm clock behind Ilya's back. Once the blaring alarm was stopped, Shane realized that he had basically draped himself over Ilya in the process. He slowly pulled his arm back, looking down at Ilya, whose eyes were now open and turned up towards Shane.
Ilya interrupted Shane's downward trajectory by squeezing an arm around his back, so their chests were pressed together and Shane was partially on top of Ilya.
"Oh!" Shane exhaled in surprise.
"Sorry," Ilya laughed quietly.
"No you're not," Shane grinned.
Their faces were an inch apart, and it took all of Shane's willpower to not close the gap and kiss Ilya. But they shouldn't, they had to get ready for the party, there wasn't time to make out or even quickly jerk each other off in the shower.
"I need to shower," Shane insisted.
"I like to shower…" Ilya said casually, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.
"We don't have time for uh, long showers."
Ilya rolled his eyes. "Fine. Later?"
Shane pulled away reluctantly, and he was buzzing from finally waking up with Ilya next to him again, he said, "Maybe, if you're lucky."
Ilya barked out a laugh. "What happened to good boy Shane? So snarky now!"
Proud of himself for managing to not immediately fold to Ilya's proposition, he upped the ante.
Walking backwards towards the bathroom, he said, "What about this? Let's wait until the draft tomorrow. If we're drafted to different teams, we don't do anything before the game Sunday. We'll be opponents, that would be wrong." He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in a smug expression — proud of himself for showing restraint for once.
"Is not already wrong as teammates?" Ilya asked, now stalking across the room to Shane with a crooked smirk.
But Shane's stomach lurched. The stark reminder that they were doing something wrong every time they hooked up knocked him back to the harsh reality of their situation. And in the back of Shane's mind, a mean voice was reminding him that for Ilya, he was just something fun — maybe something rebellious. Not anything special, just a thrilling tryst.
"Yeah," Shane sighed. "I guess so."
He evaded Ilya's touch again and said, "I'll be quick in the shower."
There was a flash of something Shane couldn't decipher in Ilya's expression, but in an instant he was back to his usual cool smile.
"Yes, good." Ilya nodded.
Shane pulled himself together in the shower, reminding himself why he was here: to play hockey and prove himself as an All-Star. He emerged from the bathroom with a smile, maybe a little too big, too fake, but he was going to fake it as long as he had to. And by the time they went down to the welcome party, Shane and Ilya were back on even footing.
It was loud and filled with NHL players, plus lots of important hockey media people, minor celebrities and even some athletes from other professional leagues — Shane was pretty sure he saw some lesser-known NBA players towering over most of the crowd. This was even more overwhelming than his draft day.
"Look, Benny Marks — why is he here? He is so old, older than Delzy, and he is ancient."
Shane laughed and said, "His name is on the cup 3 times!"
"Yes, 10 years ago," Ilya snarked. "Seattle had to send someone I guess."
They sat at a table in the back, unable to legally drink, but each of them had a beer passed to them by some generous older players who probably thought it would be funny to get the rookies drunk. Ilya had a running commentary going about every guy in there, chirping their playing style, their clothes, whatever he could think of to make Shane laugh. It helped ease Shane's nerves and kept him occupied so he could avoid the awkward mingling and socializing that made him so uncomfortable.
"Oh there is Scott Hunter, most boring guy in the NHL." Ilya pointed across the room to the huge blond forward for New York. Shane actually really respected and admired Hunter — he was an amazing player and, other than Ilya, no one had a bad word to say about him.
"That's not fair," Shane huffed a laugh. "Hunter's so good and seems like he does a lot of charity work and stuff like that. I bet he'll be MVP in the next couple of years."
Ilya scoffed, "This is all you know about him, he does charity? Boring, Hollander."
"You're just jealous."
"Please. Hunter is jealous of me."
At that moment, Delzy walked up to the two of them with fresh beers.
"Last round, okay boys? Don't need you making fools of yourselves before the weekend really even starts."
Ilya rolled his eyes.
"You talking about Hunter?" Delzy asked, gesturing across the room.
"Yeah," Shane nodded, sipping his beer and feeling a little tipsy already. "Ilya says he's boring, I think he's just jealous."
"What is to be jealous of? I have already more goals than him this season," Ilya bragged.
"So do I," Shane reminded him. "But the Admirals still have a better record."
"All right, enough of this petty bullshit. Hunter's great, you guys are great, this is the fucking All-Star game, everyone is great." Delzy settled into a chair next to Shane, and Shane noticed his eyes lingering on Hunter and had to suppress a laugh.
"I saw he was on some list of hottest NHL players…" Shane directed his comment to Delzy, who glared at him, silently mouthing "don't" while Ilya was looking towards Hunter.
Ilya turned, an unimpressed look on his face, saying, "I'm hotter than him too."
It was Delzy's turn to have to stifle a laugh at the furiously pink blush that rose on Shane's cheeks. Shane took another big swig of his beer, hiding behind the bottle as much as he could.
Shane swallowed thickly and said, "Enough about Hunter."
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, and they went to bed at 10 because they had to be up early. Shane was regretting his "let's not hook up until we find out the draft results" plan as he watched Ilya get undressed before bed.
His restraint failing, Shane got into bed and said, "Um… you could still sleep here, if you wanted to?" He gestured to the spot next to him.
Ilya's eyebrows shot up. "I thought we had to wait for draft?" He asked, a note of annoyance in his voice.
"I mean, we could just, like, sleep?" Shane was embarrassing himself, but now he felt desperate just to have Ilya close to him again.
"Fine," Ilya said with a sigh and roll of his eyes. "But when you wake up hard, is not my fault, and I will not do anything about it."
Oof, hitting Shane where it hurt.
"I don't care about that," Shane replied, turning on his side away from Ilya to hide the way his dick was starting to swell.
"Okay."
Ilya turned off the light and Shane felt the bed dip as he lay down next to him. Shane hated the way his body relaxed simply because Ilya was in the bed with him. They weren't even touching! But the heat of Ilya's body and steady sound of his breathing alone were enough to help Shane calm his nerves and settle into the sheets more, sleep creeping in and taking hold within minutes.
***
Shane woke up with his face pressed to Ilya's back. Light was streaming into the room between the curtains, and Shane marveled at the February California sunshine. He also marveled at how hard his dick was first thing in the morning. He shifted away from Ilya and took some deep breaths in an attempt to get rid of his inevitable yet still embarrassing boner.
Ilya turned to Shane, smiling lazily while he stretched. His eyes scanned Shane's body and narrowed when they reached the protruding bulge in his shorts.
"Good morning," he drawled.
"Shut up."
Shane rolled his eyes then rolled out of the bed. When he turned back, he saw Ilya palming his own erection and held back a groan.
"Fuck, why are you doing this?" Shane whined.
"Because," Ilya grasped himself tightly. "You insist on waiting til draft, does not mean I am not horny."
"Well, go jerk off in the shower," Shane gestured towards the bathroom.
"You are sure?" Ilya purred in a way that made Shane's skin tingle. His defenses were weakening by the second and he pressed a hand to his own cock to relieve some of the need.
"Or you could…" Shane began, "do it out here."
Ilya raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "You will watch?"
Shane nodded, breathless with the overwhelming need to see Ilya get himself off.
"Maybe… I will too?" Shane tossed it out there to see how Ilya would react.
"Yes," was his only reply, in a low, dark voice that sent another tingle through Shane.
Standing there in front of the bed, Shane pulled down his shorts, while Ilya did the same from his position leaning back against the headboard. Shane started lightly stroking himself, Ilya simply held his cock and held Shane's eye contact.
"Good," Ilya hummed, then started moving his hand up and down his shaft.
And in an instant, Shane was on the edge. If Ilya's heavy breathing was any indication, he was too. They both stroked furiously, moving fast and grunting out small noises of pleasure.
"I'm gonna –" Shane started.
"Me too," Ilya interrupted, and then spilled all over his stomach with a shudder. That pushed Shane to the breaking point and he squeezed his eyes shut, holding the image of Ilya coming in his mind, and pulsed into his own hand.
He was panting hard when he opened his eyes, and Ilya had an obnoxiously sexy smirk on his face.
"Don't look so satisfied," Shane said, then walked to the bathroom to shower.
"Will be more satisfied after the game tomorrow, I think," Ilya called after him. Shane's stomach lurched, and he had to take a cold shower to keep himself in check.
***
The All-Star draft was fun, but very long, and Shane was completely exhausted by the time it was over. He had been hopeful that he would get picked pretty early, maybe the 3rd round, figuring the team captains would pick their friends and players with more years of experience. So he was dumbfounded to hear his name called first.
He felt like an actor at one of those awards shows who didn't expect to win, knowing the cameras were all pointed directly at his shocked face that slowly became an overjoyed grin. In his mind, he could hear his mom screaming at the TV with excitement, hear his dad's booming applause, and he beamed with pride. When Ilya's name was called second, he grinned impossibly wider.
Playing hockey without Ilya or Delzy or any of his Centaurs teammates for the first time since last summer was strange, and Shane had to adjust to different styles of play. But he loved the challenge, and he was ready to prove to his captains that they made the right choice in picking him first. They only had Sunday morning and a little of the afternoon to practice, and even though the stakes were low and most of the guys weren't going to give it 100%, Shane was struggling not to push himself — it's just how he always played.
"Hey, Hollander, save some of that energy for the game!" Called out Benny Marks, the Seattle forward Ilya had called old at the welcome party. Shane didn't think his age showed at all, honestly, he was still a powerful skater with sharp accuracy, and he would definitely be in the hall of fame one day.
"Sorry!" Shane yelled back. "I'm not used to not trying so hard."
Marks laughed and skated over to Shane, saying, "Don't risk an injury just to prove yourself to us now. Bring it to the game tonight, okay?"
"Right, sure," Shane replied, still feeling a bit starstruck.
"How're you going to do, playing against your buddy Rozanov? You guys are like inseparable, right? Don't go soft just because he's your best friend or whatever," Marks said as they drifted back to the tunnel into the dressing room.
Shane internally flinched at the accusation that he might do anything to give Ilya an advantage.
"No way, of course not, I'm here to win. Everyone has friends on other teams, right?"
"Yeah, but the way they talk about you guys, you'd think you were sucking each others' dicks in the showers after practice — like you're fucking in love or some shit."
Shane sputtered and coughed, sure he was turning beet red.
"Huh? I mean… what? Ha… um nope, we're not… you know… we're friends—"
Marks cut him off with a slap to his back, "Whoa, sorry kid, just joking around. No need to get all offended, you're good, I don't actually think you're sucking Rozanov's dick. Gross."
Marks laughed as he said it, like it was the funniest and most preposterous thing imaginable. Shane took a swig from his water bottle, trying to regain his ability to speak.
"Oh, right, yeah, funny!"
He tried (and probably failed) to sound like he really thought it was funny. But internally, he was panicking. Did people really think that? No, right? There was no way. The media did make a big deal out of him and Ilya being friends, they got asked about it a lot and reporters often wanted to interview them together, but lots of teammates were friends. He thought back to Delzy and his "friend" Fitzy. Shane remembered being a kid and watching them on the ice, imagining himself and his future best friend playing on the same team, everyone loving them. Had the media insinuated more about them too? Or was this all just homophobic bullshit from Marks?
Shane didn't know. His mind was reeling. The second reminder in as many days that Shane was taking a gigantic risk and — let's face it — making a huge mistake, every time he and Ilya hooked up landed hard in Shane's chest, and he began to question everything.
What the fuck was he doing? Why was he putting his career at risk… just to sexually experiment with his teammate? He felt so stupid, but powerless to stop. The reality was that he was more than just experimenting with Ilya, they had long passed that threshold. He was maybe falling in love with him. And that was the absolute stupidest thing he could do.
Shane shoved all of those thoughts into a locked compartment in his brain, making room for what he needed to do. He couldn't be worrying about being in love or vaguely homophobic teammates when he was about to be on a giant international stage for the scrutiny of every hockey fan and journalist in North America. This was why he never should have gotten close to Ilya in the first place. So today, he was going to play as hard as he could against Ilya, so well that no one would even fathom accusing him of giving his friend an advantage, and he could prove his worth to the hockey world.
When Shane made it out to the ice for the national anthems, he was completely focused on hockey, until he spotted Ilya across the ice, lined up along the other blue line, facing Shane's team. Some pop star Shane had never heard of was belting O Canada, and he was watching Ilya mouthing the words. He hadn't realized that Ilya had learned it, and Shane couldn't help but smile, a strange sense of pride that this person he cared for so much was singing the anthem of Shane's country.
Ilya caught his eye and winked, and it was like he took a hatchet to the compartment in Shane's mind where he was keeping all his feelings. Shane stuck his tongue out at Ilya, who grinned, and Shane prayed that it wasn't caught on camera. Fuck. Get your shit together, Hollander. He turned his eyes back up to the flag as another singer stepped up for the US anthem.
"All right boys, let's do this!" Yelled Shawn Stratton, the co-captain of his team, when they gathered back at the bench before the face-off. "Hollander, you're taking the face-off against Rozanov!"
"What?" Shane's eyes bugged out of his head.
"Yeah, the league is eating it up, best friends and teammates facing off against each other, it's a whole thing. The fans want to see you guys as rivals or some shit. So get over there!"
However nervous Shane had been 10 seconds ago, it tripled, no — quadrupled. He was taking the first face off of his first All-Star game? His mom would definitely be losing her mind with pride, and that was enough to bolster his confidence.
He saw Ilya making his way to center ice, barely holding back a grin. He was loving this, and that set off butterflies in Shane's stomach. It brought him right back to their World Juniors final just over a year ago, before any of this happened, when they were basically strangers, and Shane had a singular goal: win gold and get drafted first overall. All that had happened, so Shane had no reason to doubt that he would win again tonight.
"Feels familiar, eh?" Shane asked as he bent down in front of Ilya.
"Yes, but this time I win, Hollander," Ilya practically purred back.
"We'll see about that." Shane channeled Ilya and mustered his smuggest smile.
Ilya slid an inch closer so only Shane could hear him and whispered, "What do I get if I win?"
Shane gulped, bit his lip, then said potentially the most dangerous words he'd ever uttered: "Whatever you want."
Ilya's eyes flared and Shane's face heated.
"Ready boys?" The ref said as he skated over with the puck.
They both nodded, waiting for the puck drop.
Ilya winked.
And Shane lost the face-off.
Despite losing the first face off, which Shane knew would be a headline in and of itself, Shane's team was winning by the middle of the 2nd period. He had a goal and an assist and was feeling good. Ilya definitely had the inferior team, despite having Scott Hunter and Delzy too — something just wasn't gelling with them, and he could see Ilya getting increasingly frustrated.
He wanted to say something to make him feel better, but at the same time, he did want to win. And he couldn't let his team think he was aiding the opposing team. So during a break in play when the puck went over the boards, Shane sidled up to Ilya and elbowed him.
"Hey," Shane said lightly.
"I do not like you right now," Ilya grumbled.
"Does that mean you usually do like me?" Shane made the most innocent face he could, doing everything short of sticking out his bottom lip and batting his eyelashes.
"Shut up, Hollander," he replied, but Ilya was fighting a smile. "I do not like you ever. Go away."
Shane began to skate backwards, but called out, "Liar!" and Ilya rolled his eyes and shook his head with a resigned laugh.
There. Maybe he'd be less grumpy now.
***
With three minutes left in the third period, it was tied at 6-6. All-Star games usually had higher scores because of a general agreement to be less defensive in the interest of preventing injury and making it more fun for the fans. And Ilya's team seemed to have figured themselves out, because they caught up after the final intermission.
Shane and Ilya were facing off again, and Ilya wasn't playing around this time. Shane could see him gritting his teeth, his face could only be described as menacing. Shane shuddered — he was glad he had this guy on his team the rest of the year.
They tussled over the puck, and it wound up sliding towards the right winger on Ilya's team, who passed it back to Ilya and then he took off towards Shane's team's zone. He was flying down the ice, the fastest Shane had ever seen him. In the back of his mind, Shane hoped Ilya was playing so hard because of whatever he wanted if he won. And his heart raced a little faster at the thought, wondering what Ilya had in mind.
Fuck all his worries and what Marks said and being safe or cautious — he needed to touch Ilya as soon as possible. He needed this game to end. He couldn't let them go to overtime. But he still wanted to win, damn it. So Shane chased Ilya down the ice, catching up and interrupting his breakaway. Shane shoved him lightly, but with enough strength to knock him off course.
The crowd was deafening. They were absolutely eating up the "friends turned rivals" narrative unfolding before their eyes — on top of the existing "two generational-talent rookies" narrative. Shane and Ilya were hockey gold. It was a lot of pressure, but it also felt so fucking good. Shane felt, in this one moment, like he was living up to the hype.
They ended up against the boards again, fighting for the puck, and it seemed like their teammates were going to let them battle it out — no one was coming to help.
"I'm finishing this game, Rozanov," Shane bit out as he maneuvered his stick and skates, trying to gain control of the puck.
"Ha!" Ilya laughed and elbowed Shane, "Rozanov, is it?"
"Yeah, you're not my teammate tonight," Shane grunted.
"I will be much more than teammate tonight, Hollander," Ilya rumbled and fucking winked again.
The millisecond of distraction was enough for Shane to lose the puck to Ilya. He shot it across the ice to a waiting teammate, who slap-shotted it into the net. Shane hung his head in defeat, and Ilya slid up behind him.
"Do not be sad, Hollander," he teased.
"Oh, fuck you," Shane said back with no real bite.
"No, you," Ilya leaned in to whisper, and Shane's breath hitched before he narrowed his eyes and pinched his lips together.
Ilya skated back towards his bench with a big shrug and another wink, and Shane knew the cameras were probably zoomed in on that wink and fans would be sharing clips of it all over the internet. Only Shane knew the real reason Ilya was looking so smug, and it made his blood run hot.
***
Ilya's team won. Of course they did. So now, at the after party, Shane was hearing all about it even though he'd been there: how Ilya had bested him, how he ranked second, how wrong Marks and Stratton had been to draft Shane first. It was "all in good fun," but Shane was letting it get under his skin. Ilya stopped participating in the onslaught of chirping after only a few minutes, likely seeing the frustration building behind Shane's smiling exterior.
It's not that he couldn't take a joke, that was part of being a hockey player and Shane had learned at a young age to let it roll off his back and to throw it right back. But some of these guys didn't chirp with a smile or a friendly wink, it was more like a bite of satisfaction. Shane was brought back to that very first day of development camp back in the summer — the side-eyes, almost sneers, and whispered jokes that all let him know they didn't think he deserved the attention or praise heaped on him by the media and fans. He just didn't think that would have followed him here, where everyone was one of the best.
Was it that Shane was so good that he was worthy of their ire? Then why didn't they treat Ilya the same? Shane had enough awareness of the world around him, and he had been in hockey locker rooms his whole life. He knew it was something else — maybe everything else — about him: he was short, younger even than Ilya, boyish and half-Japanese, which meant he wasn't masculine enough. He was polite, like Ilya always said, a "good boy."
As Shane sat, head-ducked into his ginger ale at the bar, a friendly voice behind him said, "Hey Hollander, tough loss tonight."
Scott Hunter sat down next to him, shooting Shane his mega-watt smile.
"Yeah, well, you know. All-Star game doesn't really count, does it?" Shane shot back, trying to bolster his own mood.
"You're not wrong," Hunter laughed. "Looks like your buddy is enjoying the win."
Hunter gestured across the horseshoe bar to Ilya, who was being handed a shot by his captain.
"Why aren't you over there celebrating with them?" Shane asked.
"I'm not really one for shots, especially after a win that doesn't count," Hunter chuckled and Shane smiled. He was being friendly enough, and that was refreshing. "Plus, I wanted to say hello, introduce myself properly. We've played each other, obviously, but I haven't had a conversation with this year's first overall draft pick yet."
Hunter sounded sincere, so Shane replied in kind.
"Oh, um, thanks," he laughed, not really knowing what to say. "I appreciate it."
"It's a tough league, you know?" Hunter asked, eyes focused on his hands. "Don't want bad blood across the league — you never know where you'll end up. So."
"Uh, yeah. I mean, we want to beat New York more, and we're going to," Shane replied, pointing at Hunter with a laugh on his lips. "But yeah, it's nothing personal against you."
"Yo, Hunter! Get over here! Team photo!" Someone yelled very drunkenly from the other side of the bar.
"Guess I better go," Hunter rolled his eyes. "See you around, Hollander. Chin up!"
Shane faked a smile and said goodbye, watching Hunter join the group with Ilya smiling for a group photo.
He heaved a sigh. He was ready for this to be over. He was ready to be up in the hotel room, alone with Ilya, with one of the only people in the world who never made him feel scrutinized and picked apart. He wanted to forget these bitter, cocky assholes and be with the only other person who truly knew what it was like to be at the top, at a place where no one else could reach them..
Deciding he had shown his face at the party long enough, Shane got up and looked towards the winning team breaking apart after their group photo. He caught Ilya's eye, tipping his head towards the elevators, hoping that Ilya would follow. Ilya winked again, and Shane turned away with a secret smile.
Up in the room, Shaned undressed and got in the shower. He had pulled out the hygiene products he'd ordered online and quickly used it. He'd practiced once at home, just to be sure he knew what he was doing. He dressed, changing into a soft old t-shirt and sweats — the sweats he'd rolled around the lube and condoms he'd packed, so he placed those in the nightstand drawer. Right next to the bible. Shane laughed to himself.
As he settled onto the bed they'd slept in the night before, about to turn on the tv and wondering where Ilya was, he heard the lock click and the door creak open. Shane's heartbeat skipped and sped up. This was it. Shane inadvertently held his breath, waiting for Ilya to enter the room.
Ilya was loosening his tie as he turned the corner of the narrow hallway leading back from the door. The movement was so domestic yet so erotic — it was familiar to Shane now, but the thrill that coursed through him felt new every time. Ilya's eyes caught on Shane sitting back against the headboard as he pulled the tie out of his collar with a snap. Shane tried not to gasp.
While Ilya toed off his shoes and took off his jacket, Shane swallowed hard then said, "You won."
A grin unfurled like a flower blossoming across Ilya's face, broad and beautiful.
"I did." He took a few steps towards the bed.
Shane shifted under his gaze and asked, "Well, what do you get if you win?"
"Whatever I want," Ilya breathed as he climbed over Shane, who slid himself down the headboard, allowing Ilya to hover over him before claiming his mouth in a bruising kiss.
They tumbled together, hungry and desperate, breaking only to pull their shirts off and making a mess of the bedding. Shane pulled back to take a breath, now straddling Ilya and bracing himself with hands on his shoulders.
"This is what you wanted?" Shane asked, breathless. "Making out?" He knew it wasn't, and maybe he was over-eager, maybe he was needy, but he was desperate to know what was on Ilya's mind.
"This is not good for you?" Ilya raised his eyebrows in mock dismay.
"Stop, you know it is," Shane ducked his head, trying to hide the way his cheeks were burning.
"Yes, I know," Ilya smirked with a glance between Shane's legs. He licked his lips, considering, then flipped them again. He pulled back off of Shane, kneeling between his legs.
"Wha-" Shane protested, already cold with the loss of Ilya's body on his.
"I want to watch you," Ilya said softly, almost a whisper, like he wasn't sure he should be saying it.
"What, like yesterday?" Shane asked, somewhat disappointed. It had been hot, but he didn't just want to get himself off again.
"No," Ilya shook his head, his eyes dark with desire. "Want to watch you open yourself, with your fingers."
Shane's breath hitched, mouth slightly open.
"Oh," was all he could say. His mind went blank, the idea of fingering himself with Ilya watching — it wiped out all other thoughts.
"Have you done this?" Ilya asked.
"Um," Shane looked away, knowing he was turning impossibly redder than he already was. "Uh, sorta, yeah. I've, like, tried it? I don't think I was very good at it." He looked back at Ilya, whose eyes hadn't moved at all, and chewed his lower lip, desperately nervous now.
"You want to be the best, always," Ilya huffed a laugh and Shane rolled his eyes but smiled.
"Well, yeah."
"You will be good, no way you will not be." It was a refrain Ilya had repeated often, every time he nudged Shane to try something new, whether it was a trick shot or swallowing his come.
The look on Ilya's face was so sure, his tone so fond, that Shane's chest tightened. No one in the world had ever had this much faith in Shane, not on the ice and certainly not in bed. Yes, many people had expectations, but never so much blind confidence in Shane. But Ilya said things like that with such certainty that Shane almost had no choice but to believe it.
"Okay," Shane breathed. "I'll try."
Ilya nodded and moved off of the bed. He dragged the armchair from the corner of the room over to face the bed and sat, leaving his unbuttoned pants on. Shane propped himself up on his arms, watching as Ilya got himself settled.
"Comfortable over there?" Shane asked with a teasing lilt to his voice.
"Very," Ilya stuck his tongue out at Shane, imitating Shane on the ice earlier that night.
Shane laughed and asked softly, "So, like, do I get undressed now?"
"You cannot finger yourself with pants on, or can you?"
"You're a dick," Shane huffed, but got up and slid down his sweatpants. He hadn't bothered to put on underwear, and seeing Ilya's reaction to that fact sent a bolt of sweet satisfaction through Shane.
He sat back down and pulled the bottle of lube out of the nightstand drawer before leaning back on the mountain of pillows behind him. He felt Ilya's eyes on him the whole time, warming his skin with just his gaze. Shane breathed in deep and let out a long, slow exhale before he looked back up, catching Ilya's eye, not wanting to speak his uncertainty but asking every question with just a glance.
"Shane," Ilya breathed roughly. "Touch yourself."
Shanes's pulse was thrumming, carrying the gruff, already-wrecked sound of Ilya's voice to every nerve ending in his body, lighting him up. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the intensity of Ilya's hot gaze on him any longer, and reached a hand down his stomach, brushing his skin softly as he went. When he reached his cock, he took the rigid length and danced his fingers lightly up and down, making himself shiver.
Grabbing the lube bottle, he warmed some in his hands and started stroking more steadily, but still unhurried. He got lost in it for a minute or two, enjoying the slow build-up of arousal and the trickle of lube down to his balls. When he used his other hand to gently massage them, he let out a sigh and heard a stifled moan from across the room.
He'd almost forgotten that Ilya was there, watching his every move, and it made Shane shudder. He opened his eyes and saw Ilya leaning forward in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs, a hazy, lust-drunk look on his face. Ilya's eyes flicked from the movement of Shane's hands to his eyes. He had an almost pleading expression on his devastatingly perfect face.
"Good?" Shane asked.
"So good," Ilya replied reverently. "Such a good boy for me."
"Oh god," Shane breathed, more to himself than to Ilya. Ilya had called him a good boy teasingly so many times, but to hear it like this, while he was working himself up under Ilya's intense scrutiny, almost made Shane choke on his own tongue.
Shane bent his knees and spread his legs, allowing Ilya to see everything his hands were doing. He felt so exposed and vulnerable, but not unsafe. He held the reverent sound of Ilya's voice in his mind, gave himself more lube, and began rubbing it below his balls and down towards his hole. The sensation was overwhelming, and he couldn't contain the moan that escaped him. He started rubbing slow circles around his tight opening, eyes closed once again, concentrating on breathing and the surprisingly pleasant feeling of his slick finger against his soft flesh. It was so much better this time, and Shane wasn't sure if it was simply because he was more relaxed, or if it was because Ilya was there encouraging him with this hungry stare.
When he felt warmed up enough, Shane pressed the tip of his finger inside. He and Ilya both sucked in breaths at the same time and Shane's cock twitched against his stomach. He heard Ilya groan as he slowly pushed in, past his first knuckle.
"Shane," Ilya croaked.
"Fuck," Shane whined, "Ilya."
"Good?" Ilya asked, repeating Shane's question back to him.
"Mmhmm," Shane swallowed the sound as he squeezed around his finger. It was so much but not nearly enough. "It's… I need more."
"Can I?" Ilya asked, voice low and broken. Shane heard a rustle of movement, and he opened his eyes to see Ilya standing. "Have to touch you, Shane. Can give you more. Okay?"
Shane nodded, desperate to feel Ilya on him — in him.
Kneeling between Shane's legs again, Ilya opened the lube and slicked up two fingers. He mimicked Shane's earlier circling motion and Shane gasped, the muscle stretched around his own finger tensing under Ilya's caress, "Fuck yes, so good."
With his other hand, Ilya took Shane's dripping cock from him and stroked slowly up and down. He pushed in gradually with one finger, joining Shane's in an exquisite stretch.
"Oh my god, Ilya," Shane's voice was a broken cry of pleasure.
"So beautiful, Shane," Ilya grumbled and slowly pulled his finger back before pushing it farther in. Shane gently slid his own finger out, allowing Ilya to take over, and surrendered to simply feeling.
Ilya set a steady pace, staring down with lips parted, until Shane asked, with a trembling voice, for more.
Ilya gave it to him, twisting in a second finger, and this time curling them up to brush against the sensitive nerve endings inside. Shane clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the obscene moan that erupted out of him at the sensation. He squeezed his eyes shut, seeing stars, feeling his pulse pounding in his ears. He knew it was only two fingers, but he already felt impossibly full and on the brink.
Ilya leaned over him, hands still working a steady pulse inside and over Shane's length, and whispered into Shane's ear, "The whole game, all I am thinking about is this. Your hands on yourself, my fingers inside you, my cock inside you."
Shane whimpered into his hand and felt tears dripping from the corner of his eyes. He was right on the edge already. He wanted Ilya to fuck him so much, but he feared he was too far gone.
Ilya sat back again, eyes raking over Shane's flushed body as he began to buck his hips ever so slightly. Ilya let out a litany of Russian that Shane didn't understand, but he didn't need to, the desperate tone of Ilya's voice told him enough. He was almost as gone as Shane was.
"Oh fuck, please, oh god, I'm gonna come," Shane choked out as Ilya stroked him faster and faster, and slid a third finger inside with a twist. The exquisite fullness and excruciatingly delicious burn were enough to send Shane careening into orgasm. He sobbed out a final "please, Ilya" before squeezing down on Ilya's fingers and coming with a shudder, shooting all over his stomach and chest.
"Yes, sweetheart, give it to me."
He continued the pulse of his fingers and stroked Shane through his release until he whimpered that it was too much. Shane was dripping in sweat and a tear rolled down the side of his face as he heaved deep breaths and rode out the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through him. He was too overwhelmed to register the petname on Ilya's tongue, but Shane's thoughts would surely latch onto that later.
Once his breathing neared a normal rhythm, Ilya slowly pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the sheets. Shane was too wrecked to care about the mess, but not too dazed to realize that Ilya was painfully hard in his trousers that were still zipped up over his straining cock.
"Let me suck you," Shane breathed.
"What? No…," Ilya demurred.
"Please," Shane insisted. "I need to."
Shane was suddenly desperate for it, he didn't care that he was covered in his own come or that his muscles were burning with exhaustion.
He pushed Ilya back and settled between his legs, ripping his zipper down and releasing his heavy cock, which bounced towards Shane's face.
"Will be fast," Ilya panted and carded a hand into Shane's hair as he lowered his mouth. Ilya bucked his hips tentatively, asking, "Okay?"
Shane nodded as much as he could with Ilya's cock filling his mouth, and Ilya thrusted maybe twice before exploding with a grunt, both hands gripping Shane's hair tightly, holding him in place. Shane pulled off and collapsed back onto the bed, eyes closed, grinning with giddy exhaustion.
Ilya shifted next to Shane, pulling him to his chest and wrapping him up in his large arms and kissing every inch of his face before sliding his mouth onto Shane's and languidly brushing their tongues together. They kissed, sloppy and lazy, for several minutes, letting the quiet of the room overtake them, until Shane was conscious enough to remember that he was covered in rapidly drying ejaculate.
He sighed into Ilya's mouth, Ilya laughing lightly into his.
"You will need to shower, yes?" Ilya asked with a twisted smirk and quirk of a brow. Shane hated how predictable he was, yet he loved that Ilya knew him so well.
"How did you know that's what I was going to say?"
Ilya gave him a look that said, "Are you really asking me that right now?"
Shane laughed and pushed lightly against Ilya's chest, retorting weakly, "Whatever. Come on, let's clean up."
Ilya pulled him back in and nibbled on Shane's earlobe, tickling him so much that he kicked his feet and wailed, "What the hell, quit it!"
With a lick to soothe where he'd just nibbled, Ilya tittered, "Quit it!" His mocking sounded so ridiculous wrapped up in his thick accent that Shane dissolved further into a fit of giggles. Ilya finally released him and rolled onto his back. Shane climbed out of the mess of sheets and blankets, but Ilya remained, arms and legs splayed wide, his dick hanging limply out of his pants still.
"Too tired to move," he complained.
"If you don't shower, you can sleep in that bed alone. I'm taking the clean one for myself," Shane threatened, and Ilya popped up immediately.
"That's what I thought," Shane chuckled, turning to the bathroom.
After they got clean, dry, and dressed in fresh pajamas, they slid into the cool, clean sheets of the other bed that had so far gone unused. They were both lying on their backs, looking up at the ceiling, arms pressed together between them.
"Thank you," Ilya whispered into the dark room.
Shane bit his lips between his teeth, even though Ilya wouldn't have been able to see him smile anyway.
"What for?"
"You… did what I wanted."
"I said I would."
"Yes, but —"
"I wanted to," Shane cut Ilya off before he could protest. He turned his head to face Ilya, who turned his own head at the same moment. In the dark, he could just make out the shimmer of gold in Ilya's eyes. "Really."
"Okay," Ilya whispered.
"I actually…" Shane started, but trailed off.
"Actually what?" Ilya asked, not pressuring, just curious.
Shane steeled himself, the darkness making him more brave than he would have been in the light. "I actually thought you were going to fuck me. I'm sorry," He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I came so fast."
If Ilya had stayed silent any longer, Shane would have started to freak out, so he was relieved when Ilya breathed, "Stop saying sorry every second."
It was another thing Ilya repeated often, but Shane was terrible at heeding his words.
He continued, "Was so fucking hot, Shane. Exactly what I wanted."
Shane knew he should accept that at face value and not push, but his bone-deep insecurity won out. "So… you don't want to fuck me anymore?"
Ilya snorted. "Do not be stupid, Hollander."
"What??" Shane feigned confusion.
"Was tonight only night I can fuck you? All other nights not allowed?"
"I guess not…"
"Good. Another time."
A beat passed.
"Only if you want…" Ilya added.
"Yes," Shane rushed to say. "Yes, I do. I want to. Soon."
Ilya turned fully onto his side now, and manhandled Shane until he was also on his side, back to Ilya. Shane let him do it, loved feeling small and malleable in Ilya's hands. He tugged Shane flush against his chest.
"Soon," Ilya sighed out. "Goodnight, Shane."
"Goodnight, Ilya." Shane drifted off fast, as he always did in Ilya's arms.
***
Ilya called him good boy. Ilya called him sweetheart. It was all Shane could think about. Well, almost all he could think about. He was also thinking a lot about coming with Ilya's fingers inside him, and wondering more than ever before how it would feel to have more of Ilya inside him. But sweetheart. That wasn't casual. That wasn't blowjobs between friends. That was… god help him, Shane needed to stop… that was the kind of thing boyfriends said.
Get your head out of your ass, Shane thought to himself, and turned his head to look out the window of the car. They had a late red-eye back to Ottawa, so they made a plan to go to the beach for a few hours early in the morning to take full advantage of their time in southern California. Delzy had taken off already, opting to spend the rest of their week off visiting his family in British Columbia instead of going back to Ontario with Shane and Ilya.
From last night until they arrived back home, this would be the longest stretch of time Shane and Ilya spent alone together — no teammates, no responsibilities, just free time and each other. It was thrilling and terrifying, and Shane only hoped that they didn't land in Ottawa the next morning sick of each other.
They began with a run along the water, which of course turned into a race, and ended with Ilya grabbing Shane by the arm and pulling him back to claim the win.
"It doesn't count as a win if you cheat!" Shane called, catching his breath.
"No refs here to judge — I win!" Ilya called back. He plopped down onto the sand, took off his shoes and socks, and let the soft waves spill over his bare feet as he leaned back on his hands, head to the sky, eyes closed.
Shane stared, transfixed by the way the sun shone on Ilya's hair, turning his light brown curls to spun gold. The sweat on his heaving chest mirrored the twinkling water, and the light caught on his golden crucifix. Shane was spellbound and completely, utterly infatuated. This was so bad. But it was so fucking good.
"Sit with me, do not be sore loser," Ilya sighed, clearly unaware of the effect he was having on Shane.
"I'm not a sore loser, I just don't want my ass to get sandy."
Ilya laughed and looked at Shane with an evil glint in his eye that let Shane know his ass would be getting sandy whether he liked it or not. So he sat, mimicked Ilya's pose, and let the sound of the ocean waves ease his racing mind.
"I think this is the best weekend of my life," Shane mused.
Ilya hummed and shifted his hand in the sand so his pinky touched Shane's. It was by far the best weekend of his life.