Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shane Hollander hates tequila. Why someone would ever choose a drink that is essentially gasoline filtered through a stupid fucking agave plant, he will never understand.

He’s not a big drinker either. This seems important to mention.

He likes control, likes the feeling of his body being entirely belonging to him. It’s his to command, his to tame. While some hate the burn in their lungs after a long run, to Shane it’s exhilarating. It reminds him that this body is his, it means he’s still alive. Drinking is the opposite of control. It makes you lightheaded, dizzy, makes your cheeks red or eyes glassy. It makes you say things you shouldn’t, makes your body jelly and pliant. Shane hates that the most, worse than the taste.

Although now, looking down at the shot glass Rose presented in front of him, the taste looks deceiving. It’s clear for one, looking more like a viscous water than the poison he knows it to be. Shane continues to stare down at it, wondering whether going out for Rose’s birthday could be done sober instead.

There would be a lot of loud music at the club they’re going to, and lots of people too. Crowds and loud music, two of Shane’s least favourite things, which he is only putting himself through for Rose. While he hates tequila, when enough is in his system, it makes navigating crowds and loud music much easier. 

As Shane weighs his options, staring down into the shot glass with a furrowed brow, Miles bumps his shoulder.

“You trying to explode it with your mind or something?” 

Shane looks up, but before he can even open his mouth, Rose cuts in with a giggle, leaning heavily against Miles’ shoulder.

“You okay, Shaney?”

Shane’s face relaxes for a moment and he breaks out into a soft, albeit annoyed, smile. “Yeah, yeah, just regretting saying yes to tequila. We should’ve bought vodka.”

Rose snorts, pushing herself off Miles only to grab Shane’s arm and lean against him instead. They were only supposed to be pregaming at Rose’s apartment, a compromise meant to save them from paying club prices for drinks. Somehow, Rose had already managed to get drunk.

“Ah, Shane,” Rose whined, “you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

Shane looked back down at the shot still sitting there on Rose’s kitchen counter. He sighed. Fuck it. In one smooth motion, Shane reaches for the shot. He pours salt into his palm, licks it from his skin, and throws the tequila back. His eyes water, but he refuses to cough. Instead, he bites down on the lime in his hand, sucking the sourness from it as the taste of tequila lingers stubbornly on his tongue. Somewhere beyond the ringing in his ears, Rose and Miles erupt into cheers.

“Yay!” Rose giggles. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

Shane seriously doubted it.

The tequila burns a hole in his stomach. It feels like a slow-acting poison, scorching its way down his throat before settling somewhere deep in his gut. But it doesn’t stop there. As Rose and Miles take another shot, Shane can feel the heat seep into his bloodstream, spreading beneath his skin until it hums in his veins. He hates it. Hates the feeling, hates how it makes his heart pound against his chest. It’s so bad he convinces himself that another shot will chase that feeling away. When the second shot settles in his stomach, Shane realizes he is dead wrong. He feels worse somehow. Definitely dizzier, but also he feels like a worm; slinky and wobbly and one bad step away from keeling over.

Rose and Miles are oblivious to his suffering. They drag him into Rose’s bedroom and position him in front of her full-length mirror, squeezing themselves around him for pictures. Shane stands awkwardly between them, staring at their reflection as Rose fixes her hair and Miles poses. Shane feels himself smile, but under the haze of alcohol, his skin buzzes with anxiety. 

By the time Rose calls their Uber, Shane’s leg is bouncing uncontrollably and his hands are shaking too. Fuck, fuck. He hates this. He hates the anticipation, the before, and wants nothing more than to turn this car around and hide under his covers with a good book. But it’s Rose’s birthday and just like Shane had chosen a hockey-themed trivia night for his own birthday (an activity he proceeded to absolutely destroy them at) Rose had chosen this. The things you do for people you love. 

Moments later, they’re stumbling out of the Uber, and Shane’s hands immediately shoot out to catch Rose around the waist when she nearly slips getting out of the car. Between the three of them, he’s the most sober but not by much. He keeps one hand protectively at the small of Rose’s back as they start down the street, guiding her through the crowd. She and Miles are giggling about something he can’t quite hear, and despite everything, Shane finds himself smiling down at her.

“Where’s the place again?” Shane asks, lifting his head.

The street stretches ahead of them, lined with clubs and bars, their neon signs blurring his vision. It’s one of those busy strips in Montreal that comes alive at night but is dead during the day. 

Dozens upon dozens of people crowd the sidewalks. They spill out of bars and gather in smoking groups, weave between one another, stumble across the street between passing cars. Lines snake outside the doors of different clubs, bodies packed together beneath glowing signs.

Shane’s stomach twists. The club they’re looking for is some place called the Lucky Loon. They’ve never been before, and with the sheer number of people around them, concentrating feels almost impossible.

Rose scans the strip too, her eyes flicking from one glowing sign to the next before finally landing on a club with a bright yellow neon loon hanging above the entrance. Dozens of people are lined up outside. She smirks and points at the building.

“Perhaps the one with the neon yellow sign of a loon outside?”

Shane rolls his eyes, scoffing under his breath as he guides Rose and Miles toward it. They weave through clusters of people spilling out of the clubs they pass, dodging friends stumbling down the sidewalk with drinks in hand, cigarettes dangling between fingers, mouths finding each other without much concern for who might be watching. Shane keeps his head down, deliberately avoiding the wandering gazes of strangers until the three of them finally reach the line.

When they finally get in line, Shane’s nerves have settled. Rose and Miles have always been good at distracting him, chatting about nothing really, random stuff like work or shows they’re watching. As the line continues to shorten, Rose launches into a long story about her manager and their stupidity, making Miles and Shane laugh at her dramatics. They’re almost at the front now, maybe five people away, when two girls pass them on their way down the street, both complaining loudly.

“Fucking asshole,” one girl mumbles, glaring at her friend. “Who does he think he is?”

“At capacity my ass,” her other friend scoffs. 

Rose, ever the gossip, reaches out to stop them. “Wait, were you trying to get in here?”

Both girls stop, their eyes flicking to Shane and Miles before looking back at Rose. “Ugh, yeah. Bouncer says they’re at capacity. Wait’s gonna be another hour or so. We tried giving him money and the fucker laughed in our faces.”

Rose groans, thanking the girls before letting them continue down the street. Then she turns back to Shane and Miles, her expression falling. “Should we go somewhere else?”

“Where else can we go?” Miles asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “All the clubs look busy and we’ve already been waiting for twenty minutes.”

Rose glances at Shane. “What should we do?”

Shane shrugs. “We can go to a bar instead?”

“I wanna dance though,” Rose whines. 

“Maybe you could tell him it’s your birthday?” Shane suggests.

“You know how many times he’s heard that?” She glances at Miles for backup, only to find him staring at Shane with a slowly growing smile. “What?”

“Telling the bouncer that it’s Rose’s birthday might not do much,” Miles’ smirk widens. “If only we had another card to play.”

Rose catches on immediately. Her eyes flick toward Shane. Shane, meanwhile, is fucking confused.

“Yeah, if only we had someone that could leverage their job to get us in.”

Oh. Shane finally gets it. They’re looking at him. 

“No, no,” Shane shakes his head. “Absolutely fucking not.”

He knows exactly what they’re thinking. Shane works as a sports physiotherapist for the Montreal Metros, the best team in the MLH right now. He’s friends with most of the players, close enough that they’re constantly handing him free tickets and merch, which he inevitably shares with Rose and Miles. It’s one of the perks of having what Shane considers the best job in the world. Right now, however, he wishes he had literally any other job.

“Come on, Shane,” Miles sighs. “We really wanna get in.”

“What if he’s not a Metros fan?” Shane asks incredulously. “What if I tell him who I am and he tells me to fuck off? What if he throws me out on my ass? Or worse,” Shane gulps. “What if he’s a Boston fan?”

“Then we go to a bar,” Rose smirks. “And I’ll clean your wounds.”

Shane scoffs, weighing his options. He’s always seen himself as a good friend, especially to Rose, who is his lifeline. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for her. She was the first person he came out to. The person who held him through his first breakup. The person who pushed him to apply for the job he has now when he was too scared to believe he was good enough for it. He wonders if his wounded pride is worth all of that. He knows his job isn’t some magical backstage pass. There’s a good chance the bouncer won’t give a shit. He’ll laugh in Shane’s face, tell him to fuck off, and Shane will have to walk back to Rose and Miles with his tail tucked between his legs. Is Rose worth all of that?

“Fine.” He turns around before he can change his mind.

“Thank you!” Rose calls after him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane lifts one hand in acknowledgment, pushing his way through the line.

Shane pushes through the last few people in line until he finally reaches the front, offering quiet smiles and mumbling thank-yous to the strangers who, thankfully, seem completely indifferent to his existence.

At the front of the line, he can see the club’s large black door, propped open just enough for music to bleed onto the street. The bass vibrates faintly beneath his feet.

His eyes sweep over the entrance. Where the fuck is the bouncer?

His pulse picks up again. Fuck, fuck. Why is he suddenly so nervous?

Before he can talk himself into turning around, a redhead steps through the doorway. She’s dressed entirely in black, an apron tied around her waist, her curly hair pulled back from her face. She’s gorgeous and looks annoyed as she lights a cigarette right beside Shane. She takes a long drag, tipping her head back to exhale toward the sky.

“Excuse me,” Shane mumbles. Her eyes flick toward him and he gives her a small, nervous smile. She does not smile back. “Do you think I could speak with the bouncer?”

She looks even more annoyed when he mentions the bouncer. Jeez. Yeah, Shane should just turn around now before he makes a bigger fool out of himself. Instead of doing the smart thing though, he pushes forward.

“Please?”

She looks Shane up and down for a moment, squinting briefly before sighing and turning back around and walking back to the door. She leans just her head in before screaming. “Ilya! А ну тащи сюда свою задницу! Тут один смазливый тип хочет с тобой поговорить!”

Shane nearly jumps out of his skin. When she turns back toward him, she leans casually against the doorframe and takes another drag of her cigarette. 

“He’s coming out now. Good luck.”

Before Shane can respond, she stubs the cigarette beneath her shoe, swivels around, and disappears back inside.

Shane lets out a long, deep sigh, looking to the ground. Fuck, is everyone here drop dead gorgeous and wildly intimidating? He hopes the bouncer is nicer but considering the look on the woman’s face, he seriously doubts it. 

Then he hears footsteps and Shane’s head snaps up. A moment later, a man emerges through the doorway.

Holy fuck. Yeah, there’s no way Shane isn’t going to make a fool out of himself.

He’s fucking hot. Like, model hot. He’s wearing a tight, short-sleeved black shirt that looks practically painted across his broad chest, paired with black jeans. A mop of blonde curls sits messily atop his head, and dark moles scatter across his enormous arms and face. When his eyes, icy blue and cold, land on Shane, his stomach drops and his mouth goes dry. He’s half sure he might pass out. Holy fuck, could they have picked a more intimidating bouncer?

The bouncer hesitates for a moment. His eyes narrow on Shane before he starts moving again, his gaze fixed on him like a heat-seeking missile. He barely blinks as he approaches. It makes Shane’s heart pound in his ears, sweat gathers beneath his arms and along his back.

Jesus Christ. He needs to say something.

The silence is becoming unbearable, so Shane drops his gaze to his hands, both clenched tightly into fists at his sides. He forces himself to take a breath.

When the bouncer finally stops in front of him, Shane looks up and those icy blue eyes meet his.

He opens his mouth, ready to ask the obvious question, but the man beats him to it.

“Yes?” His voice is deep, his Russian accent thick around the single word.

Shane shivers even though it’s not fucking cold. “You’re, uh, you’re the bouncer, right?”

“No,” The man’s mouth twitches. “I am the priest.”

Shane’s eyes widen, caught off guard. “Fuck off.”

The words fly out of him in one breath. Shane’s eyes widen as the realization hits him. Holy fuck. Did he actually just say that? Should Shane brace for this guy to deck him?

Instead, the man’s lips curl upward. The icy look melts away, replaced by something warm and amused. “What is your name?”

Shane freezes. “What?”

“Your name?” The man repeats. “You have one of those, yes? Or did your parents forget to give you one?”

For the first time since the man walked toward him, Shane’s mouth twitches. “Shane.”

“I’m Ilya.” The man nods. “Well, Shane, did you wanna come in?”

Shane blinks. “Inside?” What the fuck? Was there some crucial part of this conversation he’d missed? How could it possibly be that easy?

“Of course,” Ilya smirked. “Or is there another reason you called me out here?”

Well, fair enough. At least this man got to the point. “I have two friends though.” Shane says, finally turning to look back down the line to glance at Rose and Miles, who are pretending not to stare. “Can they join me?”

Ilya glances at them for maybe a second before nodding. “Sure.”

Shane’s face breaks into a warm smile. Maybe looks really can be deceiving. Because, despite the whole intimidating-bouncer thing, Ilya actually seems pretty nice. “Thanks.”

When Shane returns to Rose and Miles, he’s wearing a self-satisfied grin. They give him one back, both of their brows raised in anticipation.

“So?” Rose asks.

“He’s letting us in.” Shane nods, feeling quite proud of himself.

“Oh my god, Shane, I could kiss you,” Rose cackled, hugging Shane briefly.

“You’re the best,” Miles smirks. “What did you have to give him?”

Shane frowns. “What?”

Miles gives him a look like he can’t be serious. “What did you have to give him? Merch? Tickets to the next Metros game?”

“Oh,” Shane clears his throat. “No, no, nothing like that.”

Rose’s brows pull together. “Then what was it?”

Shane shrugs. “Nothing. He just asked for my name and said I could go in.”

Rose and Miles turn to each other and share a look. It lasts five seconds maybe but they seem to be speaking telepathically because moments later, they’re chuckling like someone said something funny when nothing was funny at all.

“What?” Shane frowns.

Rose looks at him, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

Shane follows them as they squeeze past the people still waiting in line. “What is it?”

Rose looks back at him for a moment. “You’re too sweet for this world, Shaney.”

Shane opens his mouth, ready with a retort, but whatever he was about to say disappears completely. Because the moment he steps up to the front of the line, he finds those blue eyes waiting for him again. Ilya. All thoughts promptly leave Shane’s head.

“These are my friends,” Shane manages to mumble.

Ilya doesn’t even look at them, doesn’t even bother checking their ID. He simply reaches down, unclasps the velvet rope, and steps aside. Rose goes first, offering a quick, “Thank you,” as she passes. Miles follows, muttering thanks as well.

Shane trails behind them, giving Ilya a polite smile as he steps through, already trying to pick up his pace so he can catch up with Rose.

“Have a good time.”

Shane stops and turns back. Ilya’s expression is different now. His eyes are warmer than before, and Shane can’t help noticing the way they linger on his face. He’s looking at Shane a little too carefully, as if trying to commit every detail to memory.

“Yeah, thanks.” Shane nods, feeling a little weird but not understanding why.

Inside, the club is surprisingly nice. Dark, but not dingy, with a small stage for the DJ and a long bar packed with people. There’s blue and red lights that sweep across the room, mixing together to create this deep purple hue. While the inside is lovely and cleaner than Shane expected, the bass pounds against the walls, vibrating through his skin, rattling his ribs and making him squirm. He can feel the music in his bones, in the soles of his feet, and he hates it. Rose grabs his hand, guiding him to the middle of the dance floor, screaming something about this being her favourite song.

Shane is not a dancer. Another important thing to mention. He can sway technically, but his hips are always tight and his body is rigid no matter how drunk he is. Rose and Miles are different though. They’re fluid and dance like no one’s watching, a trait Shane wishes he had. Rose pulls them into a loose circle, swaying her hips to the rhythm while Miles bounces along beside her. Shane tries to copy Rose, smiling sweetly as he moves his hips the same way she is.

Halfway through though, he gives up. He steps back, clapping and cheering as Miles wraps an arm around Rose and pulls her against him, the two of them grinding together. Shane laughs, looking away for a moment in embarrassment, not expecting his eyes to catch on anything. They do. 

A familiar pair of blue eyes stare back at him from a darkened corner near the entrance. Ilya. Shane feels his face go hot before he looks away. Fuck. Hopefully Ilya didn’t notice him staring. Clearly, their eyes had just met by accident, but now Shane probably looks like some kind of fucking stalker. Fuck, can he ever be normal around a hot guy? 

He tries to take a slow, steadying breath, but the music is too loud. The bass keeps pounding through him, and suddenly his mouth is painfully dry. He swallows, but it doesn’t help.

Shane leans toward Rose, placing a hand lightly on her arm before murmuring into her ear, “I’m gonna go get some water.”

Rose gives him an enthusiastic thumbs-up without even stopping her dancing.

Shane chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he steps away.

He squeezes past a few dozen people, murmuring the occasional excuse me as he goes, until he finally reaches the bar. There’s a horde of people crowded around it, shoulders pressed together, drinks held above heads, everyone vying for the bartender’s attention.

Shane manages to find a small patch of counter where he can rest his arm, but he can already tell getting a drink is going to be its own special kind of hell. He’s in the middle of trying to catch the bartender’s eye when someone steps in beside him, completely blocking his view.

Fuck.

“What do you do for work?” Ilya asks, smirking down at him. 

Shane swallows harshly. His eyes trail slowly upward, starting at Ilya’s broad shoulders before finally reaching his face. He frowns. Surely he’s heard him wrong. “What?”

“Work,” Ilya repeats, louder this time. He leans down just an inch, bringing his mouth closer to Shane’s ear so he doesn’t have to shout.

Shane feels the faintest brush of his breath against his neck and it makes him shiver. Fuck, he needs to reel it in or else Ilya’s gonna run away from him.

“Oh.” Shane nods, forcing himself to look away, finding a napkin sitting on the bar and picking at one of its corners. “I’m a sports physiotherapist.”

Ilya looks quite impressed, nodding his head. “Oh, so you heal players, yes?”

Shane smiles, shrugging. “I try.”

“Do you work for a team?”

Shane sighs, nodding. This is usually the part where people either don’t give a shit or care way too much and ask for tickets. “Yeah, I work for the Montreal Metros.”

Ilya breaks out into a playful smirk, one of his fingers coming down to idly trace the edge of Shane’s belt before they retreat back to the bar. “Oh no.”

Shane hiccups, forcing his face into a frown so he doesn’t faint. “Why ‘oh no’?”

“I am a Boston fan,” Ilya confesses.

Shane’s mouth drops in shock. “You’re fucking kidding?”

“I am not,” Ilya shrugs. “I lived in Boston for a while when I first came to North America.”

Shane nods. “You’re Russian?”

“No, Italian.”

“Fuck off,” Shane exhales. The words escape before he can stop them, and for the second time tonight, he’s surprised by himself.

Ilya doesn’t seem to mind though and grins, clearly amused. Okay, maybe this conversation isn’t a complete disaster after all. 

“It is too bad you work for such a horrible team,” Ilya finally says with a smile. “I would have suggested we go to a game together.”

Shane rolls his eyes, though he can’t stop the smile tugging at his mouth. “They’re the best team in the league.”

“They lost the last three games,” Ilya raises his brows. 

“Pike’s been injured with a muscle tear,” Shane defended.

“Pike isn’t the problem. He hasn’t scored a goal in over five games.”

Shane blinks. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan?”

Ilya grins. “I am not.”

Shane finally looks away again, swallowing thickly. Jesus, this is no good. Ilya is of course probably just being nice but he’s too hot for his own good and Shane can already feel himself hanging off his every word. 

“What do you like to drink?” Ilya asks after a pause in the conversation, scooting an inch closer to Shane and tilting his hips toward him. 

Shane clears his throat, trying to swallow down the blush climbing up his neck. “Oh, I sometimes have ginger ale as a treat, I guess? What about you?”

Ilya stares at him. For a moment, he looks genuinely baffled before a loud laugh bursts from his chest.

“No, that’s not what I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head with a smile that makes Shane’s stomach twist.

“What?” Shane asks, his heart beating in his ears. He is beyond confused.

“Nothing,” Ilya shakes his head. “I will get you a ginger ale.”

“Oh, it’s ok,” Shane shrugs. “They’re way too expensive here. I don’t wanna pay for one.”

Ilya turns toward the bar and raises a hand, catching the bartender’s attention almost immediately. “They’re free if you work here.”

Shane lets Ilya order a ginger ale for him, giving the bartender a polite nod. Shane recognizes her as the redhead girl from before. She gives Ilya a small smirk before sauntering off. When they’re alone again, Shane leans in close, eyes wide.

“But I don’t work here.”

Ilya snorts. “No, but I do.”

“Oh,” Shane nods. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Ilya sighs.

A few moments later, the redhead returns with a tall glass of ginger ale. Shane thanks her, and this time, her smile is warmer. Then she turns toward Ilya, and while he catches what she says, he can’t understand it because it’s in Russian. 

“Он такой милый.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Оставь его в покое. Он мой.”

When she walks away again, Shane frowns. “What did she say?”

Ilya smirks. “She was just reminding me that my break is almost over.”

“Oh, okay,” He tries not to sound so disappointed. “Thanks for the ginger ale.”

“Enjoy.” Ilya nods, pushing off the bar, his body so close that Shane can feel the almost of his touch. “You will be back, yes?”

Shane looks at Rose and Miles, who are still dancing with one another. “Oh, maybe.”

Ilya nods, smirking. “Okay, then I will see you.”

“See you.”

And then Ilya disappears back into the crowd, leaving Shane with a half finished ginger ale and a pit in his stomach.

When Shane finally finds Rose and Miles again, they’re sitting together on a long couch, sharing a glass of water. Shane hands them the ginger ale he’d been given, which they immediately accept, each taking a sip. He drops into the seat beside them, his eyes instinctively sweeping across the club, still searching for those familiar blonde curls even though he knows Ilya is already gone.

When Rose hands the ginger ale back, she’s smiling at him.

“How much was that?” she asks, nodding toward the glass.

“Oh.” Shane shrugs. “I don’t know. Ilya got it for me.”

Rose’s brow furrows as she looks at Miles, who looks just as confused.

“Ilya?”

“Oh, yeah.” Shane nods, realizing they don’t know him either. “The bouncer.”

Rose’s face immediately breaks into a grin, while Miles has to bury his face in his hands to keep from laughing. Shane, meanwhile, frowns at them both.

“What?”

Rose shakes her head, still grinning. “Looks like someone has a crush on you.”

Shane scoffs. The idea is ridiculous. Ilya having a crush on him? They’d only met tonight. There was no fucking way. No. 

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes. “He’s not… He doesn’t…”

Shane trails off, unable to think of anything that might actually defend Ilya. Miles, of course, is more than happy to finish the sentence for him.

“He doesn’t what? Wanna fuck your brains out?”

“Miles,” Shane flushes. “Shut up. He’s just being nice.”

“Trust me,” Miles snorts. “A man like that isn’t just nice. You better hop on that before someone else does.”

A part of him wanted to believe Miles. But another part of him, bigger and much more scared, knew he should stay far away from Ilya.

Because Shane was… not himself when he was in a relationship. His partners would have described him as possessive, obsessive, even manipulative at times. When Shane fell for someone, especially when he knew those feelings were returned, he fell hard. He wanted too much, too soon, and had never been particularly good at pretending otherwise. His last relationship had ended because, after only two weeks of dating, Shane had wanted to move in with the guy. So, honestly, it was probably better for Ilya if he didn’t like Shane back.

“Alright,” Shane clears his throat. “That’s enough.”

But it is not. It is just the beginning.

Their night ends early, the three of them taking an Uber back to Rose’s place and crashing there for the night. Shane likes this part of the night best; what Rose has affectionately coined “the debrief,” where they pour over the events of the night. They try a few times to bring up Ilya again, but Shane isn’t having any of it. He wants to forget about Ilya, mostly because he’s half-convinced he’ll never see him again. Eventually, they fall asleep giggling, Shane and Miles sprawled together on a blow-up mattress while Rose claims the couch.

They wake up late the next morning, nurse their hangovers over brunch, and eventually go their separate ways. Shane heads home with the work week looming tomorrow and a long list of meal-prepping to get through.

He tries very hard to have a productive Sunday but it’s nearly impossible. While he’s working out, he finds himself wondering what Ilya is doing, whether he’s working tonight too. On the car ride to the grocery store, he creates a list of questions in his head he can ask Ilya the next time he sees him. If he ever sees him again. Even while he’s meal prepping, where he usually just puts on a show or podcast, he instead listens to nothing, opting to think of Ilya instead. Which means nothing of course.

Shane tells himself it’s temporary. By tomorrow, he’ll forget all about him. It’ll be Monday, the start of a new week, and with it comes the chance to start over. He clings to that hope well into Sunday evening.

Then Monday comes and Shane still thinks about Ilya. A few days turn into a week. The week becomes another, and somehow, Shane still hasn’t forgotten him.

Eventually, it gets to the point where even Hayden Pike notices.

“You good, man?” Hayden asks, watching Shane put on some rubber gloves.

“I’m fine,” Shane nods. “Why?”

“You seem a little distracted.” 

Hayden watches as he moves behind him and takes hold of his shoulder, gently pressing around the spot where the muscle had torn.

“Yeah,” Shane sighs. “Just tired.”

“Don’t work yourself too hard, Hollander.”

“Then stop hurting yourself so I don’t have to.” Shane bites back, earning a chuckle from Hayden.

“Fair enough.”

“Alright,” Shane nods, testing the range of motion as he carefully rotates Hayden’s shoulder. “Any pain?”

“None,” Hayden smirks. “I feel like a new man thanks to you.”

“It was all you, buddy.” Shane smirks. “Just glad to see that you’ll be back on the ice soon. The guys need you out there.”

Shane finally releases his shoulder, turning away as Hayden pulls his shirt back on. He jots down a few notes on his clipboard to add to Hayden’s chart later. He’s almost ready to clear him to return to the ice. This is Shane’s favourite part of the job. It’s the moment when he gets to see the relief on a client’s face when they realize they can finally get back to doing what they love.

“Any plans for the weekend?” 

Shane turns around, clipboard still in hand. “Oh, no. I don’t think so. What about you?”

Hayden shrugs, standing up from the bed. “Some of the guys and I are gonna go out downtown if we beat Boston on Saturday. You wanna come?”

Shane smiles softly. Some of these guys had been his heroes long before they ever became his clients, and while he’s never been much of a drinker, he’d gladly make an exception for them. 

“Sure. Did you guys decide where you’re gonna go?”

“Probably Ciel.” Hayden shrugs.

Shane tries not to look too disappointed. “Cool.”

He spends the rest of the work day thinking of Ilya. He charts for a few patients, meets Rose for lunch, and gets through a handful of appointments with clients that go well. All throughout that though, he wonders where Ilya is right now, what he is doing, and whether he is thinking about him at all. He also catches himself wondering what the chances are that Hayden and the rest of the guys might want to stop by the Lucky Loon before heading to Ciel. The thought makes him smile deliriously, but he quickly pushes it down. Better not to get his hopes up when the odds are probably terrible.

Montreal beats Boston. Shane is there in the crowd, cheering for his friends and his favourite team, shouting along with everyone else and even booing when one of the Raiders’ centres checks Pike a little too hard. He thinks of Ilya this time around too, wonders if he’s watching the game and stewing over the loss. He smiles a little at the thought.

When victory is theirs and the game is over, Hayden texts Shane to meet them outside of Ciel in about an hour. It gives Shane enough time to go home, shower, get dressed and leave. Not before spraying on cologne of course. He’s not doing this for any reason of course. Definitely not because he thinks he might see Ilya. No. That would be insane. Sure, Ciel is on the same strip of clubs as the Lucky Loon, so there’s technically a possibility they could run into each other. But that doesn’t mean they will. In fact, they probably won’t. It doesn’t stop Shane from feeling nervous though.

An hour later, he’s in an Uber heading downtown. He didn’t pregame tonight. He figures it would be stupid anyway when he’ll have to buy a drink at Ciel, and drinking alone has always struck him as a little depressing. It means that he’s extra nervous tonight and can’t hide it under the haze of alcohol. These guys mean so much to him, this team means even more, and while he knows they all like him, it’s hard not to get nervous around them. 

He steps out of the car, walking up to the entrance at Ciel and showing the bouncer his ID. He’s a tall, stocky man and nowhere near as attractive as Ilya. Shane texts Hayden once he gets inside, who tells Shane that they’re seated at a booth in the back. 

He spots them almost immediately. It’s hard not to. There’s a bunch of women clustered around their table, along with dozens of bottles of alcohol. JJ, another good friend of his, is standing on the cushion of the booth, shouting something in French at someone across the room.

“JJ!” Shane calls as he approaches. “Get down from there before you break your legs and then I’ll be in trouble.”

JJ looks over, grins, and immediately hops down, pulling Shane into a hug.

“I am just trying to keep you in business, man!”

“Well, stop,” Shane says with a laugh, giving him a shove.

He makes his way around the table, dapping up a few of the guys and catching up with players he hasn’t seen in a while. Eventually, he takes a seat beside Hayden, who seems to be the only guy at the table who isn’t currently entertaining a conversation with some gorgeous woman. Mostly because he’s happily married. Shane isn’t for other reasons, mostly because these women are not exactly his type.

“Congrats on the win,” Shane says, nodding as Hayden pours him a shot of vodka.

“Thanks.” Hayden grins and slides the glass toward him. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Oh, I doubt that’s true.”

“It is.” Hayden says, his voice soft. “During our sessions, a lot of what you said stuck with me, Hollander. Every time I was in pain or wanted to quit, you were there telling me to keep pushing. It means a lot to me.”

Shane feels a flush creep up his neck.

“Thanks,” he says, trying not to look too embarrassed. “I knew you had it in you. You made my job easy.”

Hayden smiles at him for a moment but then Shane can see him hesitate, like he wants to say something and he can’t. 

Shane frowns. “What?”

“Ugh.” Hayden covers his face with one hand. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but Jackie insisted I mention it. I told her you’re more reserved, but she wouldn’t have it—”

“Jesus, Hayden, what is it?” Shane chuckles.

“We have this friend. Matt. He’s a teacher. Really nice. Really funny.” Hayden lowers his hand, looking slightly pained. “And, uh… I guess—I mean, I don’t really see it, but Jackie thinks he’s attractive.”

Shane raises an eyebrow. “Okay…”

“She wants to know if you’d be open to going out with him.”

“Oh.” Heat rushes into Shane’s face. “Uh, I dunno. Can I think about it?”

“Of course.” Hayden pauses, just staring at Shane. “Hope that wasn’t weird,” he adds. “Jackie wouldn’t drop it until I said something.”

Shane laughs, shaking his head. “Not at all. Thanks.”

They stay at Ciel for a while longer, drinking and talking, and Shane finds himself having a genuinely good time.

He knows he doesn’t play for them. He knows he’ll never be one of the guys on the ice, fighting alongside them for a win. But they’ve never made him feel like an outsider. If anything, they seem determined to make him feel like he belongs, and Shane appreciates it. 

Eventually, though, the night starts to lose some of its shine.

Comeau suddenly gets sick, and before long, he’s being hurried outside where he promptly throws up. A few of the other players decide that’s their cue to call it a night, offering to ride home with him and make sure he gets back safely.

Not long after, it’s just Hayden, JJ, and Shane.

“Did we wanna go somewhere else?” Hayden asks, checking his watch. “It’s barely midnight.”

“Let’s walk down the strip,” JJ suggests. “See if anything looks interesting.”

Shane’s gaze drifts farther down the street. He sees it almost immediately: that familiar neon yellow sign. His heart gives a stupid little jump. A thrill runs through him for a moment but he instantly shoves it down. What are the odds he even sees Ilya? Last week, when the bar had been quieter, maybe Ilya might have noticed him and he could have squeezed Shane and the others inside without too much trouble.

But tonight is different. As they get closer, Shane sees the line stretching down the sidewalk. There’s no chance. Even if Ilya is working, he’ll be too busy to notice Shane. There are too many people, too much noise, too much happening. Shane will walk past the door and Ilya probably won’t even know he was there. Which, Shane tells himself, is probably for the best.

“The Lucky Loon,” Hayden reads aloud, his eyes moving from the bright sign to the enormous line outside. “This place looks busy.”

“I’m not waiting in another line, Pike,” JJ groans.

“Looks fun, though,” Hayden says, still watching the crowd as they walk past. Then he glances at Shane. “You ever been there, Hollander?”

Shane opens his mouth, but before he can answer, a familiar voice cuts through the noise behind him.

“Shane!”

Shane stops and turns instantly, his back straightening at the sound of that familiar Russian accent. Immediately, his eyes land on Ilya and Shane’s breath catches. He looks better than before. His hair is styled now, swept neatly instead of sitting messily atop his head, and the black shirt he’d been wearing last time is gone. In its place is a black tank top that shows off his toned arms and shoulders. Shane’s eyes linger for a second too long. He quickly drags them back up to Ilya’s face.

Ilya is already stepping away from the long line outside the Lucky Loon, jogging toward him. His eyes never once flick toward Hayden or JJ.

“You are back,” Ilya says when he reaches him, smiling far too widely.

“Oh, yeah, no.” Shane stumbles over the words. “I was just out with some friends at Ciel—”

“Ciel?” Ilya frowns, sounding almost offended. “Why didn’t you come here?”

“Oh.” He glances over at Hayden and JJ, both of whom are watching the exchange with increasingly confused expressions. “We just didn’t think—” He stops himself, the look on Ilya’s face making him hesitate. “The line’s too long.”

Ilya shrugs. “I can get you in.”

Shane stares at him. “Are you sure? There’s a lot of people—”

“I can get you in,” Ilya says again.

Shane nods slowly. He turns toward Hayden and JJ, who are still staring at him now with an odd mixture of confusion and awe.

Shane shrugs, suddenly conscious of how hot his cheeks feel. “Did you guys want to go in for a while?”

Hayden and JJ exchange a look. It lasts only a second, but Shane catches it. Then Hayden looks back at him and nods.

“Sure.”

Shane turns back to Ilya.

Still, Ilya hasn’t looked at either of them. Shane wants to scream at him, tell him that he shouldn’t be looking at Shane but the two greatest hockey players in the world behind him. Doesn’t Ilya like hockey? He might hate the Metros, but surely he knows who they are. Surely any hockey fan would be losing his mind right now. Instead, Ilya looks completely unimpressed.

“Okay,” Shane finally says. “Thanks, Ilya.”

Ilya’s entire face brightens. “Of course.”

He turns and leads them toward the entrance, holding the door open as they approach. Shane passes through first.

“Enjoy,” Ilya says.

“Thanks,” Shane replies.

Inside the club, the bass is pounding hard enough to vibrate through Shane’s chest, and the lights are bright and disorienting as they make their way toward the bar. 

Shane spots the bartender almost immediately. It’s the same redhead from last time.

Hayden is the first to flag her down.

“We’ll have three beers,” he says politely, already pulling out his wallet.

“No, no.” She waves a hand toward his wallet. “Your money is no good here.”

All three of them pause.

“What?”

“I have been given strict instructions that Shane and any of his friends do not pay for a single thing in here.” She explains, nodding to Shane. “I’ll go get you those beers.”

When she walks away, both JJ and Hayden turn to him in shock. Shane knows his expression is not much better because he feels just as shocked. Surely this has to be Ilya.

“How do you know this guy?” Hayden asks.

Shane shrugs. “I met him the last time I was here.”

“And what did you do?” JJ snorts. “Save his baby from a burning building?”

Shane flushes. “No, nothing, I swear. I think he’s just nice.”

Hayden and JJ both look at each other, doing the same thing with their faces that Rose and Miles did.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” Hayden says, a slow grin spreading across his face, “keep doing it. Shane Hollander has a guy.”

Shane coughs, choking on his own spit. “I have a what?”

“A guy.” Hayden clarifies. “Like how I have an electrician guy and JJ has a concert guy. You have a club guy. This is your guy.”

My guy, Shane thinks. He’s entirely too happy with that name for a very different reason. 

The redhead returns with their beers, and after Shane asks, he learns her name is Svetlana. She lingers just long enough to make a little conversation with them, a smile on her lips, before a group of inebriated guys call her over and drag her away again.

Svetlana rolls her eyes at Shane as she goes, looking annoyed that she has to deal with them before turning her back on the trio.

“I gotta take a leak,” Hayden announces, setting his beer down on the bar.

“Congratulations,” Shane says dryly.

“Ah, me too.” JJ nods, though for some reason, something about the way he says it makes Shane think he’s lying.

“Yes,” Hayden says, glancing sideways for just a moment. “You stay here and watch our drinks while we go.”

Shane follows his gaze, confusion knitting his brows, until he sees exactly who Hayden was looking at. It’s Ilya, standing towards the end of the bar, chatting with another bartender Shane doesn’t recognize. His gaze though seems disinterested, mostly because he isn’t even staring at the bartender but directly at Shane, eyes narrow and dark. Shane has no idea how eyes that blue could look so dark. But they do. They look almost black beneath the dim lights of the club, fixed on him with an intensity that makes something twist low in Shane’s stomach.

“Guys—” Shane starts, finally catching on to exactly what they’re doing.

But it’s too late. Hayden and JJ are already sprinting toward the other side of the club, where a long line has formed for the bathroom.

Shane stares after them, horrified. Heat crawls beneath his skin, burning all the way up his neck and into his cheeks. He drops his face into his hands, wishing, for one brief and desperate moment, that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

Shane barely has time to breathe, before the man he was just staring at squeezing himself beside Shane at the bar.

“How have you been?”

Shane looks up at him in surprise. Didn’t he have a job to do? 

He tells him as much. “Aren’t you supposed to be outside?”

Ilya shrugs. “I’m taking my fifteen.”

Shane nods. Oh okay. Good. So he’s not really inside for Shane. He tries to ignore how deflated he feels at this revelation.

“How have you been?” Ilya tries again. “I was looking for you but you have been busy, yes?”

“Not really,” Shane shrugs, watching Ilya’s face drop. Oh shit. Was that rude? Clearly he’d been wanting to see Shane for whatever reason and Shane had basically said he had not thought of him at all. Which definitely hadn’t been the case. “It’s just that this isn’t really my thing.”

Ilya’s lips quirk upward. “Your thing?”

“Yeah,” Shane nods, looking down at his hands for a moment. “Like, you know, loud music, alcohol and dancing.”

“I’ve seen you dance,” Ilya smirks. “You’re not too bad. Like little bunny hopping around.”

Shane hides his blush under a scoff. “Fuck off.”

Ilya only smirks wider, his eyes dropping briefly before flickering back up to meet his. “What is your thing then?”

“Uh, reading?” Shane shrugs. “I work out too. I also love hockey, which you already know.”

Ilya nods, his attention briefly drifting over Shane’s shoulder, probably toward the absurdly long bathroom line. “Yes. You did not tell me you were friends with the players. I would not have told you I was a Boston fan if I knew.”

Shane laughs softly. “Don’t worry. I won’t give your secret away.” He pauses, glancing toward the bathroom before looking back at Ilya. “I can actually introduce you to them, if you want. I know you aren’t a Metros fan, but they’re still great players.”

“Boiziau is fine,” Ilya says with a shrug. “But I have beef with Pike.”

Shane frowns. “Why?”

“For checking Marleau in the last game.”

“You’re kidding,” Shane scoffs. “Marleau got his revenge by completely blindsiding Hayden and tearing his shoulder.”

“Eh,” Ilya shrugs. “He deserved worse.”

“Asshole,” Shane mutters. 

“Yes, I know.” Ilya smirks, looking not the least bit offended. His eyes drop to the beer in Shane’s hand and he reaches out, tracing the spine of the bottle before his fingers glide over Shane’s knuckles. “No ginger ale this time?”

“Ah, no.” Shane tries his best to fight the shiver as Ilya’s finger continues to trace patterns on the back of his hand.

“Did you want one?” Ilya asks, already waving Svetlana over before Shane can answer.

“No, no.” Shane laughs awkwardly, his cheeks warming. God, he was acting so pathetic right now. He could only hope the purple lights were hiding just how red his face had gotten.

Ilya doesn’t seem to hear him, or simply chooses not to listen. He waits as Svetlana approaches, already wearing an amused smirk as she looks between the two of them.

“Get Shane a ginger ale.” Ilya nods at her in thanks.

“No,” Shane flushes, stopping Svetlana in her tracks. He turns back to Ilya. “You already paid for one last time, and I know it’s you who told Svetlana to give me and my friends free drinks. You have to let me pay at least once.”

“I actually can’t,” Ilya grins, turning his body so close to Shane that it makes Shane gasp. “Is bad manners.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Shane’s cock twitches when the metal of their belt buckles clinks together. He immediately takes a small step back, hoping Ilya doesn’t notice how hard his cock is right now.

Shane looks helplessly toward Svetlana, silently asking for some kind of intervention. Instead, she just looks between them with a knowing smirk before shaking her head and lifting both hands in surrender.

“This one is stubborn,” Svetlana pointed to Ilya, who was grinning. “Just better to let him have his way than to argue.”

“Well I’m stubborn too.” Shane bites back, looking at Ilya.

“Oh, so you are this bratty with everyone?” Ilya teases.

Shane chokes on his own spit, coughing slightly before regaining some composure. Ilya is chuckling softly and Svetlana looks at him disapprovingly.

“Вы заставляете этого бедного мальчика краснеть,” she says in what Shane can only imagine is Russian. “Остановите это, пока у него не случился сердечный приступ.”

“Но он такой милый, когда краснеет,” Ilya chuckles before adding in English. “Get him that ginger ale.”

Svetlana is off before Shane can argue any further. He watches her go for half a second before turning his glare back on Ilya. “Next time, you’re letting me pay.”

“Ah, but that would not be very gentlemanly of me.”

Shane fights the blush he knows is spreading across his cheeks, clearing his throat. “Fuck off.”

Ilya breaks out into a laugh, shaking his head. He pauses for a moment, studying Shane’s face with a warmth that makes Shane squirm. Shane wonders if he has something on his face, or if there’s some other reason Ilya is looking at him like that. He’s about to ask when Ilya speaks.

“If you don't like this, then what do you like to do instead?”

Shane frowns. “I just said. I like to read and—”

“No, no,” Ilya smirks. “Like when you go out with friends or on a date?”

Shane shrugs. He isn’t entirely sure why Ilya cares so fucking much about how he spends his free time, but he’s willing to answer if it means keeping him here for another minute. There’s something intoxicating about having Ilya’s full attention, and Shane already knows he’d do some pretty pathetic things to make sure he never stops getting it.

“I usually go out to eat with friends,” Shane says. “Or go to the movies. I took Hayden’s kids to the aquarium once and it was so cool.”

Ilya’s smile only deepens. “You sound like boring soccer mom.”

Shane scoffs. “Fuck you, no I don’t.”

“You do,” Ilya nods. “But I like it. I’ve never been to the aquarium.”

“Really?” Shane raises his brows in shock. “You gotta go.”

“That good?”

“Oh yeah,” Shane nods and, because apparently he’s an idiot who can’t stop talking even when every instinct tells him to shut the fuck up, he adds, “And it’s a great place for a first date.”

He says it like he’s offering advice. Like he’s passing on some wisdom to Ilya for the next girl he takes out. Shane imagines Ilya wandering through the aquarium beneath the blue glow of the tanks, stopping to look at the massive fish and prehistoric skeletons suspended behind glass. He imagines him laughing, holding hands with some girl, before leaning in to kiss her beneath the tunnel where the fish glide silently overhead. It makes Shane’s chest ache to the point he has to blink back tears.

Beside him, Ilya is practically glowing. His smile is so wide it makes Shane pause. “You would go there on a date?”

Shane shrugs. “Sure. Why not?”

Ilya is smiling so wide that it makes Shane even more confused. Why does he look so fucking happy? Why does he need Shane’s approval so badly? Shane isn’t exactly an aquarium connoisseur. What does it matter whether he thinks it’s a good place for a date?

Shane opens his mouth, already preparing to ask if there’s someone in particular Ilya has in mind, but Ilya cuts him off.

“Give me your number.”

Shane blinks. “What?”

“Your number.” Ilya clarifies, raising his voice over the music.

Shane is in fucking shock. What could Ilya possibly want with his number? Does have more aquarium-related questions? Is he trying to get Metros tickets? Shane quickly realizes that it doesn’t matter. This insane crush has apparently turned Shane into a complete idiot, because Ilya could ask him for just about anything right now and Shane would probably do it without question.

Slightly dazed, Shane pulls out his phone and hands it over. Ilya quickly types his number in, then sends himself a text before handing the phone back. When he hands the phone back to Shane their fingers brush and it sends an electric shock up his arm. 

“I’ll text you.” Ilya says with genuine affection.

“Oh, yeah,” Shane says, trying to ask blasé and failing spectacularly. He doesn’t want Ilya to feel obligated to text him when he’s sure he has other things to do. “No pressure of course.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you how cute you are?”

Shane has a full body reaction to that, most of which he can hide behind a well timed cough. His skin feels like it’s on fire, hotter than the desert, and suddenly his throat is so dry he can barely swallow. “My mom, I guess?”

Ilya only laughs at that. “Well, thank fuck for her.”

Thankfully, before Shane can even come up with anything else to say, their conversation is interrupted by Svetlana setting a tall glass of ginger ale down in front of him.

Shane blinks at it, then at her. He rolls his shoulder, trying to recalibrate his brain and shake off the lingering electricity in his veins.

“Thanks,” he says, giving her a grateful smile.

Svetlana smiles back, but then her expression drops when she looks at Ilya. “У тебя разве нет работы?”

Ilya sighs, rolling his eyes. “Присмотри за ним для меня. Следи, чтобы к нему не подходили мужчины и не разговаривали с ним. Если такое случится — звони мне, и я их выгоню.”

Svetlana groans. “Мне теперь что, нянчиться с твоим парнем?”

Ilya rolls his eyes before looking back to Shane. “My break is over. I will see you, yes?”

Shane nods, even though he has no idea when that will actually be. “Yes.”

“Not like last time.” Ilya pouts. “You promised and then I didn’t see you for a whole two weeks.”

Shane chuckles. He did have a point. “No, I promise. I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Ilya nods, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “I will text you.”

“Okay,” Shane nods, feeling slightly bittersweet. God, why did he always have to fall for guys who felt so completely unattainable?

Ilya turns to leave, disappearing into the crowd once more and Shane tries not to dwell on the ache in his chest. Hayden and JJ return a bit after that, complaining about the long line, but Shane can’t bring himself to care about something so mundane. Especially since he’s half sure Ilya just walked away with his heart. Fuck. This was a disaster. 

It becomes some sort of running joke, really. Every time someone in his friend group, especially Rose or Miles, wants to go out, they always suggest the Lucky Loon because they know that with Shane, they get to skip the line and the drinks will be free. Even at work, Hayden and JJ keep the story alive, talking about the flirty bouncer Shane apparently charmed, despite Shane insisting that nothing happened and that it was never like that. Still, the story takes on a life of its own. Before long, an inside joke forms around the idea that Shane is some irresistible playboy, with men all over Montreal falling at his feet and giving him things for free, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Shane feels guilty. He feels like he’s taking advantage of Ilya’s kindness but Ilya genuinely does not seem to care at all. If anything, he seems happy to see Shane. That’s what makes it so confusing.

It’s a double-edged sword. The Lucky Loon has somehow become the one place Shane dreads going and the one place he desperately wants to be, because it’s also the only place he can reliably see Ilya. And when he isn’t spending his weekends there, Shane and Ilya are texting at an almost obsessive rate. They talk about hockey, food, books, their days, and random things that remind them of each other. Sometimes the conversations last for hours.

Shane tries not to think too much about how often he checks his phone, or how quickly his heart starts beating whenever Ilya’s name lights up his screen. He doesn’t want to cross a line. He doesn’t want to become the lovesick fool he already knows he is every time Ilya looks at him. Most of the time, he moves way too quickly and he doesn’t want to do that with Ilya. He doesn’t want to scare him away.

One night, a month after he first met Iya, Shane’s phone buzzes against the kitchen counter as he cooks. He turns the heat on the oven low before stepping away from it, almost running for his phone. 

Ilya:
hi shane

Shane:
Hi Ilya!

Ilya: 
what are you doing tonight?

Shane:
Just got home from the gym so I’m meal prepping now.

Ilya:
boring

Shane:
You wouldn’t say that if you had my chicken caesar lettuce wraps

Ilya: 
that sounds less boring

Shane:
They’re really good
I could make you some

Ilya: 
that’s a lot of trouble for just me

Shane:
It’s no trouble!
Besides it’s the least I can do
I’m still angry about you paying for everything 🙁

Ilya:
hehe he kinda looks like you
🙁🙁🙁🙁 << shane hollander

Shane:
Alright I get it

Ilya:
would you actually cook for me?

Shane:
Sure, why not!

Ilya: 
that is very nice of you
thank you shane

Shane: 
No worries!
How was your day?

Ilya:
well, i am just starting my shift so it is going ok

Shane:
Do you like working there? 
I can’t imagine working in a place that’s so loud and dark
I get overstimulated from one evening there.

Ilya: 
at first i loved it
i could smoke, drink and party on the job
when i first got to montreal that was all i wanted to do
but i am older now and a bit wiser
now all i want is boring

Shane:
I like boring too

Shane sets his phone down long enough to turn the chicken in the skillet. Oil pops against the hot pan, and the kitchen fills with the warm, savoury smell of spices and roasted chicken. His phone vibrates again. 

Ilya:
are you coming this weekend?

Shane:
To the Lucky Loon?

Ilya:
no
to the moon

Shane:
Asshole
To answer your question, I’m not sure
I think I want a quiet night in

Ilya:
i understand
i will be sad not to see you there
you are the best part of my night

Shane sighs dreamily, staring down at the message. Ilya did not seem real sometimes. He was going to have to stop saying things like that before Shane started getting the wrong idea.

Shane:
Thanks
Honestly, you are too.

Ilya:
ugh hollander
are you going to make me beg??
please please please
there, good enough?

Shane:
What are you talking about?

Ilya:
i know loud music and alcohol and partying is not your thing
i know you would rather be doing anything else
but you do enjoy yourself, yes?

Shane thought about it for a moment. He thinks about all the times he’s gone to the Lucky Loon now. All the weekends he’s let Rose or Miles drag him there, where the music is still loud and the alcohol is still disgusting. All for Ilya. Just to get a chance to say hello, to have a conversation with him on his fifteen minute break, to be held under his gaze for one extra second. Shane did enjoy that part.

Shane:
I do have fun.

Ilya: 
then come on saturday
please
i have a surprise for you

Shane sighs. He is such a pushover.

Shane: 
Alright.
Can I bring Rose and Miles?

Ilya:
of course

Shane:
Are you going to let me pay this time?

Ilya:
of course not

Shane chuckles, throwing his phone back on the counter. Jesus. He was quickly realizing how much power Ilya has over him. It was both frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. Shane barely has to ask Rose or Miles if they want to come. If the drinks are free and they don’t have to wait in line, they’re in. When Saturday finally arrives, Shane gets ready the same way he has the handful of times he’s gone to the Lucky Loon: shower, clothes, cologne. It doesn’t take long, which is how Shane finds himself standing in front of his bathroom mirror far too early, staring at his reflection. Fuck. 

Shane sighs, running a hand through his hair before wandering into the living room and finding a spot on the couch. He picks up his book, determined to read until it’s actually time to leave, but he barely reads past the first page. He bounces one leg against the floor and continues to check the time on his watch. He feels like a little kid waiting for the first day of school. He’s nervous, excited, and feels hyperaware of how slow the minutes are passing by. 

Finally, after an hour or so, he gives up and grabs the tupperware container he’d packed for Ilya, locks up, and heads to his car.

When he arrives at Rose’s place, she and Miles are already well into their pregame. 

“There he is!” Rose cheers.

Miles holds up a shot as Shane enters the kitchen. “Drink.”

Shane grimaces, taking the glass anyways. He knocks it back, hating at the burn as it slides down his throat, and when they offer him another, he shakes his head. “I’m okay.”

Rose raises an eyebrow. “Already done?”

“I’m not really in the mood.”

The truth is, he’s barely in the mood to leave his house at all. The only reason he’s here is because there’s a chance he’ll see Ilya. As pathetic as that is.

Not long after, Rose is calling an Uber, and the three of them pile inside. For the most part their conversation is regular, chatting about work and life, but during a small break in the conversation, Miles brings up Ilya.

“Did you text Ilya to let him know we’re on our way?”

Shane frowns. “No. Should I?”

Rose shrugs but there’s a ghost of a smirk on her lips. “I’m sure he’ll want to know.”

Shane shrugs. “He’s probably busy.”

Rose and Miles exchange a look. One that they’ve given each other before, one that Shane still has no idea what it means.

“Shane,” Rose finally sighs, turning back toward him. “You are the most clueless man alive.”

Shane frowns. “Fuck off. No, I’m not.”

“Shane,” Miles says this time, in the same tone as Rose. “Ilya likes you.”

The car rolls to a stop. Shane barely has time to process their words before they’re thanking their driver and stepping out onto the busy Montreal sidewalk. The night air hits him, cool against his overheated face. He clutches the tupperware container a little tighter against his chest.

“Ilya is nice,” Shane says finally, his voice defeated as they all stop on the corner of the street. “He’s not… I’m not…” For whatever reason, saying the next words feels impossible.

“You’re not what?” Rose asks. “Shane, you’re kind and sweet and fucking hot by the way.”

“And funny!” Miles adds helpfully.

“Yes,” Rose nods. “You’re all those things and more. Why wouldn’t he like you?”

“He’s never told me he likes guys.” Shane argues.

“Oh, the eye-fucking on his end wasn’t enough?”

“Rose.” Shane flushes.

“Don’t,” Rose scoffs. “Don’t do that. Let’s go over the facts, shall we? He invites you out, pays for you, and takes the time out of his shift where he should be relaxing to talk to you instead. Does that sound like someone who doesn’t like you?”

Shane finally turns toward the club, now only a block away, its neon sign glowing against the night. “I’m not having this conversation.”

“Fine,” Rose mutters, walking past Shane now. “You fucking men never listen to me.”

They approach the line to the Lucky Loon but instead of even pretending to wait in the line, they head to the front. They all know the drill now. Rose and Miles hang back, letting Shane lead the way. He’s their way in.

Ilya is standing beside the velvet rope, taking a drag from his cigarette before turning his head and blowing the smoke away from the person he’s talking to. The exchange is casual, mundane even, but somehow Ilya manages to look fucking glorious doing it. It’s colder tonight, so he’s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with loose black jeans. Even beneath the dark fabric, Shane can make out the shape of his muscles, the way they shift whenever he moves. He looks like some kind of Greek statue brought to life. 

Shane is so busy staring that he almost misses the moment Ilya notices him. Ilya’s head snaps in their direction and a smile breaks across his face. Shane feels his own stomach flip. Ilya stubs out his cigarette without hesitation and steps away from the velvet rope, meeting Shane halfway.

“Hi,” Ilya smirks, his eyes flicking past Shane long enough to acknowledge Rose and Miles with a nod before returning to him. “You came.”

“Of course.” 

Shane can feel the heat spreading across his face, and he does his best to control the stupid smile threatening to take over. Seeing Ilya again fills him with such sudden, complete elation that it almost catches him off guard. Then he remembers what he’s holding.

“Oh.” Shane looks down at the container in his hands before shoving it toward Ilya. “This is for you.”

Ilya gives him an amused look but takes it. He opens the lid and inside are two hefty chicken caesar lettuce wraps, neatly packed side by side. Ilya looks down at them and then back at Shane.

“For me?”

Shane nods. “Since you refuse to let me pay for anything, I thought you deserve to taste my cooking. You can have it during your break and let me know what you think.”

Ilya nods, his smile so wide that Shane can see all his teeth. “Thank you.”

Shane shrugs. “It was nothing.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Oh, yes, excuse me, Mr. Gordon Ramsey.”

“Taste them first before you start calling me that.”

Ilya nods, hesitating for a moment before quickly ducking down and wrapping his arms tightly around Shane. The hug is so sudden that Shane freezes. His brain barely has time to register the warmth of Ilya’s body, the solid weight of his arms around him, before Ilya pulls away. 

Ilya clears his throat, embarrassingly realizing they have an audience. His eyes land on Rose and Miles, who are both grinning like lunatics. 

“You guys can go in.”

“Thanks,” Rose says, walking past him.

Miles follows, wearing the same unbearably smug expression.

Shane looks at Ilya one more time. Ilya still won’t look directly at him, suddenly fascinated by the container in his hands, but the embarrassment written all over his face makes Shane’s chest ache.

Shane smiles. “See you inside.”

Ilya finally glances up. “Yeah.”

Shane follows Rose and Miles through the entrance but he barely makes it a few steps before Miles turns around.

“Can I have a hug too, Shane?”

Shane lets out a breath, his cheeks immediately reddening again. He gives Miles a light shove. “Fuck off.”

Inside, the club is packed. Music blares from speakers, loud enough to make the ground shake. Rose and Miles pull Shane to the dancefloor and soon they begin to dance. While Shane is having a bit of fun, his mind is elsewhere. He can’t believe Ilya hugged him. Ilya fucking hugged him. He had wrapped those strong arms around Shane and pulled him close. It had been tight and brief, but Shane can still feel the warmth of Ilya’s body, the pressure of his arms, the way his heart had nearly fucking stopped when it happened. 

He’s spent far too much time imagining what it would feel like and now that he knows, he wants more. He doesn’t know if Ilya wants that too. He doesn’t even know if he deserves more, even if Ilya does, but he wants him all the same. Selfishly, all Shane wants is Ilya.

Shane needs water. Between the hug and the dancing, he’s burning up and he needs to quench his thirst. His throat is dry and he feels lightheaded. He breaks away from Rose and Miles without bothering to explain, simply pointing toward the bar before making his way through the crowd. By the time he reaches it, he feels slightly dazed. He orders a water from a bartender he vaguely recognizes and takes a long drink, letting the coolness soothe his throat.

He’s halfway through his first sip when someone steps into the space beside him and leans their elbow against the bar.

“You impress me, Hollander.”

Shane immediately chokes on his water. He coughs into a napkin, eyes watering as he looks up at Ilya. “What?”

“You are smart,” he says, counting off the words with his fingers. “You have nice job. You know a lot about hockey. You are funny. And you can cook. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Have a fucking normal conversation with you where I’m not blushing like a complete idiot, Shane thinks.

“Uh,” Shane swallows thickly. “I can’t whistle.”

Ilya chuckles. “That is embarrassing. No one ever taught you?”

Shane shrugs. “People taught me. I just can’t seem to do it.”

Ilya glances down at Shane’s mouth and he fights a shiver. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Shane glances away from Ilya’s face, looking down at his hands. Then he notices something. He looks around. The tupperware container is gone. “Did you try the lettuce wrap yet?”

Ilya smirks. “Oh, I did. I had one outside. I’m saving the other one for when I get home from work tonight.”

“And?”

“And…” Ilya licks his lips, making Shane’s attention immediately snap back to his face. “They’re delicious. Very, very good for something with no bread.”

“It’s healthier.”

“Is that what you’re trying to get me to do?” Ilya asks, brows lifting. “Get me to be healthy?”

“Someone has to.” Shane rolls his eyes. “You smoke too much.”

“I know.” Ilya pauses, his expression open and genuine. “Thank you for the present.” 

“It was nothing.”

“Don’t say that.” Then, suddenly, before Shane can argue, his eyes light up. “Oh, I have something for you too.”

“You do?”

Ilya nods, rummaging through his pocket for a moment before pulling out a small black case. “For you.”

“What is it?”

“Open it.” Ilya encourages.

Shane takes the case from his palm, turning it over curiously before finally popping it open. Inside are two small earbuds.

“Earbuds?” Shane looks at Ilya, confused.

“Not just any earbuds.” Ilya takes them from the case, holding them up between his fingers. “They are noise-cancelling earbuds. You can wear them in clubs or wherever it is loud.” He pauses, glancing at Shane. “Can I?”

Shane nods dumbly, his mouth dropped open just slightly in anticipation. Ilya’s fingers are careful as he fits one earbud into place, then the other. For a moment, his hands linger. Not touching him exactly, but close enough that Shane can feel the warmth of them against his skin.

When he pulls away, the difference is immediate. The earbuds work. He can still hear the music and the laughter of people around them, but it’s muffled just enough so it doesn’t feel as overwhelming as before. Shane sighs in relief, his face relaxing and shoulders loosening. He feels better already. 

He looks up at Ilya in awe. “They work.”

“Good, yes?”

Shane nods, his eyes stinging. This is one of the most thoughtful gifts he’s ever gotten. He feels like he might collapse from gratitude. Fuck. He blinks quickly, determined not to cry in the middle of a nightclub. No one has ever been so considerate about his sound sensitivity before. Suddenly, when Shane looks at Ilya again, his eyes drop to his mouth. He really, really wants to kiss him.

“I look okay, right?” Shane asks quickly, touching one of the earbuds sticking out of his ear. “I don’t look goofy or anything?”

Ilya wordlessly shakes his head, hesitating for a moment before reaching out and briefly touching the apples of his cheeks where his freckles are scattered. “You look nice.”

Shane shivers, his entire face red as a tomato. Ilya could probably feel how hot he is beneath his fingers. His brain short circuits and he panics, pulling away and putting a little more distance between. “Thanks.”

Ilya’s hand drops. “Of course.”

“Are you on your break?” Shane asks, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere so he doesn’t combust and faint on the spot.

“No,” Ilya shakes his head. “I have to go back out but I just wanted to tell you I tried the wrap and wanted to give you your gift.”

“Oh,” Shane nods. “When will you be back?”

“Thirty minutes?”

Shane tries not to sound disappointed. “Okay. I know you probably want to chill, so you don’t have to—”

“Shane,” Ilya smirks. “I will see you in thirty minutes.”

Shane smiles. “Okay.”

“And then I have to ask you something.”

Shane’s smile falters. “What?”

“You’ll see,” Ilya sings the words lightly before finally turning away. 

Shane nods. “Okay.”

Ilya gives him one last smile. “See you then.”

Then he disappears into the crowd. Shane watches him go, fingers still resting against the earbud in his ear.

The next thirty minutes feel like an eternity. When Shane finally returns to Rose and Miles, they’re chatting with a group of friends they’d run into on the dance floor. Shane doesn’t recognize any of them, but judging by the way they’re laughing together, Rose and Miles clearly know them well enough.

Miles spots Shane approaching and immediately gets to his feet, clapping him on the back before turning toward the group. “This is another friend of mine. Shane, say hi to everyone.”

Shane gives an awkward little wave. “Hi, everyone.”

A few people return the greeting and, as Shane settles in, Miles explains that he knows them all from a theater troupe he used to be part of. They’re all incredibly friendly, making room for Shane at the table and pulling him into the conversation. There isn’t much space left, though, so Shane ends up squeezed onto Rose’s left, wedged between her and a young guy who immediately turns toward him.

“I’m Jake,” he says, extending a hand.

“Shane.” He says, shaking it.

They talk for a while, though Shane struggles to keep up. Jake isn’t really having a conversation with him so much as he’s talking at him, launching into a long, breathless explanation of his job as a historical fiction author for a major publisher. Shane is immediately confused; isn’t history nonfiction? He wants to ask what the difference is, but every time he thinks Jake has finished a thought, he launches straight into another one. There’s barely a pause long enough for Shane to get a word in.

Eventually, a brief silence opens up, and Shane takes it.

“I’m gonna get something to drink,” he announces loudly so his voice can be heard over the music. He glances around the table. “Did anyone want anything?”

Rose shrugs. “I’ll take a vodka cranberry.”

Shane nods, looking around the group once more but everyone politely declines. Everyone except Jake, who is now standing with Shane. “I can go with you.”

“Oh,” Shane looks awkwardly at Rose. “Okay?”

Rose gives Shane a brief, almost apologetic look, but he turns around before anyone else can catch it. He crosses the dancefloor toward the bar, aware of Jake following close behind. For most of the walk, Jake is nothing more than a silent shadow at his back. It isn’t until they reach the bar and Jake settles beside him that he starts talking again.

“What do you do for work?” Jake asks.

“Oh,” Shane flushes. “I’m a physiotherapist.”

“You like that sort of thing?” Shane nods, his eyes drifting toward Svetlana as she takes an order at the other end of the bar. “I’ve never been a big science guy, you know?”

“What does that mean?” Shane asks, not in a defensive way, but in a genuinely concerned way. 

Jake smirks, angling his body a little closer, but Shane turns his body away and tries to put some distance between them “Oh, you know. I’m just skeptical of modern science. There are so many things nowadays that we never had even a few decades ago, you know?”

“No,” Shane deadpans. “I don’t.” 

He says this hoping it will be the end of the conversation. This pocket of silence is very brief because before long, Jake continues to talk.

“You’re gay, right?” Jake asks rather bluntly.

Shane blinks, his gaze instinctively flicking toward Svetlana. She still hasn’t spared him a glance. “Uh… yeah.”

“And you’re not seeing anyone, right?” Jake presses. This time, one of his fingers trails casually along Shane’s forearm.

Shane immediately recoils from the touch, his skin prickling with discomfort. “Uh…” He shrugs, unsure how the hell he’s supposed to explain whatever the fuck is happening between him and Ilya, however one sided it is. “I guess not.”

“Lucky me.” Jake’s lips curl into a smirk.

“How long have you known Miles?” Shane asks, desperate to change the subject.

“Oh, I barely know him.” Jake shrugs. “But you’ve been friends with them a long time?” 

Shane nods, finally catching Svetlana’s gaze. She gives him a small nod, letting him know she’ll be right there, and he relaxes, turning back to Jake. “Yeah, I guess. I met Rose eight or so years ago in my undergrad before she switched to Theatre as her major, and then she introduced me to Miles a year or so later. They’re my best friends.”

“Well, Miles never mentioned you,” Jake smirked. “Or how cute you were.”

Shane coughs, choking on his own spit. Heat rushes across his skin, but it’s nothing like the flush he gets around Ilya, where his body burns with want and anticipation. This is different. This feels more like horror.  He desperately turns to the bar, letting out a sigh of relief when Svetlana approaches, eyeing Jake carefully before they return to Shane.

“What can I get you, Shane?”

“Just a water and a vodka cranberry,” Shane sighs, fidgeting nervously with his hands.

Svetlana nods, then looks at Jake, who is practically pressed against Shane’s side. Shane has done his best to make himself smaller, subtly shrinking away from the unwanted contact, but Jake either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

“You know this guy?” Svetlana asks.

“Kind of.” Shane mutters.

“I’ll have a beer, honey,” Jake smirks, not even bothering to introduce himself.

Svetlana’s brow furrows. She glances at Shane again, her eyes lingering for a moment as though silently checking in on him, before reaching into the large pocket of the apron tied around her waist and pulling out the card machine. “That will be twenty dollars.”

“For a beer?” Jake scoffs.

Svetlana looks at him, unimpressed.

“What about him?” Jake points to Shane. 

“He doesn’t have to pay.”

Jake snorts. “Whatever.” He pulls out his card and taps it against the machine. Svetlana waits for the payment to go through, then gives a small nod and turns away, presumably to get their drinks. Jake watches her leave before he speaks again. “She got a crush on you or something?”

Shane blinks. “What?”

Before Jake can explain, someone slides into the space beside him at the bar. Warmth presses against Shane’s back and he jolts forward slightly, whipping his head around. When his eyes meet those familiar blue ones, his mouth falls open.

“You are still here,” Ilya says with a grin, seemingly oblivious to Jake at first, who is shorter and a bit smaller than Shane.

“Oh, uh, yeah, we—” Shane stops himself, his cheeks burning even hotter.

Ilya’s smile fades. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing,”

But before Shane can say anything else, Jake leans forward, poking his head between them. “Who is this guy?”

Ilya’s face, which had already been set in a frown, somehow hardens even further. If Shane had ever thought Ilya was intimidating before, he realizes now that he’d been wrong. Apparently, Ilya had been saving his truly terrifying looks for Jake.

His glare settles on Jake coldly. He looks between the two of them for barely a second before grumbling, “You are lost?”

Jake scoffs, finally taking a step closer to Shane. Immediately, Ilya’s eyes drop to where their elbows are touching. A displeased sound rumbles in his throat. Holy shit. If Ilya was directing this look at Shane, he’d be shitting his pants. Jake, however, didn’t seem scared at all.

“Do you know him, Shane?” Jake asks, eyeing Ilya suspiciously.

“Yeah.” Shane nods, leaning away from Jake as subtly as he can. “This is Ilya. He’s the bouncer here.”

Jake doesn’t seem too impressed. “The bartender and now the bouncer?” His mouth curls into a smirk. “Just making friends with all the help, aren’t you? Cute.”

Shane clears his throat, looking away and forcing a tight smile. He glances toward Ilya, hoping to escape Jake’s flirtatious tone, only to find Ilya still glaring at Jake. He must feel Shane’s eyes on him because his eyes instantly lift off Jake and soften when they’re directed at Shane. Then Ilya reaches out, and his fingers hook into the belt loops of Shane’s jeans and give him the slightest tug toward him. Shane gets the message. His stomach does somersaults as he leans closer, putting a little more distance between himself and Jake. He gives Ilya a grateful, if deeply embarrassed, look. 

“Shane is more than cute,” Ilya snaps. His eyes drift back to Jake, but his fingers never leave Shane’s belt loop. “But he doesn’t need you to tell him that.”

Before Jake can respond, a tall bottle of beer, a vodka cranberry, and a glass of water are set down on the bar in front of them. The sudden movement draws everyone's attention. Svetlana stands on the other side of the drinks, her expression narrow and unimpressed as she looks directly at Jake.

“Кто этот мудак?” Ilya asks, nodding toward Jake.

Svetlana glances at Jake, then back at Ilya, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Не знаю. Но он флиртовал с твоим парнем.”

The exchange lasts maybe two seconds, but whatever Svetlana says seems to satisfy him. Ilya turns back to Jake with a small, almost amused smirk.

“Okay. You go now.”

Jake blinks. He looks at Shane for help, but Shane is too distracted by the warmth of Ilya’s hand, which has settled possessively against the small of his back. It’s making him sweat, making his heart pound so loud he can hear it in his ears and making some strange, warm gushy feeling spread in his chest. Ilya is treating Jake like dirt and protecting Shane, and while it shouldn’t turn him on, it really fucking does.

“What?” Jake scoffs. 

“Leave,” Ilya repeats, his eyes narrowing. Slowly, his hand slips away from Shane’s back and he has to fight the sudden urge to whine at the loss of it. “I don’t want to embarrass you in front of Shane, but I will if you don’t leave right now.”

“But I paid for my beer.” Jake half-whines and Shane can feel himself scoff.

“Sorry,” Ilya grumbles. “No refunds.”

Jake looks to Shane for help but it only makes Ilya angrier. Before Shane can tell Jake that he really should just listen to Ilya, Ilya lets out a dark chuckle.

“Do not look at him,” Ilya sneers. “Look at me. Leave.”

For a moment, Jake seems to weigh his options. Apparently, the possibility of leaving with his dignity intact is more appealing than risking a black eye, because he eventually lets out a long, defeated sigh. Then he turns and walks away.

The moment Jake is out of earshot, Shane lets out a sigh of relief. He knows when he returns to the group, Jake will have probably already told them something on his way out but he wants to worry about that later. He’s sporting a half hard cock, his mind hazy with desire, and he needs to reel it in before Ilya sees how much this interaction has affected him.

He turns his head back to Ilya, an apology already on his lips but Ilya’s face stops him in his tracks. He’s not looking at Shane. Well, he’s not looking at Shane’s face. His eyes are cast downward, his expression dark and his face intense. Shane hesitates, following his gaze before he too sees what Ilya does. Shane is visibly hard in his jeans. What he thought was a barely concealed hard-on is actually a full fucking erection in his pants. He’s not sure when it got this noticeable but he knows it has to do with the hand Ilya had on his waist. 

“Ilya,” Shane flushes so hard he feels lightheaded. His whole body trembles with embarrassment and he desperately wants to cover both his face and the tent in his jeans. 

Ilya doesn’t give him a chance to even try to apologize. He grabs Shane’s hand and pulls him away from the bar without a word. Shane stumbles after him, heart hammering. He wants to fight him. He wants to dig his heels into the floor, drop to his knees, beg Ilya to forgive him, to not kick him out, to please, please still be his friend, even if he knows now that Shane is a freak.

But Shane doesn’t fight. He lets Ilya drag him across the dance floor, down a long corridor, and toward a set of stairs. The music still booms upstairs, but it’s muffled now, dulled by the walls and the noise-cancelling earbuds in Shane’s ears. It should be a relief, but instead, it only makes the sound of his own breathing feel louder.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Shane barely has a moment to look around before Ilya releases his hand and one second later, a firm palm lands against his chest. Shane stumbles backward just as the janitorial closet door swings open, and Ilya pushes him inside.

As the door shuts behind them, Shane’s back meets the cold concrete wall, and a small, helpless whine escapes him before he can stop it. Fuck. He’s still so fucking hard. 

“Ilya,” Shane tries again, this time his hands coming to cover the tent in his jeans. It doesn’t help that Ilya is manhandling him, that Shane can feel the heat of him even through their clothes. His stomach twists over and over again.

Ilya is breathing hard, his pupils blown, and for a moment he looks angry. He looks conflicted, like he’s fighting with himself or holding something back. And then it’s as if a lightning bolt strikes Shane and suddenly he understands. Oh. Oh, fuck. 

Shane breathes hard. “Ilya…” His voice is barely there. He says it again because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Shut up,” Ilya mumbles. Before Shane can even process the words, Ilya grabs both sides of his jaw and pulls him forward.

Their mouths collide in a kiss that is hot and desperate. Shane sucks in a breath, his body trying to catch up with his mind. Instantly, his hands go to the curls in Ilya’s hair, gripping them, anchoring himself to them so he doesn’t fall over from the force of this kiss. Shane can taste the ash on Ilya’s tongue, can even taste a hint of chicken cesar, but he only deepens the kiss, pulling Ilya tighter against him.

“...fucking…” Ilya moans as he pulls away from Shane only a little. 

Shane chases his lips immediately, licking into the roof of Ilya’s mouth before pulling away and leaning his head against the concrete wall. 

“Please…” Ilya whines, chasing after Shane’s lips before his hands drop to Shane’s waist and pull their bodies closer. 

Shane can feel Ilya’s hardness against his thigh too now, evidence that this is not a dream or Ilya somehow being confused. Ilya wants him. And by the way he’s kissing Shane like he’s consuming him, he wants him badly.

Oh, Shane thinks distantly as Ilya’s teeth graze down his jaw. This is what power feels like.

As Ilya’s lips slide down Shane’s neck, so do his hands, which have migrated from Shane’s hips all the way down to the buckle of his belt. He grips at the leather, pulling at it frustratingly before sighing dramatically and pulling away only a few inches to stare at Shane. 

“Please fucking tell me you want this as bad as I do,” Ilya rasps out, both of his hands dropping back to Shane’s belt.

Shane’s mouth drops open, sucking in a sharp breath. “Ilya, please…”

“Okay, okay, моя любовь.” Ilya chuckles, kissing Shane’s chin briefly before dropping to his knees.  “You want me to suck this cock?”

Shane bites his lip, stifling a moan. He is only now remembering where they are. “Ilya—”

“Is that why you flirted with that Подонок? To get me jealous?” Ilya mutters, cursing softly in Russian as he slowly undoes Shane’s belt and tugs his jeans down just past his thighs. “To get me on my knees for you?”

“No, no,” Shane shakes his head wildly. “I never even—fuck—”

Just as he’s trying to explain that he would never flirt with someone else, that he’s already obsessed with him, Ilya dips below Shane’s boxers and pulls his cock free. The cold closet air hits his sensitive cock and he hisses, watching as Ilya looks up victorious.

“Your cock is so pretty,” Ilya hums, kissing the tip of Shane’s cock tenderly. “Pretty.” He repeats. “That’s what I thought when I first saw you. You were so pretty. It made me want to do crazy, stupid things.”

Shane stifles his next moan with the back of his hand. He can barely think, barely do anything other than channel all his energy on staying upright and not falling over. He hisses when Ilya grasps his hard cock in his hand, tugging ever so gently before leaning forward and giving the head of Shane’s cock a few kitten licks.

“Fuck,” Shane rasps out, reaching down and grasping onto the the curls of Ilya’s blonde hair and tugging hard. He hears Ilya hiss loudly as his eyes snap up to meet Shane’s hardened glare. “Don’t be a fucking tease.”

Shane lets out a shaky breath, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he realizes the protest that escaped him. But Ilya doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Instead, he looks up at Shane with a knowing smirk, a low, dark chuckle rumbling from his chest as his warm breath brushes against Shane’s cock, making it twitch.

“Impatient,” Ilya tsks, amusement thick in his voice. Then, softer, reassuring, he adds, “Is okay, baby. I will take care of you.”

Before Shane can even so much as beg, Ilya ducks down again, his lips wrapping around the tip of Shane’s wet, throbbing cock. His entire body reacts this time; tugging on Ilya’s curls even harder and rocking his hips into Ilya’s mouth. It feels fucking divine. Ilya’s mouth is warm and wet and fucking perfect and Shane has to bite down on his lip once again to stifle another moan rocketing through his body.

“Taste so good,” Ilya murmurs, laying his tongue flat against Shane’s cock once more and giving it a lick. 

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane whimpers out, rubbing soothing circles where he’s been tugging on Ilya’s hair. “Please don’t stop.”

“Let’s try something different,” Ilya smirks, leaning away from Shane’s cock for only a moment, before planting both of hands on the back of Shane’s thighs and looking back up at Shane through his lashes. “Why don’t you fuck my mouth with your pretty cock, hm?”

Shane’s mouth parted in shock. “Fuck, you’d want that?”

Had Shane died and gone to heaven? Or better yet, had he been a saint in a past life and was getting rewarded for it now? His brain was running a mile a minute, spinning with all the other things he wanted to do to Ilya as well. How could this man be so perfect?

“Hm, yes,” Ilya hummed, scooting closer on his knees, his hands tight and firm against the back of Shane’s thighs. “I want it very badly.”

Shane nods, his eyes wide. “Please.”

That small, quiet plea is all Ilya seems to need before he takes Shane’s cock in his mouth once more, this time skipping the licks and instead swallowing him down all in one go. Shane rolls his eyes back for a moment, trying to ground himself, trying to not let the pleasure overtake him. He is not small by any means. He knows it. Other partners have told him as much. And while he never expected Ilya to be a virgin, he has to be pretty fucking experienced to not gag as he takes every inch of Shane’s cock into his mouth.

“Fuck…” Shane moans, this time not even remembering to cover his mouth.

Ilya looks up at him for a moment, looking absolutely sinful with his lips spread around Shane’s thick cock. He looks equal parts smug and dazed. Just as he pulls off Shane’s cock only a little, he squeezes the back of Shane’s thighs, likely trying to communicate something without having to speak. Shane furrows his brows for a moment, confused, before his face relaxes as he realizes what Ilya wants. Oh fuck. Right. This is where he’s supposed to fuck Ilya’s mouth.

Admittedly, Shane has never done this. He’s had his dick sucked a few times, all by willing partners who made him feel good, but none of them have offered this. This is completely new territory for Shane, and he knows he’d be nervous if it were anyone else. But it isn’t anyone else. It’s Ilya.

Ilya, who would do anything for him. Ilya, who never lets him pay for anything. Ilya, who thinks he’s funny and genuinely wants to know everything about him. Ilya, who, until this very moment, Shane hadn’t fully realized was maybe a little too obsessed with him, possibly to an unhealthy degree. Ilya, who practically worships the ground Shane walks on. Ilya, who has no interest in rushing anything, who wants to take his time and make Shane feel good.

Knowing that it’s Ilya and not some stranger emboldens Shane just a bit. He grasps the sides of Ilya’s head confidently, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the apples of his cheeks, before he begins to guide Ilya’s head up and down on his cock. The pleasure is immediate and Shane shudders out a long, breathy moan as he feels Ilya’s jaw unhinge slowly to accommodate more of him. 

“Fffuuuck,” Shane whines out, his hips snapping up into Ilya’s mouth once more. “So, so good…”

Ilya squeezes on Shane’s thighs a bit tighter, and Shane isn’t sure how, but he knows it’s Ilya’s way of saying more. And so Shane gives him that. He fucks up into Ilya’s mouth harder, the pleasure rolling off him in waves and his stomach tightening. He doesn’t stop even when he feels Ilya gag on his cock; not that he could even if he tried. Not that Ilya wants him to stop either. Ilya’s eyes, those same piercing blue ones, are now staring up at him with so much adoration that Shane has to look away before he cums too soon.

Shane continues to roll his hips, stuttering just a bit as hot white heat flares across his belly. Fuck. “Ilya,” he whines out, panting hard into the janitor’s closet. “I’m gonna… I can’t…”

Shane shakes his head, cutting himself off with another moan. Ilya, however, doesn’t let up. When Shane’s hips stutter and slow their pace, trying to fight off his orgasm, Ilya takes the lead once more, bobbing his head up and down on the rest of Shane’s cock. 

“Good boy,” Shane murmurs, rewarding Ilya with a few scratches to his scalp. “My good boy…”

Shane watches Ilya’s eyes go incredibly wide, and then soften, which is a stark contrast to the sinful way his mouth is sucking on Shane’s cock. 

“You like being my good boy?” Shane smirks faintly, petting Ilya’s hair. He can see the slightest nod from Ilya, who continues bobbing his head up and down in delicious strokes. “You’re my good boy…” Shane pants, his stomach clenching before another wave of pleasure, much stronger than the last, rolls through him. “Can my good boy let me cum?”

Ilya’s eyes flutter closed and his hands finally release and drop from Shane’s thighs. They migrate instead further up; with one planted firmly on Shane’s lower abdomen and the other massaging his balls. 

Shane’s whole body twitches in response and he lets out a guttural moan, one that rivals all the ones before. Now it makes sense why Ilya moved a hand to Shane’s abdomen; to keep him in place. Shane is thrashing now, grinding against the pleasure as it rolls through him in relentless waves. He tries to pull away, instinctively desperate to escape it, because it’s almost too much to bear, but Ilya holds him down, gagging on Shane’s cock and holding his mouth there for longer than ever before.

And then—fucking then—he winks at him. Ilya fucking winks at him with his mouth full of Shane’s cock. Shane’s done after that. He has no control over how loud he is, how sharply he’s thrusting into Ilya’s mouth, and soon he’s cumming down Ilya’s throat. 

“...what the fuck?” Shane mumbles out, his voice thin and pathetic, watching with hooded eyes as Ilya finally leans off Shane’s cock, wiping his mouth and looking up at Shane with a smug expression.

“That good?” Ilya teases, his eyes almost shining as he speaks.

Shane only scoffs, rolling his eyes as he reaches down and fists the curls at the top of Ilya’s head, giving them a firm tug. Ilya gets the message immediately, rising from his knees and letting his body fall against Shane’s, finding his lips with an intensity that steals the breath from his lungs. Shane has never been kissed like this. There’s something almost dizzying about it. It’s both intense but tender, as though Ilya can’t decide whether he wants to devour him or hold him as carefully as possible.

“What time do you get off work?” Shane asks in between kisses.

“Very, very late,” Ilya whines, his lips trailing from Shane’s mouth to his jaw, then down the curve of his neck.

Shane frowns. Would it be too presumptuous to assume Ilya wanted to see him afterward? No. Yeah. That would be insane. Shane should play it cool. He should act natural, nonchalant. For whatever reason, this man likes him, and this realization fills Shane with a sense of power. Somewhere deep down he could already imagine Ilya doing almost anything he asked and he had never felt that type of adoration from someone before. It was absolutely intoxicating. 

Part of Shane wanted to tell Ilya to take him home right now, to see just how far this desperation could go, but there was another part of him—a part he barely recognized—that wanted to tease him. That part was much more enticing.

With what little strength he had left, Shane plants both hands against Ilya’s chest and pushes him back. He hears the soft, wounded whine that escapes Ilya, but keeps him at arm’s length anyway. “You should get going then.”

“When will I see you again?” Ilya said, not bothering to hide the desperation in his voice.

“Soon,” Shane shrugged noncommittedly, although internally he was bursting with joy from how desperate Ilya was being.

“When?” Ilya pleads, reaching for Shane’s waist. “I do not work Tuesday—”

“You have my number, right?” Shane interrupts, perhaps a little too rudely, though his tone remains soft. He bats his lashes just enough to get Ilya to melt against him and nod. Jackpot. “Well, text me and I’ll let you know when I’m free.” 

Shane finally manages to push Ilya away for good, stepping off the wall and moving toward the door. Ilya watches him with wide, open eyes, his gaze following Shane as he reaches for the doorknob. There’s something almost pained in the way he looks at him, like a desperate animal fighting every instinct to chase after him, to pull him back into his arms.

“Text me when you get home tonight,” Ilya says at last, his voice softer now.

Shane pauses with his hand on the knob. “Bye, Ilya.” 

“Bye, Shane.”

When Shane wakes the next morning, the first thing he does is roll over and reach for his phone. Buried beneath a few texts from Rose, mostly stupid memes she insists on sending at ungodly hours, and a message from Miles asking if he got home okay, is a string of notifications from Ilya. Shane grins after reading the first one.

Ilya:
let me know when you get home safe
it has been one hour
you are home? 
okay i will assume you are fast asleep and not dead
but text me when you get up and see this
so I don’t freak out and think you are dead

A laugh catches in Shane’s throat, his grin stretching even wider. He scrolls down and there are more. A lot more. The messages continue from late evening into the early hours of the morning, each one progressively more unhinged than the last.

Ilya:
okay svetlana tells me not to text you because it will make me look crazy
but i do not care
i am crazy
please text me
shane
SHANEEEE
okay fine i will not look at my phone
good morning 
how has your day been so far?

Shane snuggles into his bed, his heart pounding widely in his chest. He loves this desperation. He feeds on it. As he scrolls through the rest of Ilya’s messages, a dreamy sigh escapes him. This man is absolutely obsessed with him, and Shane wouldn’t have it any other way. And since Shane is feeling particularly charitable this morning, and, if he’s being honest with himself, he misses Ilya something fierce, he finally decides to respond.

Shane:
Hi Ilya

Not surprisingly, the message is seen immediately and Ilya’s typing before Shane even has time to set down his phone.

Ilya: 
ah so he lives

Shane: 
Haha yeah
Sorry about that
I got home and crashed

Ilya:
no worries
sleep is important
i liked seeing you last night

Shane:
I liked seeing you too

Ilya:
i want to see you again
i am free tuesday evening. we can get dinner and drinks on me

Shane bites his lip.

He wants to say yes so badly it almost hurts. But then he thought back to the night before, to how hungry Ilya was when he kissed him and how possessive his touch felt. Something warm unfurls in Shane’s stomach at the memory. And, as toxic as the thought might be, Shane wants to draw that desperation out of him one more time. He wants to see how far Ilya will chase him before Shane finally gives him what he wants.

If this were anyone else, Shane might worry that the games would eventually push them too far. That they might get tired of chasing and simply walk away. But he didn’t feel that way about Ilya. Now that Shane knows the full extent of his feelings, he isn’t worried. Ilya isn’t going anywhere.

Shane:
Aw sorry my week’s pretty busy.
I’ll be at the Lucky Loon on Saturday though
It’s Hayden’s birthday and he wants to go out

Ilya: 
is ok!
i will be there on saturday
is perfect really because my shift ends earlier that night
maybe we could get late dinner after my shift?

Shane:
Sure
I will see you then.

The next week passes in a blur. Shane tries to keep up with work, but his mind is obviously somewhere else. He wants Ilya so badly that it has become a physical ache. His whole body seems to vibrate with it. He’ll catch himself spiraling into thoughts of what he wants to do with Ilya, only for those thoughts to turn, inevitably, into fantasies of what he wants Ilya to do to him. His coworkers have noticed, and so have his friends, and now, when he visits his parents for dinner one evening, even his mother takes one look at him and comments on how distant he seems.

It doesn’t help that Ilya is practically blowing up his phone. The questions range from the mundane to the oddly specific, about how he’s doing or what his favourite colour is, and Shane finds himself smiling at every single one. If he doesn’t answer right away, Ilya simply starts talking to himself in their text thread, sending one message after another as though he’s trying to keep himself occupied while he waits for Shane to respond. To anyone else, it might have been a red flag. To Shane, who has been known to get a little crazy himself when he’s with someone he cares about, it’s absolutely heartwarming. If anything, it makes him want Ilya even more.

So when Saturday finally arrives and Hayden’s birthday party gets underway, Shane is practically brimming with excitement. By the time he steps into the Pike household and Jackie opens the door, his cheeks already hurt from smiling. Earlier that night, he’d texted Ilya to let him know they’d be heading to the club closer to midnight. Ilya had responded with five messages in quick succession, each one detailing just how excited he was to see Shane. It had taken everything Shane had not to skip dinner altogether and head straight to the club. Now, though, as he walks arm in arm with Jackie while she leads him toward the dining room, he’s glad he made the effort to be here. He knows Hayden and his friends would notice if he didn’t show, and besides, he can spare a few hours.

“How’s work?” Jackie asks as they cross the wide expanse of the foyer. Hayden made damn good money as an assistant captain, but Shane seemed to forget just how good until he stepped back inside their home.

“Oh, fine,” Shane shrugs. “How’s Hayden’s shoulder?”

Jackie smirks. “Oh, I think he’s feeling better. Not that he’d tell me if he wasn’t.” She shakes her head, a fond exasperation creeping into her voice. “He thinks keeping things from me will make me worry about him less, but it just makes me worry more.”

“He’s the same with me,” Shane rolls his eyes. “I was hoping he’d at least tell you if he wasn’t feeling well.”

“Ha.” Jackie rolls her eyes as they near the dining room. “You know how he is. Stubborn as hell.”

Before Shane can agree, they step into the dining room, and the noise of conversation washes over him. A long table stretches across the room, crowded with plates, glasses, and people. Hayden and several of the Metros players are already deep in conversation, their laughter and chatter filling the space. The moment Shane enters, a chorus of greetings rises around the table. 

For a moment, he feels a bit overwhelmed. He nods and smiles, letting his eyes move slowly across the room, taking in familiar faces one after another. Most of them he knows. There’s Hayden, of course, already pushing back his chair to get up and greet him. JJ and Comeau sit nearby, along with a handful of other Metro players lining one side of the table. On the other, several of Hayden’s family members are seated, waving as Shane’s eyes land on them.

Then Shane’s gaze reaches the far end of the table and he hesitates. There’s someone he doesn’t recognize. The man sits beside Hayden’s older cousins, quietly smiling as he listens to whatever they’re saying. He looks a little older than Shane, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pair of glasses resting casually on his nose. Shane looks away almost immediately but he can’t seem to avoid him. When he takes his seat, he realizes Jackie has very deliberately placed him directly across from the man. Of fucking course she did. 

The stranger looks up as Shane settles into his chair and offers him a small, polite smile.

“Hey,” he says with a nod. “I’m Matt.”

Shane returns the nod. “Shane.”

His eyes flick toward Jackie, who is taking her seat beside Hayden, looking quite proud of herself. Shane sighs. She knows exactly what she's doing. He turns back toward Matt, offering another polite smile but little else. Matt seems to get the message immediately and returns to a conversation with Hayden’s cousins while Shane turns to JJ, delving into a deep conversation about the season and playoffs. 

Dinner is served and it’s delicious of course. Everything Jackie cooks is amazing. Even Shane, who can usually find something to complain about when it comes to food, cleans his plate completely. He even manages a few spoonfuls of the birthday cake they bring out for Hayden, earning a smug look from Jackie.

By the time dinner winds down, most of Hayden’s family has said their goodbyes. The house gradually empties and only a smaller group of Hayden’s friends remain. 

“All right,” Hayden announces, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m ready to go out.”

There’s a chorus of agreement and even Shane, who usually hates going out so late, is excited. 

Soon, everyone is gathered in the foyer; Hayden, Shane, JJ, a handful of the other players, and Jackie alongside a few of the wives and girlfriends. As everyone is pulling their coats on, Jackie makes the mistake of asking the group a question.

“Where are we going?”

“Oh,” Hayden says, a slow grin spreading across his face as he glances at Shane. “I think Shane’s got us covered, don’t you, Shane?”

Shane rolls his eyes, though he can already feel the heat creeping up his neck. “Fuck off, Pike.”

Jackie pauses halfway through slipping on her heels, her brows knitting together. “What?”

Before Shane can reassure her that it’s nothing, JJ jumps in. “Hollander’s got a club guy.”

Jackie’s frown only deepens. “What is a club guy?”

“Some bouncer at the Lucky Loon who has a huge crush on Hollander,” Hayden explains, laughing as he helps Jackie into her coat. “He gets him and his friends in for free every time. We don’t even have to pay for drinks.”

Jackie turns slowly toward Shane, looking scandalized. “What? Who?”

“Some Russian guy,” Hayden adds with a snicker, clearly enjoying himself now. He looks at Shane. “What’s his name again?”

“Ilya,” Shane answers, his voice tight. “And he doesn’t have a crush on me.”

He adores me, Shane adds in his mind.

“Well, crush or not, I want to meet him.” Jackie winks.

“Meet who?”

The voice comes from behind them and Shane’s stomach drops. He turns to find Matt stepping into the foyer, slipping his coat on. Fuck, he forgot Matt was tagging along.

“No one,” Shane mutters quickly, reaching for the door.

He follows Jackie outside before anyone can say anything else, hoping the cold air will cool the heat still lingering in his cheeks.

It isn’t that he’s hiding Ilya. He just wants to keep Ilya to himself and not have to share him with anyone else. Not for now at least.

JJ promised to be the designated driver for the night, so they all pile into his car, Jackie taking the passenger seat while Hayden, Shane, and Matt squeeze into the back. Comeau, along with his girlfriend and JJ’s girlfriend, are taking a separate car and will meet them there.

It’s a bigger group than Shane is used to, but surprisingly, that isn’t what has his nerves wound tight. It’s Matt. More specifically, how close Matt is sitting beside him and the harmless questions he keeps asking throughout the drive.

“So, Jackie tells me you’re a physiotherapist?”

Shane startles, glancing toward Jackie in the rearview mirror. She’s already looking back at him smugly. “Yeah, and you’re a teacher?”

Matt nods, smiling. “Yep. I teach grade six.”

“Oh.” Shane nods, shifting slightly in his seat. “Nice. How long have you been doing that?”

“A few years,” Matt answers easily.

Shane nods again. He fucking hates this part; this forced conversation of getting to know someone. Matt seems nice enough but he’s not Ilya, which is all Shane wants right now. They manage to keep the conversation going for the rest of the drive, Shane offering just enough to keep things from becoming awkward. But the second JJ pulls into a spot and parks, Shane is out of the car. He practically bolts across the street toward the club. As much as he’s been teasing Ilya all week, he’s been torturing himself, too. He wants to see him so badly it hurts.

Shane leads the group toward the entrance, bypassing the twenty or so people waiting behind the velvet rope. A few heads turn as they pass, some people staring with confusion, others with obvious annoyance, but Shane barely notices. Not when he sees Ilya.

He’s leaning against the wall at the top of the line, one ankle crossed casually over the other, a cigarette resting between his fingers. He takes a long drag, then tilts his head back and exhales, smoke curling from his lips and disappearing into the cold night air. He looks insanely beautiful, like usual. His black jeans hug his legs, paired with a simple black tank top that leaves his broad shoulders and arms bare. Over it, he wears a black leather jacket that looks unfairly good stretched across his frame. 

As Shane gets closer, Ilya’s head suddenly snaps toward him and when his eyes lock on Shane, his face relaxes immediately. Then his eyes drag slowly down Shane’s body, lingering without even trying to hide the hunger behind them. Shane can feel himself shiver in anticipation. Fuck. He wants to mount him right now, in front of all these people.

“Hello, Любимый.” Ilya smirks happily, stubbing out his cigarette as Shane and the group following him approach. “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too.” Shane flushes, his eyes dropping between them just in time to catch Ilya biting down on his lower lip.

“Pike.” Ilya’s gaze shifts toward Hayden and the others, and the warmth in his expression cools considerably. “Happy birthday.”

Hayden gives him a cautious nod. “Thanks.”

“You come here to have some fun and celebrate?” Ilya asks, but his attention has already returned to Shane, those beautiful eyes lingering on him.

“That’s the idea.” Shane tries for nonchalance, but his cheeks are burning. His gaze drops again, and he suddenly becomes acutely aware of just how close Ilya is standing.

“Well.” Ilya steps aside, clearing the entrance. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Ilya.” Shane nods and starts to move past him.

He barely makes it a step before Ilya reaches out and catches him lightly by the elbow.

“No. Not you.” His voice drops, a teasing edge slipping into his smirk. “You stay here.”

Shane frowns, glancing back at the others, who have all come to an awkward stop behind him. “What?”

“Your friends can go in.” Ilya nods toward the entrance. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Shane’s stomach flips. He looks over at Hayden, who is watching the two of them with growing suspicion. Jackie, her arm looped through Hayden’s, looks no less curious, her eyes moving between Shane and Ilya. Shane tries to play it off, shrugging to the both of them before nodding toward the club. 

“Go,” he reassures them, keeping his voice steady despite the way his heart is pounding against his ribs. “I’ll meet you guys inside.”

“If you say so,” Hayden says slowly, still looking between Shane and Ilya with obvious confusion. Eventually, though, he drags his gaze away from them and toward the entrance, ushering Jackie and the others inside.

The moment Hayden moves, everyone else follows him. They nod and thank Ilya as they pass, though nearly every one of them gives Shane a wary look on the way in. Shane knows exactly why. This has never happened before. Usually, Ilya lets them all go inside together without a second thought. But Shane isn’t worried in the slightest. This is Ilya after all, who he has truthfully been trying to be alone with for a whole week now. If anything, he’s excited.

Just as Matt passes Shane, he slows, raising a brow, and not bothering to look directly at Ilya. “You sure you’ll be all right out here?”

Before Shane can even answer, Ilya steps between them, his voice low and sharp. “He will be fine.”

Shane feels Ilya’s hand settle against the small of his back, his palm resting possessively between Shane’s shoulder blades. Matt seems to get the message immediately. He clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable, then gives Shane a quick nod before following the others inside.

Shane waits until he’s gone before turning to Ilya. “You didn’t have to growl at the guy.”

“Ah.” Ilya waves a hand dismissively, letting it fall away from Shane’s back. “He is fine.” Ilya pauses, studying Shane’s face. “I have not seen him before. He a new friend?”

“Kinda.” Shane shrugs. “He’s more Hayden and Jackie’s friend. He’s nice. He’s an elementary school teacher—”

“Whatever,” Ilya grumbles, dropping his hand to the hem of Shane’s thin cotton shirt instead, fingers curling around the fabric. He tugs lightly, drawing Shane a fraction closer. “He your date or something?”

Shane flushes, trying not to react to the feel of Ilya’s knuckles brushing lightly across his stomach, but every nerve in his body seems to light up beneath the touch. He so badly wants to admit to Ilya that he could never even bother with Matt because his mind was so consumed with thoughts of Ilya, but he still needed to play it cool. Instead, he just shrugs and gives Ilya a smirk.

“No, not really.”

“Oh, not really?”

“What if he was?” Shane asks teasingly.

“He better not be.” His hand drops from Shane’s shirt to the buckle of his belt. His fingers close around it, and with one firm tug, he pulls Shane forward until their chests press together. “Because you are mine.”

Shane can’t stop the shudder that runs through him. He tells himself it’s the cool summer breeze brushing against his skin, but he knows better. They both do. He leans into the warmth of Ilya’s palm, which is fully splayed across the cool skin of Shane’s stomach

“You think because you suck my cock one time,” Shane murmurs, his voice dropping low enough that only Ilya can hear, “that I belong to you?”

Ilya’s lips quirk upwards into a small smirk. “You are mine,” he says slowly. There is so much certainty in those three words that even Shane believes it. It makes his stomach ooze with warmth. “Do I need to suck your cock again to make sure you understand?”

Heat rushes to the tips of Shane’s ears. He bites the inside of his cheek, swallowing down the rest of the flush threatening to betray him. Clearing his throat, he carefully steps away from Ilya’s touch, even though it hurts him to do so.

“Maybe.” Shane bites his lip, fighting a smile as he nods toward Ilya. “I’ll see you inside.”

“Every time you leave, my heart hurts!” Ilya sings after him, and Shane freezes for half a second. He hears people around them laugh and murmur as they turn to stare. 

His cheeks burn even hotter but he refuses to look back. Instead, he shakes his head and walks into the club, desperately hoping the dim lights will hide the blush spreading across his face. 

Inside, Shane finds his friends scattered across one of the booths, while some have already migrated to the dancefloor. Hayden and Jackie are knocking back shots, laughing into each other’s shoulders, while JJ’s girlfriend giggles as she tries to drag him onto the dance floor. The second Hayden spots Shane, he shifts over to make room. Shane slides into the booth beside the happy couple, who immediately go back to whispering into each other’s ears.

“What did he want?” Jackie asks, raising her voice over the heavy bass.

Shane shrugs, eyes dropping to the collection of half-empty glasses littering the table. “He just wanted to talk.”

“Talk?” Jackie snorts. “Is that why he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you?”

Before Shane can even defend himself, Hayden looks between them, brows furrowed. “Ew, what? When was he looking at Shane like that?”

“Baby, with peace and love, you’re fucking clueless.” Jackie gives Hayden’s shoulder a gentle pat before turning back to Shane. “You know Matt thinks you’re a hottie, right?” She nods toward Matt across the table, who’s chatting with JJ. “I was gonna give him your number, but seeing as you already have a boyfriend—”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” The words tumble out of Shane’s mouth before he can stop them, heat rushing straight to his face.

“Yeah,” Hayden scoffs. “Shane can do so much better than that Russian asshole. Did you see the way he was glaring at me?”

“He was not!” Shane snaps.

“Not what?”

Shane flinches before he turns, eyes widening when he sees Matt standing before him. For a second, Shane can only stare. His eyes flick toward the spot where Matt had been sitting moments ago, then back up to where he’s standing now in front of Shane. Matt’s mouth quirks into a small, amused smile.

Shane clears his throat, suddenly hyperaware of the heat in his face. He looks toward Hayden and Jackie for help, only to find them both staring back at him with matching mischievous grins.

Fucking hell. Sometimes Shane seriously hated how straight couples meddled.

“Oh, nothing,” he stammers.

“Well, I’m getting thirsty.” He looks down at Shane, his voice somehow cutting through the music despite the pounding bass. “Wanna come get a drink with me?”

Shane knows he probably shouldn’t. He knows exactly how this looks. He knows Jackie is probably watching them with that smug little grin, and Hayden probably already has a million questions. But then Shane thinks back to how possessive Ilya had become, the way his hands had claimed Shane’s body as though it belonged to him alone, and how deeply he’d kissed him afterward. The memory sends a warm, aching thrill through Shane, and suddenly, going to the bar with Matt doesn’t seem wrong at all. Also, Shane is thirsty. A glass of water couldn’t hurt.

Finally, Shane nods, sliding out of the booth and following Matt onto the crowded dance floor, keeping his head down as they weave through the crowd. 

The club is packed tonight. There’s hoards of people, grinding on each other, not following the rhythm of the music at all. Shane tries his best not to avoid them but there’s barely enough room to breathe and he feels a shoulder clip his arm and a hand fly against his torso. It happens enough times that Matt finally lets his hand settle against the small of Shane’s back. The touch is firm, guiding him through the crowd and steering him away from the crowd and closer to the bar.

Shane fights the urge to push him away and instead accepts his help. When they finally reach the bar, Matt drops his hand away and Shane leans an elbow on the bar, turning toward Matt.

“Thanks,” he yells over the music.

Matt nods in return. “No problem. I think Jackie would’ve been pretty pissed if I let you fall.”

Heat crawls up Shane’s neck, burning the tips of his ears. He opens his mouth, ready to thank Matt again, but before he can get the words out, a hand slams down on the bar between them. Shane looks up and Svetlana is staring back at him, her eyes flicking between Shane and Matt with an almost smug expression.

“You are really trying your luck here, Shane,” she says, smirking as she looks pointedly at Matt. “This one isn’t even as pretty as the other one.”

“Svetlana,” Shane clears his throat. “Can I get a water?”

If Svetlana hears him, she doesn’t let on and instead she leans closer, lowering her voice. “I could talk him out of beating up the first guy but if he sees you with someone else again—”

“He already saw us outside.” Shane cuts her off, and the triumphant look on his face is impossible to hide when Svetlana’s jaw drops.

There’s something intoxicating about it. Ilya’s jealousy is so deep, so all-consuming, that Shane can almost feel it even when Ilya isn’t in the room. It makes a shiver run down Shane’s spine.

“He did?” Svetlana gasps. “And what did he do?”

“Whatever I tell him, of course.”

“Fucking hell, Hollander.” Svetlana shakes her head, snorting under her breath as she turns away.  “I’ll get you that water.”

When Svetlana disappears into the crowd, Matt takes a step closer. It’s enough that anyone watching would assume they’re together. His hand settles on Shane’s elbow.

“Was she talking about the Russian bouncer glaring daggers at me when we were outside?”

Shane shrugs. “Maybe.”

Matt raises his brows. “He got a crush on you or something?”

“Maybe,” he says again. 

A smirk tugs at Matt’s mouth. His fingers linger on Shane’s elbow before slowly dragging upward, idly playing with the stitching at the shoulder of Shane’s shirt. “But you wanna stay here with me instead?”

Shane wants to laugh right in his face. He wants to shove Matt away and tell him exactly what he is: a distraction. He’s a pawn. Nothing more than a means to an end—a way to make Ilya jealous enough to finally lose his composure, to drag Shane back to his apartment and fuck his brains out.

But before he can do any of that, out of the corner of his eye, something catches the light at the front entrance. A gold necklace shines against the dark mood lighting of the club and Shane’s gaze flicks toward it, and then the man wearing it. It’s not the necklace that makes Shane’s pulse jump to his throat though, it’s Ilya’s eyes, which are locked onto him, Matt’s hand and the tiny sliver of space between their bodies. And then, a more sinister idea pops into Shane’s head. 

Shane turns his attention back to Matt. He lets a slow smirk spread across his lips and gives a careless little shrug.

“Maybe.”

Matt’s eyes gleam like he’s won something, little does he know that Shane can see Ilya moving through the crowd behind him, cutting through bodies with the predatory focus of a panther. People barely have time to move before he’s pushing past them, his broad shoulders carrying him closer and closer. Just before Ilya reaches them, Shane looks back at Matt and bats his lashes. Matt’s smirk deepens.

“Did you wanna come home with me?”

Shane doesn’t even get the chance to answer. One second, Matt is standing beside him and the next, he’s being violently yanked backward.

Ilya steps between them in a single, swift movement, his broad, muscular body completely blocking Shane from view. Shane’s breath catches. All he can see is Ilya’s back, his broad shoulders, rigid with barely contained fury, every muscle in his body pulled taut.

Then one of Ilya’s enormous hands shoots out. His fingers curl into the collar of Matt’s shirt and yank him forward, a cold sneer twisting across his lips. It happens so quickly that Shane barely has time to process what he’s seeing.

“If you value your life,” Ilya says, his voice low, “I suggest you walk away. Now.”

He shoves Matt backward and he stumbles into the edge of the bar, catching himself against it before he can fall. To his credit, he recovers quickly, straightening with a furious glare.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“Yes,” Ilya says simply. He doesn’t move, and if anything, he shifts closer, putting his entire body between Matt and Shane, making it impossible for Shane to take even one step toward the other man. “Now go.”

Matt scoffs, brushing down the front of his shirt where Ilya grabbed him. “Why don’t we let Shane decide what he wants to do?”

By now, they’ve drawn a crowd. Dozens of people nearby have turned to watch, their conversations dying away as they stare with the kind of morbid curiosity at the possibility of a fight.

Matt looks at Shane as though the answer should be obvious, and it is, but just not for the reasons Matt thinks.

“Matt,” Shane reaches out, placing a hand against Ilya’s waist. The solid muscle beneath his palm makes something warm twist low in his stomach, but he forces himself to focus. He gently guides Ilya aside just enough to see Matt.

“You heard him.” Shane’s voice is surprisingly steady. “Go.”

Matt’s eyes go wide and his mouth falls open. For one fleeting second, Shane almost feels bad for him. He did, after all, use Matt to get a reaction out of Ilya. But he can’t bring himself to care. Especially when Ilya is turning him on so much. 

“Are you fucking serious?”

Shane shrugs, his cheeks burning. “Sorry—”

“No.” Ilya’s voice is a low growl. His hand closes around Shane’s bicep firmly, and he pulls him back against his side. His eyes never leave Matt. “No, sorry.” His jaw tightens. “Just tell him goodbye, Shane.”

Shane’s chest stutters and he looks up at Ilya. Those dark eyes are no longer fixed on Matt. They’re on him. Slowly, shamelessly, Ilya’s gaze drags over Shane, drinking him in with a hunger so blatant that Shane feels it everywhere. It’s a look that tells Shane to be a good boy so I can give you your prize. Heat rushes beneath his skin. A shiver slips down his spine, and suddenly the noise of the bar seems to blur around them. His brain practically shuts off and autopilot takes over.

Shane turns back toward Matt, schooling his expression into something calm and almost apologetic. He knows when to accept defeat. “Goodbye, Matt.”

Matt stalks away, throwing a string of expletives in both Shane and Ilya’s direction. Apparently, he knows when to accept defeat too, because he doesn’t even bother returning to the group. Instead, he heads straight for the door and disappears into the chilly night air.

That’s the last Shane sees of him. Or, rather, it’s the last Ilya allows him to see.

Before Shane can follow Matt’s retreating figure with his eyes, Ilya steps in front of him again, his broad frame blocking Shane’s view completely.

This time, his hand closes around Shane’s jaw firmly forcing their eyes to meet.

“You think you’re funny.”

It isn’t a question.

“Some people might say so.” Shane hums, his pulse thrumming in time with the soft, uneven panting coming from Ilya’s parted lips.

“Some?” Ilya raises a brow. “What? The other boys you string along?”

Shane’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. If Ilya thinks he’s being subtle, he isn’t. Not even close.

Shane decides to take pity on him and put him out of his misery.

“Maybe I just need to be reminded who I belong to?”

Something flashes in Ilya’s eyes. His pupils darken, and for a moment, Shane can practically feel the weight of his gaze as it drags slowly over him. Ilya’s eyes travel down the length of Shane’s body, lingering somewhere near his feet before making the slow journey back up. When Ilya’s eyes meet his, there’s something calmer in them.

“My shift ends soon.” His voice is so low Shane almost misses it. Ilya leans closer, bringing his mouth to Shane’s ear, and the warmth of his breath sends a shiver racing down Shane’s spine. “Meet me outside in ten minutes.”

Shane stifles the excited noise threatening to spill from his throat and nods only once before turning right around and leaving Ilya there at the bar. He doesn’t even check back once. He can feel Ilya’s eyes on him even without looking. 

Shane finds his friends tucked into a booth, taking shots between bursts of laughter while they dance in their seats to the heavy bass vibrating through the club. The moment Hayden spots him, though, a frown settles across his face.

“Where’s Matt?”

Shane shrugs, looking not too concerned. He leans down to give Jackie a small hug, kissing her cheek, before leaning back up. “I don’t know. I’m heading out.”

“Already?” Jackie whines. “We just got here.”

“I know.” Shane smirks. “I gotta get home.”

Jackie eyes him carefully. Shane feels the smile threatening to spread across his face and does everything in his power to hold it back. Judging by the way Jackie narrows her eyes at him, he isn’t doing a particularly good job.

“Why do you have that look?”

“What look?” Shane asks, feigning innocence.

Apparently, the rest of his friends don’t notice, or simply don’t care. They call their goodbyes over the music before turning back to their conversations, leaving Jackie and Hayden to scrutinize him.

“I dunno,” Jackie shrugs. “You look like a cat that’s got a bird in its mouth.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Shane says, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling.

“Okay.” Hayden sighs, wearing the exact same suspicious expression as Jackie. He clearly isn’t buying it either. “Well, get home safe. I’ll see you Monday.”

Shane barely manages a wave before spinning on his heels and practically skipping toward the exit. The cool night air bites against his cheeks the moment he steps outside. They’re already flushed from everything that happened inside, but the cold only makes the heat beneath his skin feel more pronounced. He moves past the long line of people still waiting to get inside, offering a quick nod to the bouncer he doesn’t recognize before stepping onto the sidewalk.

Shane frowns as he looks around. Where is Ilya? Shane’s gut plummets. Had he changed his mind? Oh god, had Shane been too much? His other boyfriends had called him manipulative, obsessive. Had Ilya realized that too?

His hand is already reaching for his phone when he feels a firm hand settle against the small of his back.

Shane jumps, just slightly, before spinning around. There he is.

“Look at you,” Ilya teases. “Following orders.”

“Don’t get too used to it.” Shane smirks, twisting his body so that their chests are pressed up against one another. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home.”

Shane can feel himself pout, which is crazy because he’s never done that before. “What?”

Ilya chuckles, shaking his head. He leans forward until his forehead rests against Shane’s neck, his breath warm against his skin. “No, no, you misunderstand me, моя любовь. I am taking you to my home.”

Shane’s lips curl into a low, satisfied smirk. “Lead the way then.”