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The first mistake Ilya made was actually asking the question. To be fair, it had been eating away at him for the entirety of two months straight. So when Hollander sat across the bar from him and said that thing about not being compatible with Rose Landry, Ilya was not entirely satisfied. The entire situation turned out to be the worst type of mental torture chamber Ilya found himself in and he'd been through a fair number in his life. He had questions even though Shane was no longer a man who potentially liked both men and women. No, now Shane was a man who only liked men.
Now Shane was a man who, according to his own words, liked Ilya a little too much. Ilya did not dare to presume anything but what Shane was hinting at seemed to be … romance, right? He found himself distracted even as he jammed three fingers in Shane's hole, greedy and impatient after sixty plus days of not having it.
“You like me,” Ilya stated simply, bottom lip caught between his teeth. His cheeks were now dry even if he wasn't sure he couldn't be brought to tears even in this horny moment. There was something different about the way Shane moved now. Relaxed, fluid. Not that Shane wasn't fluid on the ice. He moved like a cat while geared up, stick in hand. Ilya would never tell him this but Shane on ice moved like a prowling panther. But that wasn't the case between the two of them in all the hotel rooms and sex condo in Boston over the years. Shane was cautious and awkward in these private and intimate moments. Ilya had a feeling he was Shane's first man, for sure. There couldn't be any other guy. Shane was too anxious to hook up with strangers. Ilya tried his best not to assume that he was Shane's first person in general. There had to be women in the picture, correct? That was how it was like for Ilya. But the last time he'd tried following this line of inquiry, Shane had spooked so badly, Ilya had to deal with his heart shattering with all those perfect pictures of Shane with Rose Landry online in the next couple of weeks. Ilya didn't even deserve to be upset about that fact. Shane and Rose had made for such a visually striking couple. It didn't matter. Ilya couldn't stop the way his stomach dropped every time they'd popped up on his social media. Why would Shane do this to him?
Now they were in Ilya's hotel room in Tampa. Shane was off to Columbus, Ilya to Toronto early tomorrow morning. The camaraderie of the All Star game was done with. It was too perfect. Their synergy on the ice together while on the same team as opposed to facing off was giving Ilya dangerous ideas. As competitors, they gave each other a hard time. As team mates, they gave everyone else a hard time. What if they could always have this? Ilya was secretly a fool like this in his brain. He was twenty steps ahead and this is why he always made sure to seem like he was thirty steps behind instead.
Shane had just come out to him as gay. His cheeks were glowing. His eyes were gentle as they tracked over Ilya's features, hands trapped under his pillow. It was a cute habit he had while on his back and spread open for Ilya. Usually, he smiled up at Ilya and told him to fuck off when Ilya teased him too much. Tonight, Shane's gaze was intense. He looked far too fond of Ilya and Ilya was fucking terrified of that look.
“I like you,” Shane said again, and the quiet confidence in his voice shattered Ilya's heart more than anything. Why couldn't they spend the whole night together in Ilya's room? The unfairness of it all curled up into a lump that Ilya couldn't swallow down. It stayed lodged in his throat, making his eyes burn and desperate to bury himself in Shane.
“You fucked her,” Ilya murmured. He did his best not to let his voice shake. He was fine. He was more than fine. He did not deserve to feel whatever this ugly feeling in his chest was that refused to go away. He had fucked so many people he'd lost count. Who was he to feel like this about Shane Hollander? He had no stake in this game. He had to keep their bodies moving. It was all they could do.
Shane exhaled. His legs spread further. A pink flush coated his cheeks, throat and nipples. He was impossibly lovely to Ilya in every single way with his freckles and intense dark eyes and the way he would soon moan and beg for it when Ilya finally drove his cock into Shane's hole.
“I did,” Shane confessed. His head tipped back as Ilya jabbed his fingers in, harder, angrier. His breathing quickened. Ilya’s jaw was set tight. He wanted to slap himself across the cheek for his own stupidity. What were they even doing? What were they going to do?
They got together. They fucked. It should be simple. It was simple. But Ilya had been greedy and selfish enough to presume on a primal level that maybe there was a non-zero chance of women, yes, but with the way Shane was, Ilya might have been the only person after all. Was that an unfair assumption on his part? Yes, probably. But Rose had gotten to be on Shane's arm, publicly spotted together with him in bars, clubs and restaurants. At Shane's games, wearing his Metros jersey. Fuck. Ilya was still so angry.
“Oh yeah? How many times did you stick it in her pussy?” Ilya asked, rolling on a condom. Shane winced at his crudeness and Ilya nearly laughed but also nearly cried. Shane was crude about their own sex. So the lady got his Prince Charming mode, huh?
Shane stared at him, confused in that adorable way where his brows would furrow to make for his serious thinking expression. He was still so hard for Ilya despite it all though. Still so easy like putty. Ilya noticed he was tighter upon entry and he was thankful for that much. Rose clearly hadn't gotten too frisky with the hetero sex.
“I don't know … not more than five times? We didn't date for that long.”
The honesty made Ilya laugh in surprise. There we go, he thought. Blunt Shane. He began to move, and Shane made a needy, frustrated sound. Ilya knew what he wanted and since it matched with his own desires, he went down for Shane, holding himself up on his elbows as he slowed his thrusts down for a deeper grind. Shane mumbled a bunch of garbled shit in French and Ilya’s brows shot up. He memorized the sounds because like that stupid word compatible everything Shane said fucking mattered and Ilya would look it up.
They fucked missionary style that night. It was not their favourite position but Ilya needed the corny face-to-face aspect of it all, and Shane's eyes were too bright. Ilya wanted to look away but he didn't. It hurt to reckon with how serious it was all starting to feel. It was killing him in general but he had to know something as he lay across his bed, wearing only shorts as he watched Shane pull his own silk shirt and shorts back on.
“Did you give her flowers?”
Shane looked up at that. His eyes narrowed.
“Huh?”
Ilya rested his head on his elbow. He traced random patterns on the white bed cover with his index finger. He didn't look at Shane.
“Girls like flowers. Did you give Rose Landry flowers? You must have, no? I saw the pictures in the media. You took her on so many dates.”
Shane huffed out a snort that turned into a laugh.
“Yeah, I got her a bouquet of roses once. Because y’know. Her name is Rose. Roses for Rose.”
The tips of Ilya's lips quirked up ever so slightly. He looked up at Shane. He wondered if he was smiling at Shane. He didn't feel like smiling one bit.
“Did she like them?”
“She laughed at me, told me I was a cute goofball and never to do that shit again.”
Oh.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Ilya bit back anything else. He watched Shane make for the door.
“Goodnight Shane.”
Shane turned to look back at him. Ilya couldn't stop staring at him. He was stunning with his silky black hair, eyes soft and bright and his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, prettily highlighting those freckles. What woman didn't appreciate roses from this man? Seriously.
“Goodnight Ilya.”
When the door clicked shut and Ilya was alone again, he exhaled long and hard. He curled up like a baby in his bed and his eyes fell shut as he wrapped his arms around himself.
Shane had gotten his ex-girlfriend roses.
Okay.
*
He was exhausted in more ways than one when he landed back in Boston. His apartment was cold when he let himself in. Ilya fiddled with the thermostat in the hallway. On the way back here, while in the cab, Shane texted Ilya nonstop. It felt so comforting.
Sagging against the wall next to the thermostat, Ilya's eyes fell shut. He was not a child anymore but he was feeling it all the same. His father was now no more. His brother had been clearly warned to stop with the financial abuse. It was really just Sveta, whatever this thing with Shane was and … maybe Cliff every once in a while? Fuck. He was all alone, wasn't he?
His phone buzzed in his pant pocket. He pulled it out and stared at Shane's message.
Jane: Knock knock.
Lily: what??
Jane: ;)
He jumped when the bell sounded loudly in his silent apartment. Eyes wide, he glanced down at his phone. No. No way. It couldn't be. He moved slowly, not wanting to check the peephole.
A delivery guy was waiting with a massive bouquet of white and pink lillies.
“Delivery for Ilya Rozanov. Sign here for delivery, please.”
“What the hell-?”
“Dude, I get this reaction all day, okay? Freak out at your girlfriend later.”
With a pounding heart, Ilya signed off on the work tablet for the impatient guy. He stumbled back into his apartment, cursing under his breath. The bouquet was beautiful: white and pink lilies wrapped in transparent plastic film. A note attached to the wrap said in plain print: Now you're both even. - Jane
“Asshole,” Ilya mumbled under his breath. He couldn't see because of the tears streaming down his cheeks. As he frantically rummaged through his kitchen cabinets looking for anything resembling a vase, Ilya was ashamed of how loudly he was sobbing. Hadn't he cried enough in Moscow? He found a big mixing bowl and decided that would have to do.
His phone buzzed again. This time, Shane was calling. Ilya swore loudly again. He picked up.
“Fuck you, Hollander.”
Shane laughed, and the sound ran like liquid heat through Ilya's veins, making his hands shake as he trimmed the stems at an angle, just the way Mama taught him years ago.
“Now you're even with Rose,” Shane said, quiet amusement seeped in every single part of his tone. “I got her roses. Roses for Rose. I got you lilies. Lilies for Lily.”
“Shane Hollander, you are the asshole between us,” Ilya grumbled. He sat at his kitchen table, dreamily admiring the flowers, resting his chin on his upturned hand.
“I can make it uneven, y’know?” Shane breathed out, unsteadily. “I can send you more fucking flowers tomorrow. The day after. Your apartment can look like a florist shop soon enough.”
This made Ilya genuinely panic. His heart was still too tender after that phone call with Shane in Moscow in which he'd let his heart leak from beneath his rib cage and spill all over in his words.
“I have to take care of every single flower,” Ilya said. He was serious about this. Shane didn't understand because he was a silly man and Ilya wanted Shane to be his silly man. “I can't let you do that, Shane. I need to make them last.”
“Ilya.”
“Shane.”
Ilya was sure his face was super ugly and twisted up from all the crying. He didn't deserve Shane. He didn't deserve beautiful pink and white lilies. He didn't deserve Shane listening so patiently like an angel on the phone while Ilya ranted and spilled love confessions in a language Shane didn't understand.
“Do you like them?”
Ilya swallowed hard. His fingers were curled tightly around his phone.
“Shane,” Ilya murmured. “Shane. Shane, Shane, Shane.”
“What is it, Ilya?”
“I want roses.”
The silence that stretched between them for the next minute wasn't uncomfortable. Ilya let it linger as he smiled, listening so carefully for the way Shane's chest moved. It was precious to him like these flowers. Ilya was going to order a disposable camera and take a picture of these lilies. Mama had taught him how to press flowers and preserve them long ago. Could you press lilies? He didn't think so, they had high moisture content and looked so incredibly delicate. Tricky, tricky. He woould scour the internet soon for answers. He ran his fingers tenderly over the petals, not daring to lift his gaze away from them. His cheeks felt so hot, he realized. He was blushing badly. He was a goddamn mess.
“Okay,” Shane said, soft and certain. “Roses for Ilya.”
Ilya was so in love it physically hurt to breathe. How was he supposed to survive this? How was he supposed to survive any of this?
He didn't only want lilies and roses. He wanted chocolates in a heart-shaped box from the drugmart and teddy bears. He wanted more beach sunsets and his hand held. He wanted candlelit dinners and to be cuddled in bed. He wanted to make love to Shane, he wanted to be Shane's little spoon. He wanted five dogs and maybe a cat and their mugs on the same tray on a singular kitchen counter. He wanted a ring at some point. Better be a fucking expensive ring too. Ilya would have to somehow make sure Shane got the ring right. He wanted everything and he wanted all of it with Shane.
He was so stupid, greedy and selfish. It didn't matter whether he deserved Shane or not, whether he was good enough or not for Shane. This was how he felt.
And yet, he couldn't. After the season wrapped up, he had to go to Moscow and check on his sister-in-law and niece. He had to think about investing in another property there for the future. Just in case. Always good to have a backup. He could not afford to be a foolish romantic, not when he wasn't American yet.
It hurt so badly. He loved Shane so much it was killing him.
He had beautiful flowers to enjoy though. One step forward, three steps back.
*