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Shane was in the locker room when it happened. He was on a high. The Voyageurs had snagged a narrow win over Boston despite Marlow nearly rocking his shit when he slammed him against the boards in the second period, and he knew Ilya would be coming over later to soothe all his aches. The other man always got extra possessive when someone else checked him during a game, and Shane wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that he loved it. It had been different between the two of them since Tampa. Deeper. Shane couldn’t stop thinking about the call after Ilya’s father’s funeral. Ilya had been distressed and alone and vulnerable, and he called Shane. He called Shane looking for comfort. And while Shane couldn’t understand what Ilya was saying, he could hear the emotion. Maybe he was delusional, but that emotion sounded a lot like “I love you”. It made Shane’s heart flutter.
It was Cameau who broke Shane out of his post-win bliss.
“Holy shit! Have you all seen this?!” He yelled out with glee, breaking through the noise of the locker room. Several heads turned to look in his direction. Cameau’s eyes were glued to his phone, and he had an almost manic smile on his face. He continued to swipe down his screen and let out a booming laugh. Hayden caught Shane’s eye and raised his eyebrows in question to gauge whether or not Shane knew what had Cameau so fucking happy. Shane just shrugged and rolled his eyes.
“Are you going to tell us what you’re looking at or just keep laughing like an asshole?” Mitty piped back as he zipped up his bag and threw it over his shoulder. Drapeau walked over to Comeau to glance over his shoulder at this phone, and his eyes almost comically bugged out. He let out a sharp laugh.
“Who would have thought Rozanov was a fucking faggot!” Drapeau exclaimed as he threw his head back.
Shane felt like his heart stopped. The air was suddenly thicker. His vision blurred. He was pretty sure he was about to pass out.
The locker room was immediately filled with his team all trying to talk over each other at once.
“The fuck are you two talking about?”
“Rozy? Ain’t no way!”
“Come on! He’s fucking some new girl every week.”
“Is this a prank?”
“Dude, that’s not funny.” Hayden. That was Hayden. Shane could feel his eyes on him. He must have noticed how still he had gone.
Shane’s breaths were getting tighter by the minute. They had been careful. So fucking careful. But maybe they weren’t. Maybe they had looked at each other too long. Or someone had caught one of the small smiles they sent each other’s way when they thought no one was looking. Or someone had caught him entering Ilya’s room in Tampa. Whatever it was, they had been caught, and there was something, probably a picture, maybe several based on how Cameau was swiping on his screen, circulating around. Ilya was so distinctive. With his bone structure that seemed to be carved from stone and his unmistakable head of curls. It made sense that they picked him out first. But it was only a matter of time before they looked closer. Noticed that the other person in whatever picture they were looking at was clearly Shane.
People were still talking over each other. It was getting louder by the second, and the louder it got, the smaller the room got around Shane. It was going to crush him, and he was struggling to keep any small amount of composure while he waited for the inevitable.
“See for yourselves, fuckers! You probably have it in your inboxes, too. There’s like a thousand people cc’d on this. But it’s clearly Rozanov taking it up the ass from someone!” Cameau said as he turned his screen to face the rest of the room. Some people moved to crowd around him, others pulled out their own phones to check their own emails. They were all talking over each other again.
“No way!”
“I’ll believe that shit when I see it.”
“Isn’t it kind of shitty to be this happy about it?” JJ. That one was JJ.
And then the words hit him. It’s clearly Rozanov taking it up the ass. His chest loosened for a brief second. It wasn’t him. There was no way Shane could be incriminated in this. They don’t do that. Shane wasn’t in the picture. He could breathe again. He felt pure relief run through his veins before guilt slammed into him. He was relieved that only Ilya had gotten outed. He was happy it wasn’t him. The relief hit him like a drug, and then the guilt over that relief pulled him down so hard his knees felt weak. Ilya just got outed. To apparently thousands of people. It was only a matter of time before it was everywhere. Ilya just got outed, and the first emotion Shane felt was relief. What the fuck was wrong with him?
The words replayed in Shane’s head. It’s clearly Rozanov taking it up the ass. The more he processed them, the more it felt like rocks were settling in his stomach. Because it wasn't just that they don’t do that. Ilya doesn’t do that. Ever. He’d told Shane as much. A couple of months ago in a Tampa hotel room after Ilya had cried into Shane’s shoulder, he’d offered to try it if Shane had really wanted to. But the other man had been shifty and nervous and clearly only offering because he thought it was something he was depriving Shane of. And Shane had turned him down, because one, Ilya very obviously wasn’t actually interested in bottoming, and Shane wasn’t about to pressure someone into something they didn’t really want, and two, Shane honestly wasn’t actually interested in topping. Shane had told Ilya that he liked the way they did things, and he didn’t see a need to change it up. The tension and nerves instantly released from Ilya’s shoulders. Later that night, Shane had asked if Ilya had ever bottomed for anyone. Ilya had tensed up again and gotten quiet for a moment, before he tightened his arm around Shane’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his chest and kissed the top of his head.
“I’ve never wanted to,” he said softly. He was quiet for a while after that. Shane laid there listening to his heartbeat for a couple minutes.
“Why did you offer? I don’t want you to ever do something you’re not comfortable with just because you think it will make me happy.” And he meant that. Ilya had a reputation for being a selfish asshole, but it was all an act. He'd seen underneath the mask. And Shane heard the way Ilya talked about his family. The shit he put up with to give them what they wanted from him. Shane never wanted to be a person Ilya felt he had to sacrifice himself for.
“Because I trust you. You would not hurt me.” There was an emotion in the other man’s voice that Shane couldn’t place, but he didn’t push. He just burrowed deeper into Ilya’s embrace and stayed there until he absolutely had to leave to head back to his own room.
Shane wasn't sure how long he stood there replaying that conversation in his head as he tried to reconcile them with Cameau’s words. It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. A gentle nudge to his side snapped him out of it, and he looked over at Hayden who was giving him a questing look. Hayden who was not jumping with joy to scroll through his phone like the rest of the room. Hayden who was concerned about how painfully quiet Shane had been through the whole ordeal.
“What?” He said deadpanned, totally void of emotion, because if he let the emotions he was feeling come through, he would give himself away in an instant. He said it to Hayden, but it seemed to stop the whole room in his tracks. All the heads in the room turned to their Captain. Drapeau was the first one to break away, walking over to Shane, big smile on his face, holding his phone up in Shane’s direction.
“You have to see this, Cap!” And Shane didn’t want to. He never wanted to have to see Ilya in a vulnerable position he obviously did not put out into the world of his own free will. But his eyes automatically found the screen. His brain took in everything all at once, but in snippets that he can’t make connect.
It was obviously Ilya. The moles on his back. His curly hair, lighter and shorter than Shane had seen it before, but still the curls Shane’s fingers knew so well.
There was a hand on the back of his neck, holding him down. It was meaty and slightly wrinkled. Above where they were connected, Shane noticed the sprinkles of gray hairs in the man’s pubes.
The side of Ilya’s face that was visible showed his eye squeezed shut and a crease to his brow that Shane recognized from when he’d watched the other man play through bruised ribs in the past. He was in pain.
Drapeau scrolled down to the next picture. One that showed Ilya’s full face, and Shane’s heart stopped. Jesus fucking Christ. Shane was going to throw up.
“Delete it,” he spat out, his voice rough and cracking, struggling to enunciate through his nausea. He slapped the phone out of Drapeau’s hand, and it clattered loudly to the floor.
“What the fuck, Cap?!” Drapeau spat back at him. The room had gone silent. All eyes were on him.
“Everybody. Delete that shit now. That’s an order as your fucking Captain,” he ground out. His chest felt so tight he was afraid he was going to actually pass out. He couldn’t get Ilya’s face out of his head. His face. His-
“Shane, I know it’s shitty, but you’re going to have a panic attack. What’s up man?” Hayden asked as he put a calming hand on his shoulder. Shane flinched out of his grasp. He couldn’t be touched right now. Not while Ilya’s face was still tattooed in his mind. The room was dead silent. Shane took a steadying breath as he looked up to scan the room. Hayden looked so concerned, and JJ, whose phone Shane noted was still firmly in his locker, looked confused. But the rest of them? He hated them at that moment. These men he had worked with for years who saw those pictures, who saw Ilya's face, and fucking laughed about it. Like it was a fucking joke. Shane hated them. Shane took a steadying breath to get some air into his lungs so he wouldn’t feel like he was dying anymore. He squared his shoulders. He couldn’t be weak right now.
“I’ve known Ilya Rozanov since he was seventeen,” he said evenly. He saw Cameau start to open his month as if he was going to ask what the fuck that had to do with anything. Shane held a hand up in his direction to stop him from talking. “I’ve known Ilya Rozanov since he was seventeen, and I’ve never seen him look that young.” He let it hang in the air for a minute and saw the realization click on several of their faces. Hayden sucked in a sharp breath next to him. “So you’re all going to delete the fucking child porn off your goddamn phones, and have some fucking respect about the fact something terrible happened to a respected member of this league.”
Cameau opened his mouth again as if he was going to argue. Shane made eye contact with him directly, causing the other man to flinch back as it was something they all knew Shane never willingly did.
“I don’t give a fuck if Rozanov is gay or not. That doesn't matter right now. You’re passing around pictures of a fucking kid getting taken advantage of by an obviously grown ass adult like its candy. Delete the pictures, delete the email they came from, and keep your goddamn mouth shut.”
Cameau gave him a sharp nod and quickly tapped his screen a few times to follow Shane’s orders. He saw the rest of the room follow suit. He saw Hayden and JJ both pick up their phones for the first time to go to their emails to delete it from their inbox. He picked up his phone to do the same, almost hoping there would be nothing there waiting for him. Hoping that he had been left off whatever mass email chain was out there. But it was there. Coming from a hotmail email address that was just a bunch of random letters, obviously generated on the spot by whoever was terrible enough to one, have these pictures, and two, decide to send them out to the whole league.The subject line was a damning ILYA ROZANOV IS A FAG!! Of course half of the assholes in the league were going to immediately open it when they saw it. Shane immediately swiped left on the message and deleted it from his inbox, then he went to his trash and deleted it there.
Right before he closed his mail app, a reply all response come through from Cliff Marlow. He had changed the subject line to DELETE THIS SHIT. Shane did open that one.
He’s obviously a fucking kid in these pictures. Be a decent fucking person and delete this shit now. If the press reaches out to any of you mother fuckers, the only goddamn thing you better say is no fucking comment. If I catch any of you saying shit, I’ll hit you with a career ending injury in a goddamn second the next time you play Boston.
He had deleted the body of the email he was responding to in an effort to keep it from showing up again in everyone’s inbox.
A reply all from Scott Hunter came through next in response to Cliff.
The Admirals stand behind Ilya Rozanov. This is fucked up, and we will not play into any scandal the media tries to make of this. Marlow, Please tell Rozanov we’re sorry this happened, and we support him.
And then one on the same note from the Ottawa Captain, and San Francisco, and Nashville, and so on. Team Captains flooded in to agree that they weren’t going to let this ruin Ilya. Shane added his reply in.
Montreal stands behind Rozanov. We will not talk to the press. Team rivalry or not, we won’t allow this to be what gives us an advantage.
It felt impersonal, but Shane could not allow himself to say what he really wanted to. He closed his mail app, and pocketed his phone.
The energy in the locker room was depleted. Everyone was quietly packing up their bags. No one was sure what to say. Mitty stopped in front of Shane on his way out the door.
“I didn’t realize how young he was in those pictures, Cap. I don’t think any of us did. I wouldn’t have said shit if I had realized. It’s a fucked up thing that happened, and even Rozanov doesn’t deserve that.” Shane nodded at him, and Mitty made his way out the door. The rest of the room started mumbling agreements as they headed out as well. And Shane still hated them.
Because they weren’t sorry for being shitty about Ilya possibly being gay. They weren't sorry for treating someone getting forcibly outed as a big fucking joke. They weren’t sorry about degrading one of the best players in the league. If the circumstances surrounding the pictures were different. If it had been a recent picture of Ilya with a man. Of Ilya with Shane even. They’d still be laughing and calling him a faggot.
Shane held it together through the team filing out. Through JJ stopping to give him a solid pat on the back followed by a “That was fucked. The whole thing” as he walked out the door, realizing that Shane wasn’t in the headspace to talk. Until it was just him and Hayden, who hadn’t stopped looking at Shane the whole time. Shane collapsed on the bench behind him like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his head immediately going to rest in his hands. He felt Hayden sit down beside him.
“Want to talk about it?” He asked gently. Not really, Shane felt like he was still seconds away from a panic attack, and he needed to get himself under control. This wasn’t about him. It was about Ilya. Oh God, Ilya. Was he still in the visitor’s locker room? How long had it even been since the game ended? He needed to check on him. He should have already. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Shane, breathe for me, buddy.” Hayden said as he rubbed Shane’s back. Shane forced himself to take a breath, and then another and another until it started coming easier again.
“I have to go,” he said suddenly as he stood up. Hayden was still looking at him like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “I need to go. I need to go check on him.” He was trying to keep his voice even. “Captain to Captain of course,” he threw in as an afterthought.
“Shane -” Shane shook his head at him as he backed up towards the door.
“We’ll talk later, Hayd. I promise. I just, I need to go.” He was pleading. He knew he was. Hayden nodded.
“Ok,” he said. “I just want you to know that the way they all reacted before was fucked. Even if it would have been what they thought, that wasn’t ok. I want you to know that there’s nothing you could ever tell me that would make me not love you anymore. You’re my family Shane. No matter what, ok?” Shane felt tears pricking behind his eyes, but he couldn’t let them fall. He had to not be losing his shit when he finally made it to Ilya.
“Thanks, Hayd. I love you, too.” Hayden gave him a weak smile, and Shane finally bolted out the door to the locker room. He ran down the hall to the other side of the arena, and stopped outside of the visitors’ locker room. What if they were already gone? Ilya’s phone was probably blowing up from agents, and team management, and the league itself, and every person he’d ever met. He’d probably turned it off. Shane would have. How would he find him if he was already gone and his phone was off? He was spiraling before it was necessary. He needed to stop. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. And promptly ran directly into the solid wall of muscle that was Cliff Marlow.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” The taller man spat out at Shane. His shoulders were raised like he was ready for whatever fight Shane had brought to their locker room. The pressure in Shane’s chest loosened a little bit knowing there was someone else who cared about Ilya like Shane did. Ilya didn’t let a lot of people in. It took years for him to fully let Shane in, and Shane almost immediately ruined it by running away. He was glad that Ilya had Cliff. Even if the man was kind of terrifying.
“Is he here?” Shane asked, voice cracking a little bit. Cliff hardened his glare.
“Now’s really not the time for your dumb rivalry bullshit, Hollander,” he said gruffly. Shane opened his mouth to respond when a hoarse voice broke through from behind Cliff.
“Shane?” Shane’s stomach swooped at the sound. He shot one last glance to Marlow, noticing that the tension had left his brow immediately after hearing Ilya call for him in such a familiar way. Shane pushed past the other man and finally laid eyes on Ilya. He was the only other person in the locker room. He hoped that Cliff had made the rest of the team leave to give him space as opposed to them abandoning their Captain. He was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, back firmly against the wall. His eyes were red and irritated. He had been crying. Shane knew he hated to cry in front of people. He was thankful for Cliff Marlow again. For allowing Ilya to be able to do so in front of him.
“Ilya,” he breathed out as he all but ran over to him and ungracefully plopped himself down on the ground next to him, basically molding his body to him. They were touching from shoulder to knee already as Shane wrapped one arm around his shoulders and used the other to thread his fingers in his hair and guide his face to the crook of Shane’s shoulder. Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist and buried a soft sob into his neck.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered as he ran his fingers through Ilya’s hair. He chanced a quick glance back at Cliff. The other man’s eyes had softened. He gave Shane a soft nod, and motioned that he was going to step out and guard the door in what Shane would describe as an unnecessarily complicated attempt at charades. Shane shot him a weak smile and turned his attention back to Ilya.
Shane buried his nose in Ilya’s curls and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as the other man let out choppy sobs. Ilya tightened his arms around Shane’s waist as if he was afraid he was going to disappear any second.
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” he soothed, moving his hand from Ilya’s hair to rub his back. Shane didn’t know how long they sat like that, but his ass had gone numb by the time Ilya pulled his face away from his neck. He didn’t care. He’d sit on the dirty locker room floor with him for hours if that’s what Ilya needed. Ilya pulled his head back to look up at him, and Shane immediately moved his hands to cup both sides of the other man’s face, gently brushing the tears away with his thumbs. Face swollen and eyes red, he was still so beautiful.
“Can I kiss you?” Shane asked softly. Ilya’s sad, blue eyes bore into his.
“Do you still want to?” Do you still want me? He didn’t say it, but Shane heard the question in his voice. It was rough and thick from the tears. His accent thicker than Shane had heard it in years.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” I love you. He knew it was true in that moment. That maybe it had always been true no matter how fast he tried to run from it. Maybe it had been true since he was seventeen and lecturing him about smoking as a way of flirting. But it wasn’t the time to say it. Ilya blinked quickly as his waterline started to fill up again, but the tears didn’t fall yet.
“You know now,” he said quietly. “You know I am,” he paused as he tried to find the right word in English. “Damaged.” He finally settled on. It broke Shane’s heart. He immediately shook his head and pressed a kiss to the other man’s sharp cheek bone before resting his forehead against his.
“That’s not true,” he said firmly, brushing his nose against Ilya’s. “What happened doesn’t make you any less. It doesn’t change anything. You’re still Ilya, and I’m still Shane. There’s never going to be a world where I don’t want you anymore. Ok?” Ilya slowly nodded his head and blinked the tears out of his waterline, allowing them to slowly roll down his cheeks. Shane pressed a solid kiss to the other man’s lips before leaning back against the wall and guiding Ilya’s head to rest back against his shoulder. His fingers returned to the curls he loved so much.
“I did not want it. Was…punishment,” Ilya said softly after a few minutes. Shane felt the beginnings of rage start to thrum under his skin, but he pushed it down. Ilya didn't need his rage right now. He could save that for later.
“How old were you?” he asked, barely above a whisper. He both needed to know and was dreading his response. He felt Ilya’s jaw working against his shoulder, like he was having to force the words out.
“Thirteen,” he finally said. Shane swallowed down his own tears. The thought of someone punishing a thirteen year old kid with that made him want to burn the world down. He wanted to ask who did it, and where he could find them, and how should he kill them. But he didn’t push. He didn’t want to overwhelm Ilya. Shane just squeezed him tighter and pressed another kiss to his hair. Shane felt Ilya’s jaw working again. “Was my coach. I played like shit that day. We lost. Was my fault.” Shane opened his mouth to protest. “The loss. Not punishment. I know that now.” He knows that now. Shane wondered how long it took him to realize that he was not at fault for what that sick bastard did to him.
“Was that the only time?” Shane dreaded the answer. Ilya’s fingers twitched around Shane’s waist as he gripped him a little tighter.
“Was the only time he did that. You mess up at practice or game, you get hit. Was Russia,” Ilya shrugged slightly, like your hockey coach delving out regular physical abuse was a non-issue. Shane disagreed, but that wasn’t a battle he needed to fight today. He filed it away for later. “He watched me all the time. Before. Thought it was because I was best player, but maybe he was just waiting for right time. We lost bad that day to bad team. Like losing to Ottawa. Embarrassing. Was anniversary of my mother’s death. The first one, and I was not good. He made me stay after. I thought he was going to hit me, but then he…” Ilya trailed off. He didn’t have to say it. Shane wouldn’t make him. He kissed his head again. “My father found out. I came home very hurt. He was so angry. At me for letting it happen. For being so weak. But also at Coach for disrespecting him in such a way. My father did not appreciate people damaging his things. And he was police. Had many ways to make people go away. By next practice, Coach was gone and there was someone new. He only hit, so was better. I did not know. About pictures. Did not think I would have to go back there again.”
“I’m so sorry, Ilya,” Shane said softly, moving his hand down to gently thumb at the other man’s ear in a way he had clocked Ilya doing as a means to self soothe before. “I’m sorry that happened to you, and I’m sorry that some piece of shit out there has brought it back up for you to have to deal with all over again. I wish you would have had someone to take care of you then. You deserved someone that was there to protect you and not just their reputation.” He felt Ilya nod against his shoulder, but he could not see his face to know if he believed him or not. They were silent for a moment.
“Was Alexei, I think,” Ilya said after a few minutes, his voice cracking slightly. “I finally cut him off when I was in Russia for funeral. No more money. He was very angry. He is police. Would have been easy for him to find something to use against me to get back at me.” The admission made Shane feel cold. The acceptance in Ilya’s voice that his own brother could do something so terrible to him.
“Do you really think he would do that to you?” Ilya let out a sharp, hoarse laugh.
“He is drug addict that has always resented me. I do think. At least he did not sell to press. It is better that he only sent to the league. Maybe it will stay there. Will still not be good, but better maybe.” He wanted to ask why Ilya was trying to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Why he was trying to lighten what his brother had done. But he didn’t. Maybe Ilya needed to hold on to that hope that his brother was still somehow looking out for him despite what he did. Shane would never understand that, but he also knew that comparatively, he had a perfect family. There were some dynamics about Ilya’s family that would never make sense to him. “I know Marly has been threatening people. He is good like that. Good friend. Was his rookie when I first joined team. He was supposed to keep me out of trouble when I first came to America. He took very seriously. Very protective of me.” Ilya said it with pretend annoyance, but Shane could hear how much Marlow’s loyalty meant to him.
“I’m glad you have him,” Shane said seriously. “How was your team about it?” Ilya let out a small sigh, but it didn't feel heavy. It made him hopeful that the visitors’ locker room was less shitty than his own.
“Not bad. Good, I think. I saw it first. Was waiting for email from my agent about something, so was checking. According to Marly, I went ‘white as sheet’ before I ran to throw up. He looked at my phone after I dropped it to see what had upset me. He saw pictures. Saw I was very young. He talked to team. Told them to be good about it or he would fuck them up. Told them to give me time to process or whatever. No one said anything bad before they left. Lots of pats on back and sorrys. Marly also talked to team management, so I will not have to deal with them until we are back in Boston. He said they were on my side, so is good.” Good. Shane was glad that Ilya wasn’t going to have to fight through whatever fallout ended up coming from this on his own. Of course he wouldn’t be alone. He would have Shane. Always. But having the team’s support was a whole other layer. It meant he wasn’t going to get cut and sent back to Russia. Which was officially a truly dangerous scenario for Ilya with those pictures having the potential to go public that Shane was having to consciously make himself not spiral about.
“You know, I’m on your side, right? No matter what. Whatever you need, I’m here,” Shane said seriously, using his hand to lift Ilya’s head off his shoulder to look at him. Soft blue eyes bore into his, and no part of him felt the need to divert eye contact. Ilya lips quirked up slightly in a small smile, but Shane could see the wariness lingering there. Remembered the look on the other man’s face as he called Shane by his last name in a desperate attempt to get him to stay.
“I’m serious. We don’t know what the fall out of this is going to look like. Maybe there won’t be any. But if there is, I’m here for it. If you need me to fly to Boston in the middle of the night so I can be there to help you draft statements or fight with your team management or your agent. If you need me to put out public statements of support. Hell, if you need me to marry you to get you Canadian citizenship so you never have to go back to Russia. I’ll do it. All of it. In a heartbeat.” Ilya shook his head.
“Shane, you know you can not do any of that. I will not drag you down with me,” Ilya said as he lifted a hand to cup Shane’s cheek, his thumb gently stroking over the freckles that lived there. Shane shook his head sharply.
“You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m going willingly. If this ends up blowing up, and being there for you means I have to be out, we’ll deal with whatever consequences that brings. If that means I have to leave Montreal, I don’t give a shit. I'm the best player in the fucking league. Somewhere else will take me.” What he didn’t want to say to Ilya in that moment was that after how his team reacted today, he wouldn’t give a fuck if he never had to play a game with them again. Ilya didn’t need to hear about the shitty things Shane's teammates had said about him.
“Second best,” Ilya quipped, because he could never miss a chance to challenge Shane. He ran his thumb over Shane’s cheek again, face turning more serious. “You would give up everything for me?” Shane reached up to grip the wrist that was holding his face, rubbing his own thumb across Ilya’s pulse point.
“I thought that’s what it would mean. When I used to freak out about getting caught. But I realized today that I wouldn’t be giving up anything. I’d be getting you, for real. I think that’s all I’ve ever really wanted. We can play hockey anywhere. Any team either of us end up on, will be a winning team, because we’ll be there. And the league would never do more than threaten to fire us, because we’re too good. But I can’t lose you,” Shane tilted his head to press a kiss to Ilya’s palm. He took a deep breath. Took in the sharp features of the beautiful man in front of him. “Ilya, I love you.” Ilya’s jaw dropped just slightly. Shane saw tears begin to well in his eyes again.
“Even though…” Ilya trailed off, jestering with the hand that wasn’t holding Shane’s face as if to say “All of this? All of me?” Shane felt tears building in his own eyes.
“There’s no ‘even though,’” Shane said. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Even when I tried not to be.” Ilya used the hand on the side of Shane’s face to pull him in for a kiss, deep and pouring out all the things neither of them had ever been able to say out loud to the other. When they pulled back for air, Ilya rested his forehead against Shane’s, bringing his other hand up to rest on the side of Shane’s neck.
“I love you, too,” he breathed out. “Maybe since you used most boring pickup line about not smoking ever to exist.” They both laughed.
“It wasn’t a pickup line,” Shane lied. Ilya smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, gently and slow, like they were going to be able to do it again every day for the rest of their lives. Because they were.
“Ok, Shane,” Ilya said, humoring him.
They didn’t know what was going to happen next. They didn’t know if the pictures were going to leak to the press. If Ilya was going to have to find a way to make a public statement about the darkest part of his past. If his team and the league were going to actually have his back. But they’d have each other. And what else did they really need?