“No biting this time,” Shane warns, a finger held up to Ilya’s lips. “I’m tired of constantly applying that gross vampire ointment.” he explains, making the other man smirk. “If I don't get to bite,” Ilya repeats, a hand grabbing Shane by his hair, “then you don’t get to howl in the middle of the night,” Shane can’t help but offer a raised brow. “Oh c’mon, that’s not fair,” he complains, “you know I can’t control that!” or the one where Ilya is a vampire and Shane is a werewolf.
Of all the ways fate could have thrown them together, things happen through a dating app. Occult Finder, the latest in supernatural courting technology, matching all kinds of creatures with one another. Whether you’re a wizard, a ghost or even an alien, Occult Finder can set you up with your dream lover. It was even open to humans, well for those specifically looking to fulfill their fantasies of getting with a witch, maybe even seducing a mermaid, or in this case -
A vampire and a werewolf.
“So,” Shane Hollander sits across from Ilya Rozanov at the local supernatural bar run by a trio of half elves and half dwarves. It’s an upcoming hit spot for folks seeking to create cross-species relationships. “You ever date a werewolf before?” he wonders, observing the handsome vampire before him.
“Nope,” Ilya says, raising his glass of vodka to his lips. “First time,” he shrugs. “What about you? You ever date a vampire?” he smirks, shooting the same question back at the young werewolf.
“Not until tonight,” Shane reveals, sticking to his usual drink of choice, a trusty can of gingerale. “Is it true what they say, about you guys and the sunlight?” he suddenly quips.
At first, Ilya finds his naivety a tad annoying. How could he not know the most basic thing about his species? But, then, he noticed that there was just something about the glint in Shane’s eyes. It made his lack of knowledge weirdly charming. “Hmm, so not only have you never dated a vampire,” Ilya smiles. “But it seems that you’ve never spoken to one either.”
“Yeah sorry,” Shane nervously releases. “I lived most of my life in Ottawa, it’s mostly werewolf-town out there, not even many humans hang around anymore,” he explains.
“And, you’re in Montreal because?” Ilya asks.
“It’s a nice change,” Shane offers, taking a quick look around the bar and making note of the various scenes unfolding around him. “There’s all kinds of species out here, even the mermaids and fairies make an appearance every once in a while, or so I’ve heard anyway.”
It was true, Montreal did attract even the rarest and the most secretive of beings - Shane sees a sprite on a date with a siren taking over the table next to them. Up ahead, he notices a two headed wizard sitting with a cyclops. Even another pair similar to his, an ancient vampire and a young werewolf, were chatting at the booth behind them.
“Have you ever met a witch?” Ilya questions him, currently adoring the curious expression on Shane’s face.
“Oh I think so,” he nods. “Back in school, we had a teacher who taught the special abilities class who was a witch!” Shane exclaims.
“Well,” Ilya leans back into his chair. “My friend Svetlana is a pretty good one too, a witch I mean,” he adds on.
Shane blows a breath. “Wow,” he says. “You seem so…wordly.”
Ilya folds his arms around his chest. “I’ve lived for a thousand years,” he reminds him.
(And a thousand years it was, of countless lovers, and numerous different lives lived - once as a writer, another as an artist, even some time spent as a family man of a sort. Oh, but that was quite a long time ago, possibly even centuries).
“And yet,” Shane hums. “You still never dated a werewolf?” he quips.
Another smile adorns Ilya’s lips, then it’s followed by laughter.
“Guess you must be really special.”
-
So they make it back to Ilya’s condo and things are like this - a long and heavy make out session on his expensive velvet couch, with pulling, biting and even some scratching (courtesy of Shane’s wolfish tendencies). Followed by a swift movement thanks to vampire speed and they’re suddenly in the bedroom with Ilya’s hands against his. Shane is pressed into the mattress, silk sheets making it all the more difficult to maintain steadiness.
He gives in then, allowing the vampire to take the lead - not that he had ever lost that opportunity in the first place.
-
The morning after, Shane is restless.
Sex with a vampire was so…exhilarating. He felt like he hadn’t had such energy since the last time he won a game, he’s even up before Ilya gets a chance to crawl out of bed.
It made him realize that he didn’t even know that vampires could, in fact, sometimes sleep (if they really wanted to, that is).
“Heads up,” the young werewolf says. “I’m opening the curtains,” he announces, making the older vampire roll his eyes.
“Ah the sunlight thing again,” Ilya sighs. “We’ve adapted to it, maybe thousands of years ago it was a weakness for us vampires but not anymore,” he shares, while pulling his head off his pillow and finally managing to step out and put on some clothes.
Unlike Shane, sex with a werewolf had the opposite effect on Ilya - he found himself exhausted and tired, for the first time in years. Normally, he could go on for days, just making love and fucking like tomorrow has yet to come. But, somehow, being with a strong and powerful wolf with a body that just didn’t quit completely wore Ilya out.
“Oh, lucky for you then,” Shane responds, getting himself dressed as well. “Super fast, super strong, sharp teeth, living forever, what can’t you do?” he laughs, tying off the laces of his shoes and fixing up his hair.
“You are chatty,” Ilya comments, a smile forming at the corner of his lips. “The blood drinking thing, I don’t like, tastes strange still,” he admits.
“How does it work?” Shane wonders. “Do you just…attack humans?”
“No, of course not,” Ilya answers. “It was outlawed centuries ago - we have special access to hospitals, people donate their blood willingly, some for us, some for the patients,” he goes on with, which catches Shane off guard, yet again.
“I’m surprised that’s a thing,” the werewolf says.
“Well, it’s not free or anything,” Ilya shakes his head. “We buy it, like you buy food.”
“Oh, so like a grocery store for vampires?” Shane scoffs.
“Sort of,” the vampire shrugs.
He leads the other man to the door, noticing that he seemed like he clearly had somewhere else to be - perhaps a busy work day, maybe even university or college, heck he might even have to see friends or family - it made Ilya realize that despite all the questions Shane had for him, he had yet to ask any for Shane.
“Maybe, we could do this again sometime?” Ilya says, wondering if he might get his opportunity next time.
“Sure,” Shane tells him. “Why not?”
-
(When he’s on the ice, Hayden’s the one to point it out to him.
“Looks like you’ve got a hickey or something,” he notices.
“What?” Shane jerks his helmet off, trying to see his own neck.
“Oh wait,” Hayden added, approaching his fellow werewolf friend to take a closer look at the wound. “You hook up with some vampire chick Hollander?” he teases.
“I didn’t realize this was still there,” Shane blushes, covering the mark with his hand.
“It’s okay,” Hayden doesn’t stress it, especially since they were only at practice right now, and there were no cameras or crowds present. “There’s a cream for it, you can get it at the pharmacy,” he informs Shane.
“Good to know,” Shane nods. “I’m not going to…turn into a vampire or something am I?”
“Nah,” Hayden shakes his head. “That kind of thing only happens in movies,” he points out. “I think being a vampire is hereditary,” he continues.
“Oh, right,” Shane acknowledges, feeling a tad more relaxed.
“Just, next time,” Hayden places a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Do a bit more research,” he advises).
-
Ilya is with Svetlana when she figures it out.
“You smell like a dog,” she remarks, while they’re out on their weekly walk, hot coffee in hand.
“What are you talking about?” Ilya questioned, sipping his café latte.
“This scent,” she sniffs, twitching her nose. “It’s new, yes?” she says, sniffing again. “Maybe werewolf?”
“They have a smell?” Ilya says, looking puzzled. “How do you know that anyway?”
“I have sex with werewolf once, many years ago,” she confessed to him. “They are good lovers, but terrible to sleep next to,” Svetlana honestly spilled.
“Really?” Ilya raised a brow.
“Well you know,” his friend shrugged. “All the barking,” she giggled.
“Oh,” the vampire tried his best to recall if there were any unpleasantries like that that would cause him not to want to spend time with Shane again. He finds himself lost in thought - being unable to trade those sparkling eyes and freckled cheeks for anything else.
“You’re not going to tell me who he or she is?” Svetlana expressed.
The vampire thinks about it for a moment, but doesn’t manage to share his secret, just yet.
“Maybe,” he spoke coyly. “Someday,” Ilya hinted at, much to the witch’s dissatisfaction.
-
A few weeks pass before Ilya shows up at Shane’s window one night.
“Creepy,” he comments, unlocking the glass and slipping it to the side in order to allow the older vampire into his room.
Ilya smirks, looking around to notice how unkept his place was, especially when a surprise guest made an appearance. Undone laundry on the floor and dishes near his desk area, followed by his current attire - some bright green pajamas with a child’s cartoon as the pattern.
“You’re all I can think about,” Ilya reveals, inching closer.
“And, you couldn’t use the door like a normal person?” Shane asks, leaning back as the vampire pushes him into the bed, using a knee to nudge his legs apart.
“Ah but Shane,” Ilya sings. “Not a person, remember?” he whispers in his ear.
“Right,” Shane releases. “Or normal, for that matter,” he shoots back, propping himself up on his elbows.
Ilya finally kisses him - lips famished and filled with heat.
“Hollander, enough talk,” he mumbles, frustratingly. “I’m horny,” Ilya swoons, pulling Shane even closer.
-
He’s surprised he stays the night again, cuddling him close, of all things. Since their last encounter, Shane has learned a tad more about vampires and their resting habits. It turns out that it’s all leisure related and not at all a need for them. In short, Ilya had to enjoy it and he certainly had to be aware of it. Even the fact that his arms were closing in around Shane and keeping him in place, for most of the night, was something he had to be doing on purpose. None of it was subconscious, or an accident - and, for an undead vampire, he sure was warm.
Shane finds himself sleeping in - he’s not used to this feeling of lingering in bed. Normally, the werewolf is up early, sometimes even before the sun manages to make an appearance.
-
“Breakfast?”
But today was different. Ilya was standing in front of him with a plate of fried eggs, ham and toast in hand followed by a glass of orange juice.
“You made this?” Shane asked. “For me?” he adds.
The vampire looks around, seeming confused. “Anyone else here, Hollander?” he says.
“Well, thank you,” Shane tells him, taking the plate from him. “It looks good,” he shares.
“Tastes better,” Ilya offers. “Go on, eat,” he urges.
The werewolf decides to oblige and scarfs down his breakfast. Ilya sits at the edge of his bed with a soft gaze in his eyes - he watches Shane quickly finish his meal, satisfied with his lover’s approval of his cooking.
“I saw you on tv the other day,” Ilya quietly says. “You didn’t tell me you are big celebrity,” he reveals.
It's all true - Shane Hollander is indeed a world famous hockey player, the next upcoming Canadian all-star with all eyes on him. Award-wining even, with all the fame and fortune and then some.
“Oh, I didn’t think you watched hockey,” Shane shyly admits. “It’s not like I know what you do either,” he points out.
“Nothing,” Ilya shrugs.
“What do you mean?” Shane wonders.
The vampire releases a fond chuckle. “I’m a thousand years old, I’ve done it all,” he brags. “Now I just like to write, go to art galleries, have delicious food…” Ilya trails off, sounding very proud of his luxurious lifestyle.
“What about money?” Shane inquires.
“I am a vampire,” Ilya simply reminds him. “I compel people to do whatever I want, including giving me free things.”
“Oh, so compulsion is real then?” The werewolf notes. “No wonder,” he quietly murmured, making Ilya suddenly worry for a moment.
He wasn’t thinking that surely, any of their interactions were due to compulsion, or was he?
“Don’t worry Hollander,” Ilya chimes in. “I never compel my lovers, ruins the fun for me,” he smirks.
“I wasn’t thinking about that,” Shane argues. “And we are not lovers,” he makes a point to say, knowing fully well that he was lying to himself.
-
(The third time is when Shane rushes to Ilya’s after winning a game.
“No biting this time,” Shane warns, a finger held up to Ilya’s lips. “I’m tired of constantly applying that gross vampire ointment.” he explains, making the other man smirk.
“If I don't get to bite,” Ilya repeats, a hand grabbing Shane by his hair, “then you don’t get to howl in the middle of the night,” Shane can’t help but offer a raised brow.
“Oh c’mon, that’s not fair,” he complains, “you know I can’t control that!”)
-
When Shane is away, Ilya copes by watching all his matches, his interest in hockey increases - he trades his evening strolls through museums for nights spent in sports bars. He even gets himself a Montreal Metros jersey and rocks it while buying tickets to his lover’s home games. Ilya eats a hot dog and drinks local beer, he cheers Shane on from the sidelines along with Svetlana who wears some deep shades and eyes the werewolf’s swift movements on the ice.
Shane notices them, and for some reason, he feels more flattered than annoyed.
-
It’s months later when he finds time to see his favorite vampire again.
Things change within that time period - it’s no longer simply passion and heat, it’s kindness from their many late night phonecalls, sprees of messages back and forth, as well as even hand written letters, all thanks to the vampire’s ancient tendencies and the werewolf’s soft romantic side falling for it all.
“I love you, Shane,” Ilya says, one night when they’re on a grassy hill, watching the stars together and holding hands.
“I love you too, Ilya,” Shane returns.
-
Shane can’t stop staring - he knows he’s being rude, even worse, obvious, but he can’t help it. Ilya is nothing like the kind of creature he had expected himself to ever end up with. For ages, he presumed that maybe, he’d be mated to another female wolf, or even a male human if he got a bit more adventurous.
But, never in his wildest dreams, he could predict this - the gentle and loving arms of a thousand year old vampire who promised him the world and more.
“So what happens now?” Shane worried, as he nuzzled his head into Ilya’s neck.
“You go to game,” Ilya suggested. “I wait for you to finish so we can fuck again,” he smirks, a hand playing with Shane’s hair. “Same as usual,” he casually says, which does not meet Shane’s needs at all.
“Ilya, be serious,” the werewolf orders. “I told you I love you, but I know I won’t live forever like you,” he insists.
It was all so sorrowful - the nature of their connection was fragile and fleeting and yet, they both yearned for it.
“Yes it is true,” Ilya confesses. “This is the most tragic part about being a vampire,” he admits, feeling his voice quiver.
Shane’s throat begins to hurt, almost as though it was closing in.
“Do you ever get used to it?” he gulps, holding back tears. “People dying on you?”
Ilya shakes his head - thinking of his mother, his father, even his brother and niece. Old friends and lovers alike. “I want to say yes,” he sobs. “But, the truth is, it’s always hard.”
Shane holds him even tighter as they both begin to cry quietly. The weight of it all had finally gotten to them, there was just so much to say and so little time to experience it all.
“I don’t want to make you sad, ever,” the werewolf whispers, with a kiss to the vampire’s lips.
“It is a part of life Shane,” Ilya says. “It’s worth it even if I get to experience only one lifetime with you,” he wraps his fingers around Shane’s chin and tilts his head up.
-
(Eventually, it does happen - Shane grows old and Ilya looks after him. He accompanies him to medical appointments, helps him wash and bathe himself, he feeds him the meals suitable for an aging wolf, and reminds him to stay on top of his health needs. When Shane Hollander does pass away, he is at peace, knowing that he had the amazing opportunity to love and to be loved by Ilya Rozanov.
“Shane,” Ilya says, with his heart in his stomach. “You know it’s not too late to run away,” he smirks, while Shane furrows his brows. “Ilya,” he bites, swallowing hard. “That’s not funny.” or Shane Hollander is getting married to Rose Landry and Ilya Rozanov is unrelenting.
-
His bachelor party is a series of awkward events.
(A loud and busy club filled with, what seemed like, almost every single hockey player Shane had ever met - bottle service and rowdy booths, followed by performances by women in nothing but fishnets and lingerie).
It’s especially strange because Ilya Rozanov happens to be invited.
He catches Shane off-guard, as he makes his way to the second floor, to one of the many balconies, tucked away by the VIP booth. “Ilya,” he says, noticing the other man standing in the doorway. “I-I didn’t think you’d show up,” Shane softly tells him.
Ilya takes a swift look around before raising his glass of vodka. “Whole league is invited,” he points out. “Why wouldn’t I come?” he asks.
Shane bites his tongue, unable to forget their multiple nights many years ago. Ilya’s hands in his hair and the sweat dripping down his body, lips as soft as daylight. “Well,” he shrugs, scratching the back of his head. “Nevermind,” he says instead.
Ilya smiles with the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t receive lap dance,” he remarks, coyly. “From stripper, earlier,” he goes on with, remembering the woman who had tried her best to approach Shane as he blushed and excused himself from the scene.
“You noticed that?” he shyly questions, watching as his former lover walks closer towards him.
“You are future groom,” Ilya offers. “You should be receiving the most lap dances,” he laughs, meeting the other man’s gentle gaze.
He couldn’t help it, part of him still found himself somehow yearning.
Somehow unrelenting.
“Ah you know me,” Shane commented. “I’m not really into stuff like that,” he replied - catching Ilya’s stare.
He dares not look away, not from a pair of eyes that carries a blaze, a fire.
“Right,” Ilya faltered. He then hears Hayden’s Pike voice coming from a distance. “Looks like they’re calling for you,” he says.
“I suppose so,” Shane acknowledged, walking past him.
-
(Later that night, Ilya ends up being the one to help him load the rest of the teams into their perspective Ubers.
The evening had been restless and Shane had been mostly sober, which left him with the dreaded task of making sure everyone got home safely.
Well, as best as he could, anyway.
“You think you got them all?” Ilya wonders, closing the door as the driver rolls off.
“I sure hope so,” Shane added. “I counted heads and everything,” he jokes, finally breathing somewhat easy after hours of overstimulation.
Ilya then notices how that moment of relaxation is cut short. Shane furrows his brows as other thoughts start to enter his mind now that one source of stress has ended.
Another began.
“You’re nervous?” Ilya worried.
“What?” Shane releases, distracted by the smell of the other man’s cologne.
“You’re…doing that thing again,” Ilya mutters, getting closer again. “You know, when you think too much and you get this vein on your temple-”
“I don’t have that,” Shane snaps. “And of course I’m nervous, I’m getting married tomorrow,” he was exasperated with all of it, the people, the noise, the way Ilya keeps looking at him.
“To a woman, no less,” he scoffs.
“Ilya,” Shane scolds.
“I know I know,” he holds a finger to his lips. “Our little secret,” Ilya whispers quietly.)
-
(It had been years - back when it was rookie season and hockey was all he knew. Before Rose, there was Ilya.
And it was all heat, steamy sessions in their hotel rooms, intense rivalries on the rink, bumping heads on the ice and tossing and turning in bed.
Until one day, Shane fell too deep and ran away…straight into the arms of Rose Landry, where he had remained ever since).
-
The next time they see each other is on his wedding day.
Shane had been up early, running around from place to place, making sure things were just right and just the way Rose had requested. When he does get time to himself, he retires to the groom’s chamber.
He stares at his suit, deciding to try it on just for a moment, right before his stylist would come in and give him a hand.
“You look pretty,” instead, Ilya is the one to find himself, yet again, standing in Shane’s doorway.
“Ilya,” he sighs, noticing that they were alone together once more. “You surprised me,” Shane says.
The other man, as always, takes this opportunity to walk in, closing the distance between them and failing to remain further away from him. There’s something different about Ilya this time around. He’s no longer clenched jaw and hard eye. Alternatively, he is soft curls and calm voice, which is something Shane is just not used to.
“So,” Ilya smirks. “It’s finally dooms day,” he teases.
“Don’t call it that,” Shane orders, with a firm tone. “It’s my wedding, it’s special,” he explains.
Ilya rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he mumbles quietly. “Of course,” he repeats.
Shane finds himself studying Ilya’s features, a second time - even though part of him was the same jerk from back when they were hockey rivals, another part of him is so very mature. What had even happened in these past few years to cause such a drastic change?
“What are you doing here anyway?” Shane asks. “This room is for me and my groomsmen,” he specifies.
“I got lost,” Ilya simply shrugs. “This place…is so big,” he admits.
The venue was akin to a thing of dreams, afterall, this was a huge celebrity wedding between an all star athlete and an award winning actress. Who could expect any less?
“It’s a Landry family tradition,” Shane informs him. “Rose’s parents and grandparents all got married here, at this very villa,” he continues to talk and the other man continues to listen intently.
It’s odd, Shane thinks, that he is actually getting to share his feelings, his concerns, all with the man he once hated, the man he used to fuck.
Who is also the man he thinks he might still love.
“And,” Ilya starts again. “What about Hollander family tradition?” he asks.
“It’s not important,” Shane shares. “Rose wanted this so this is what I’m doing,” he reiterates, sounding a tad more touchy this time.
Ilya realizes that he had indeed hit a nerve. He takes another step closer, leaning in.
“What Shane wants,” he whispers into his ear. “Is not important?” he quips.
Shane gulps. “Not right now, no,” he says, placing a hand against Ilya’s chest in order to keep him at a distance. “Now, can you please go join the others in the guest area?”
Ilya wants to take him in - by the waist, by the throat, drag him across the floor and throw him against the wall so badly, it almost hurts. It always happens when Shane is looking at him with such defiance in his gaze.
It gets him to fall to his knees, except this time, Ilya ends up resisting that very urge.
“Okay Shane,” he decides to walk away. “See you at the ceremony.”
-
When he watches Rose walk down the aisle, his gaze lingers towards Ilya’s direction more times than he would like to admit.
He exchanges his vows, signs all the right papers, everyone cheers and they dance to their song - it’s perfect, just as it was planned, for once, nothing goes wrong.
Except for the fact that Shane can feel it in his chest.
Something was missing.
-
(“Shane,” Ilya says, with his heart in his stomach. “You know it’s not too late to run away,” he smirks, while Shane furrows his brows. “Ilya,” he bites, swallowing hard. “That’s not funny.”)
-
During their third dance, Ilya chooses to step in.
“Do you mind?” he murmured, motioning an open hand in between both newlyweds with a smile so salacious, it makes Shane want to hide his entire face in his palms.
“Yes actually, I do,” Shane argues, in a rude tone.
Rose shakes her head, placing her gloved fingers in Ilya’s hand. “Oh Shane,” she coos, with a flip of her long hair. “Don’t be like that,” she sings, happily. “Of course I don’t mind, Ilya.”
Shane watches, begrudgingly, as Ilya Rozanov dances with his now wife. The look on his ex-rival’s face says it all, he was loving every moment of this and how much it bothered Shane. He was burning a stare into his back, unsure of exactly what he was jealous of at this point.
Was it the way Ilya’s hand so gently held Rose’s waist? Or the way he spun her around? The way he could be so swift on the dancefloor in methods that Shane could never master?
“Rose,” Ilya drops his lips to her ear, making her heart flutter in her chest. “You look lovely tonight,” he smiles.
“So do you,” she can’t help but say. “Oh, is that strange? To call a man lovely?” she giggles.
Ilya then finally looks at Shane and shakes his head.
“Absolutely not.”
-
Shane is alone on the balcony when it happens.
He’s gazing at the pale moon hanging in the sky, hands pressing firmly against the banister. The night’s cool breeze is strong tonight, so strong in fact that everyone’s been avoiding being out all together. They were all tucked inside, busy dancing and drinking the night away.
Except for the groom.
“What are you up to?” he says, recognizing Ilya just by the sound of his footsteps.
“What do you mean?” Ilya wonders, stepping out from the shadows.
And, at this precise moment, is when it starts to rain. Shane ignores it since all his focus had been stolen away by the man before him. He was supposed to be excited, the best day of his life, marrying his one true love - it was going to be all about her but instead, Shane found himself completely distracted.
“You’re being so…nice,” he accuses. “It’s suspicious,” Shane tells him, sounding upset.
“It’s your wedding Shane,” Ilya reminds him. “I’m trying to be supportive,” he attempts to persuade him with a half-truth, joining him under the brisk rain.
The droplets hit him hard and Shane can’t help but notice how romantic it all was, how moved he felt by the way his fellow hockey player came to his rescue - first at his bachelor party, then again when he was feeling anxious just before the ceremony and now, once more, when he was regretting it all.
“Well don’t be!” Shane shouts, a small tear rolling down his cheek. “Can’t you see what’s going on here?” he goes on with.
How I’m falling apart - he doesn’t say.
It feels even worse because they’re both soaked from the damp weather and yet, Ilya chooses this moment to reach into his pocket and pull out his handkerchief. He presses it against Shane’s face and wipes it slowly. “Of course I can, ” he whispers, finally pressing his lips against the other man’s mouth. “I can see it all,” Ilya breathes.
Shane wants to pull away - to push Ilya off because for god’s sake, his parents were right downstairs and Rose is his wife and the whole hockey league could see them - however, he can’t help himself, Shane grabs Ilya by the collar.
He kisses him harder, biting his bottom lip, digging his fingers into the softness of Ilya’s curls.
“You’re,” Shane grunts, at long last, taking a step back.
Ilya breathes heavily, patiently awaiting his answer.
“You’re the worst,” Shane spits, making his way back inside the villa.
-
(It’s only then that Svetlana finds him, all curled up by the wall. His arms dangle on his knees, he doesn’t say a word as she sits beside him.
“You’re going to get wet,” Ilya tells her.
She leans her head against his shoulder and smiles. “I don’t mind.”)
-
Rose doesn’t see Shane when he runs back to the groom’s chamber. She doesn’t notice him when he changes into a new outfit. She doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him as he packs a bag and takes an umbrella too.
-
(That kiss was the catalyst - a rush of memories flooding him with the cruelest of afflictions).
-
Ilya sits in his car alone, he had let Svetlana know that he was going to head home, urging her to keep partying to her heart’s content, even offering to pick her up later but she shakes her head and tells him to get some rest instead.
He finds himself wondering if he’ll ever be able to sleep again.
“Wait!” That is, until a well-dressed Shane Hollander throws himself over the hood of his hatchback. Ilya blinks furiously, wondering what exactly was the scene unfolding before him. “You said it wasn’t too late,” Shane finally cries.
He doesn’t think, Ilya simply unlocks his door with the press of a button. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he shouts. “Get in, Hollander,” Ilya orders as Shane hastily pulls the handle, hard.
He takes a seat beside Ilya as they drive off into the night.
Ilya likes to take over the bathroom - all curly hair products and cologne, so many different types of body wash and soaps (Shane sighs, no wonder he always smells so good all the time) or Ilya and Shane move in together, domestic fluff ensues.
-
Ottawa is both extremely quiet and obnoxiously loud at the same time somehow. And because of that, Ilya hates it all the more.
(He is not a fan of the nightlife - all the bars and clubs seem to have been exhausted just by his first couple of months of living here. It is cold most of the year, which is not the worst part since Moscow is also cold sometimes, but at least you don’t get annoying neighbors commenting about the weather all the time).
It is possibly one of the most boringest cities he’s ever lived in.
“Ilya,” he hears his boyfriend’s voice as Shane pops his head into their apartment, snow covered hat and all. “I shoveled, we can go grab coffee now,” he smiles widely, proud of himself for braving the cold.
Ilya scoffs at him, taking a hand to dust the flakes off his head and laughing quietly.
“I’ll grab my boots,” he says and lucky for Shane, Ilya loved boring.
-
Shane is a bed hog - he takes all the sheets, even on wild January nights where the wind is hitting against their windows and there are ice pellets falling from the sky. Ilya can’t help but jump out, frustrated with it all. He sits at the edge of the bed, looking down at the bunny slippers he had been gifted by Shane’s mother as part of a house warming present.
He couldn’t believe he had been wearing them everyday since and how comfortable they were, for that matter.
“You’re up,” Shane says, with half closed eyes, still heavy with sleep.
“Yes Shane,” Ilya nods, looking over his shoulder. “I was cold,” he points out.
Shane then finally notices how all the blankets are bundled up around him. “Oh sorry,” he mumbles, crawling closer towards the other man. “Maybe we should put out two sets of comforters,” he suggests.
“Then I’ll be too warm,” Ilya complains. “And don’t you dare suggest separate rooms-”
“Never,” Shane’s voice is honeysuckle sweet and filled with heat. It’s unimaginable how comforting it is for Ilya to hear. “We’ll manage, it always takes a bit when two people first move in together.” Shane tells him.
“Right,” Ilya then takes his time, hand inching closer to his boyfriend’s. “I don’t want to go back to bed just yet,” he whispers with a loving gaze.
“Okay,” Shane shrugs, knowing that this meant that they would possibly be up all night.
-
In return, Ilya likes to take over the bathroom - all curly hair products and cologne, so many different types of body wash and soaps (Shane sighs, no wonder he always smells so good).
“Knock knock,” Ilya chants, all loud and buzzed on coffee and it’s still so fucking early. “Why is the door locked?” he goes on with.
Shane exhales while sitting on the toilet, completely exasperated. “Why do you think?” he shouts, almost hearing his partner wince.
“I need something from there,” he explains, hoping to persuade Shane.
“There’s a powder room down the hall,” Shane shouts again.
“But this washroom has a bigger cabinet, so I put all my stuff here!” Ilya whines.
Shane shakes his head, flushing and dousing the room in air freshener. “At your own risk,” he comments, opening the door for Ilya to walk in, a clothespin clipped to his nose.
-
The kitchen is where they both feel like, suddenly, they’re on the ice rink again.
(There’s always piles - which Shane hates - he’s the type to get to the dishes right after cooking, or even during if he catches a chance between potatoes baking in the oven and veggies sizzling on the stove. And yet, Ilya let them spill over, the counter, the sink, the dinner table, sometimes.
Finally, Shane has enough).
“You’re supposed to do the dishes tonight,” he mentioned, looking over the mess in the kitchen as Ilya sat on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table.
“I did do them,” Ilya replies, thumbs busying away on a new game he had gotten his hands on just this week.
Shane grabs a plate and looks at it closely, noticing the bits of food still left on it. “They don’t look done,” he remarks.
“That’s just whatever can go in the dishwasher,” Ilya mutters, far too absorbed into his screen.
“Ilya,” Shane scolds. “We can’t put plastic tupperware in the dishwasher,” he points out.
“Why not?” Ilya sighs. “It will still clean it, won’t it?”
The game is then loud and trashing - Shane finds himself wondering if things will always be like this, dirty clothes on the floor, not knowing which coat is his, accidentally sharing socks and all sorts of winter gear -
He is overwhelmed, pulling himself away from it all and plopping on to the couch instead. “From now on,” Shane starts with, grabbing a controller. “I do dishes, you cook,” he orders, firmly.
“Fine with me,” Ilya complied.
-
They live in a tall building with high ceilings and yet, their laundry room is still a shared space.
Every now and then, a neighbor will recognize them.
“Oh my,” an elderly woman chattered, catching Ilya as he was folding up the last of his now clean clothes, and most of Shane’s too, for that matter. “You’re that hockey player, aren’t you?” she continues with, eyes wide and shocked.
“You must be mistaken,” Ilya stammers, grabbing his basket and quickly bolting for the door.
“But,” she interrupts. “You look just like him,” she remarks, and, just then, Shane pops his head in.
“Hey Ilya, you forgot this batch,” he has a whole other pile of clothes in his arm as he watches Ilya walk by.
“Oh my,” the old lady speaks again. “And you’re Shane Hollander-”
“We should go,” Ilya grabs Shane by the hand. “Let’s use the upstairs laundry room instead,” he suggests as they escape their neighbors' gaze all together.
-
And so, life goes on - Shane is the one always in charge of late night snack runs (picking up all kinds of dried fruits and nuts, all the healthy things his boyfriend can’t stand), Ilya likes to take care of the grocery list, most of the time it’s all takeout and instacart orders but, they’re celebrities of course, how else should they live? They share a car now too, Shane changes the winter tires, Ilya fills the gas tank.
Their weekends are spent unwinding from hockey practice, sometimes they’re in other cities, and their routine is still quite the same really.
Especially when they come back home, and Shane finds himself sick with a cold.
When this happens, he’s a total baby about it - Ilya makes him soup, conjures up old cough remedies his mom had showed him back when she was still alive.
They imagine the rest of their life together - all the things they would say and do and experience.
It’s all so new, they don’t know what to think.
(“The houseplants need watering,” Shane stutters, nose still all stuffed up.
Ilya spoon feeds him the rest of his chicken noodle and sighs. “I’ll get right on it,” he softly kisses the top of his boyfriend’s head and walks away.
“Shane,” Ilya says, with his heart in his stomach. “You know it’s not too late to run away,” he smirks, while Shane furrows his brows. “Ilya,” he bites, swallowing hard. “That’s not funny.” or Shane Hollander is getting married to Rose Landry and Ilya Rozanov is unrelenting.
-
His bachelor party is a series of awkward events.
(A loud and busy club filled with, what seemed like, almost every single hockey player Shane had ever met - bottle service and rowdy booths, followed by performances by women in nothing but fishnets and lingerie).
It’s especially strange because Ilya Rozanov happens to be invited.
He catches Shane off-guard, as he makes his way to the second floor, to one of the many balconies, tucked away by the VIP booth. “Ilya,” he says, noticing the other man standing in the doorway. “I-I didn’t think you’d show up,” Shane softly tells him.
Ilya takes a swift look around before raising his glass of vodka. “Whole league is invited,” he points out. “Why wouldn’t I come?” he asks.
Shane bites his tongue, unable to forget their multiple nights many years ago. Ilya’s hands in his hair and the sweat dripping down his body, lips as soft as daylight. “Well,” he shrugs, scratching the back of his head. “Nevermind,” he says instead.
Ilya smiles with the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t receive lap dance,” he remarks, coyly. “From stripper, earlier,” he goes on with, remembering the woman who had tried her best to approach Shane as he blushed and excused himself from the scene.
“You noticed that?” he shyly questions, watching as his former lover walks closer towards him.
“You are future groom,” Ilya offers. “You should be receiving the most lap dances,” he laughs, meeting the other man’s gentle gaze.
He couldn’t help it, part of him still found himself somehow yearning.
Somehow unrelenting.
“Ah you know me,” Shane commented. “I’m not really into stuff like that,” he replied - catching Ilya’s stare.
He dares not look away, not from a pair of eyes that carries a blaze, a fire.
“Right,” Ilya faltered. He then hears Hayden’s Pike voice coming from a distance. “Looks like they’re calling for you,” he says.
“I suppose so,” Shane acknowledged, walking past him.
-
(Later that night, Ilya ends up being the one to help him load the rest of the teams into their perspective Ubers.
The evening had been restless and Shane had been mostly sober, which left him with the dreaded task of making sure everyone got home safely.
Well, as best as he could, anyway.
“You think you got them all?” Ilya wonders, closing the door as the driver rolls off.
“I sure hope so,” Shane added. “I counted heads and everything,” he jokes, finally breathing somewhat easy after hours of overstimulation.
Ilya then notices how that moment of relaxation is cut short. Shane furrows his brows as other thoughts start to enter his mind now that one source of stress has ended.
Another began.
“You’re nervous?” Ilya worried.
“What?” Shane releases, distracted by the smell of the other man’s cologne.
“You’re…doing that thing again,” Ilya mutters, getting closer again. “You know, when you think too much and you get this vein on your temple-”
“I don’t have that,” Shane snaps. “And of course I’m nervous, I’m getting married tomorrow,” he was exasperated with all of it, the people, the noise, the way Ilya keeps looking at him.
“To a woman, no less,” he scoffs.
“Ilya,” Shane scolds.
“I know I know,” he holds a finger to his lips. “Our little secret,” Ilya whispers quietly.)
-
(It had been years - back when it was rookie season and hockey was all he knew. Before Rose, there was Ilya.
And it was all heat, steamy sessions in their hotel rooms, intense rivalries on the rink, bumping heads on the ice and tossing and turning in bed.
Until one day, Shane fell too deep and ran away…straight into the arms of Rose Landry, where he had remained ever since).
-
The next time they see each other is on his wedding day.
Shane had been up early, running around from place to place, making sure things were just right and just the way Rose had requested. When he does get time to himself, he retires to the groom’s chamber.
He stares at his suit, deciding to try it on just for a moment, right before his stylist would come in and give him a hand.
“You look pretty,” instead, Ilya is the one to find himself, yet again, standing in Shane’s doorway.
“Ilya,” he sighs, noticing that they were alone together once more. “You surprised me,” Shane says.
The other man, as always, takes this opportunity to walk in, closing the distance between them and failing to remain further away from him. There’s something different about Ilya this time around. He’s no longer clenched jaw and hard eye. Alternatively, he is soft curls and calm voice, which is something Shane is just not used to.
“So,” Ilya smirks. “It’s finally dooms day,” he teases.
“Don’t call it that,” Shane orders, with a firm tone. “It’s my wedding, it’s special,” he explains.
Ilya rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he mumbles quietly. “Of course,” he repeats.
Shane finds himself studying Ilya’s features, a second time - even though part of him was the same jerk from back when they were hockey rivals, another part of him is so very mature. What had even happened in these past few years to cause such a drastic change?
“What are you doing here anyway?” Shane asks. “This room is for me and my groomsmen,” he specifies.
“I got lost,” Ilya simply shrugs. “This place…is so big,” he admits.
The venue was akin to a thing of dreams, afterall, this was a huge celebrity wedding between an all star athlete and an award winning actress. Who could expect any less?
“It’s a Landry family tradition,” Shane informs him. “Rose’s parents and grandparents all got married here, at this very villa,” he continues to talk and the other man continues to listen intently.
It’s odd, Shane thinks, that he is actually getting to share his feelings, his concerns, all with the man he once hated, the man he used to fuck.
Who is also the man he thinks he might still love.
“And,” Ilya starts again. “What about Hollander family tradition?” he asks.
“It’s not important,” Shane shares. “Rose wanted this so this is what I’m doing,” he reiterates, sounding a tad more touchy this time.
Ilya realizes that he had indeed hit a nerve. He takes another step closer, leaning in.
“What Shane wants,” he whispers into his ear. “Is not important?” he quips.
Shane gulps. “Not right now, no,” he says, placing a hand against Ilya’s chest in order to keep him at a distance. “Now, can you please go join the others in the guest area?”
Ilya wants to take him in - by the waist, by the throat, drag him across the floor and throw him against the wall so badly, it almost hurts. It always happens when Shane is looking at him with such defiance in his gaze.
It gets him to fall to his knees, except this time, Ilya ends up resisting that very urge.
“Okay Shane,” he decides to walk away. “See you at the ceremony.”
-
When he watches Rose walk down the aisle, his gaze lingers towards Ilya’s direction more times than he would like to admit.
He exchanges his vows, signs all the right papers, everyone cheers and they dance to their song - it’s perfect, just as it was planned, for once, nothing goes wrong.
Except for the fact that Shane can feel it in his chest.
Something was missing.
-
(“Shane,” Ilya says, with his heart in his stomach. “You know it’s not too late to run away,” he smirks, while Shane furrows his brows. “Ilya,” he bites, swallowing hard. “That’s not funny.”)
-
During their third dance, Ilya chooses to step in.
“Do you mind?” he murmured, motioning an open hand in between both newlyweds with a smile so salacious, it makes Shane want to hide his entire face in his palms.
“Yes actually, I do,” Shane argues, in a rude tone.
Rose shakes her head, placing her gloved fingers in Ilya’s hand. “Oh Shane,” she coos, with a flip of her long hair. “Don’t be like that,” she sings, happily. “Of course I don’t mind, Ilya.”
Shane watches, begrudgingly, as Ilya Rozanov dances with his now wife. The look on his ex-rival’s face says it all, he was loving every moment of this and how much it bothered Shane. He was burning a stare into his back, unsure of exactly what he was jealous of at this point.
Was it the way Ilya’s hand so gently held Rose’s waist? Or the way he spun her around? The way he could be so swift on the dancefloor in methods that Shane could never master?
“Rose,” Ilya drops his lips to her ear, making her heart flutter in her chest. “You look lovely tonight,” he smiles.
“So do you,” she can’t help but say. “Oh, is that strange? To call a man lovely?” she giggles.
Ilya then finally looks at Shane and shakes his head.
“Absolutely not.”
-
Shane is alone on the balcony when it happens.
He’s gazing at the pale moon hanging in the sky, hands pressing firmly against the banister. The night’s cool breeze is strong tonight, so strong in fact that everyone’s been avoiding being out all together. They were all tucked inside, busy dancing and drinking the night away.
Except for the groom.
“What are you up to?” he says, recognizing Ilya just by the sound of his footsteps.
“What do you mean?” Ilya wonders, stepping out from the shadows.
And, at this precise moment, is when it starts to rain. Shane ignores it since all his focus had been stolen away by the man before him. He was supposed to be excited, the best day of his life, marrying his one true love - it was going to be all about her but instead, Shane found himself completely distracted.
“You’re being so…nice,” he accuses. “It’s suspicious,” Shane tells him, sounding upset.
“It’s your wedding Shane,” Ilya reminds him. “I’m trying to be supportive,” he attempts to persuade him with a half-truth, joining him under the brisk rain.
The droplets hit him hard and Shane can’t help but notice how romantic it all was, how moved he felt by the way his fellow hockey player came to his rescue - first at his bachelor party, then again when he was feeling anxious just before the ceremony and now, once more, when he was regretting it all.
“Well don’t be!” Shane shouts, a small tear rolling down his cheek. “Can’t you see what’s going on here?” he goes on with.
How I’m falling apart - he doesn’t say.
It feels even worse because they’re both soaked from the damp weather and yet, Ilya chooses this moment to reach into his pocket and pull out his handkerchief. He presses it against Shane’s face and wipes it slowly. “Of course I can, ” he whispers, finally pressing his lips against the other man’s mouth. “I can see it all,” Ilya breathes.
Shane wants to pull away - to push Ilya off because for god’s sake, his parents were right downstairs and Rose is his wife and the whole hockey league could see them - however, he can’t help himself, Shane grabs Ilya by the collar.
He kisses him harder, biting his bottom lip, digging his fingers into the softness of Ilya’s curls.
“You’re,” Shane grunts, at long last, taking a step back.
Ilya breathes heavily, patiently awaiting his answer.
“You’re the worst,” Shane spits, making his way back inside the villa.
-
(It’s only then that Svetlana finds him, all curled up by the wall. His arms dangle on his knees, he doesn’t say a word as she sits beside him.
“You’re going to get wet,” Ilya tells her.
She leans her head against his shoulder and smiles. “I don’t mind.”)
-
Rose doesn’t see Shane when he runs back to the groom’s chamber. She doesn’t notice him when he changes into a new outfit. She doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him as he packs a bag and takes an umbrella too.
-
(That kiss was the catalyst - a rush of memories flooding him with the cruelest of afflictions).
-
Ilya sits in his car alone, he had let Svetlana know that he was going to head home, urging her to keep partying to her heart’s content, even offering to pick her up later but she shakes her head and tells him to get some rest instead.
He finds himself wondering if he’ll ever be able to sleep again.
“Wait!” That is, until a well-dressed Shane Hollander throws himself over the hood of his hatchback. Ilya blinks furiously, wondering what exactly was the scene unfolding before him. “You said it wasn’t too late,” Shane finally cries.
He doesn’t think, Ilya simply unlocks his door with the press of a button. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he shouts. “Get in, Hollander,” Ilya orders as Shane hastily pulls the handle, hard.
He takes a seat beside Ilya as they drive off into the night.
Ilya likes to take over the bathroom - all curly hair products and cologne, so many different types of body wash and soaps (Shane sighs, no wonder he always smells so good all the time) or Ilya and Shane move in together, domestic fluff ensues.
-
Ottawa is both extremely quiet and obnoxiously loud at the same time somehow. And because of that, Ilya hates it all the more.
(He is not a fan of the nightlife - all the bars and clubs seem to have been exhausted just by his first couple of months of living here. It is cold most of the year, which is not the worst part since Moscow is also cold sometimes, but at least you don’t get annoying neighbors commenting about the weather all the time).
It is possibly one of the most boringest cities he’s ever lived in.
“Ilya,” he hears his boyfriend’s voice as Shane pops his head into their apartment, snow covered hat and all. “I shoveled, we can go grab coffee now,” he smiles widely, proud of himself for braving the cold.
Ilya scoffs at him, taking a hand to dust the flakes off his head and laughing quietly.
“I’ll grab my boots,” he says and lucky for Shane, Ilya loved boring.
-
Shane is a bed hog - he takes all the sheets, even on wild January nights where the wind is hitting against their windows and there are ice pellets falling from the sky. Ilya can’t help but jump out, frustrated with it all. He sits at the edge of the bed, looking down at the bunny slippers he had been gifted by Shane’s mother as part of a house warming present.
He couldn’t believe he had been wearing them everyday since and how comfortable they were, for that matter.
“You’re up,” Shane says, with half closed eyes, still heavy with sleep.
“Yes Shane,” Ilya nods, looking over his shoulder. “I was cold,” he points out.
Shane then finally notices how all the blankets are bundled up around him. “Oh sorry,” he mumbles, crawling closer towards the other man. “Maybe we should put out two sets of comforters,” he suggests.
“Then I’ll be too warm,” Ilya complains. “And don’t you dare suggest separate rooms-”
“Never,” Shane’s voice is honeysuckle sweet and filled with heat. It’s unimaginable how comforting it is for Ilya to hear. “We’ll manage, it always takes a bit when two people first move in together.” Shane tells him.
“Right,” Ilya then takes his time, hand inching closer to his boyfriend’s. “I don’t want to go back to bed just yet,” he whispers with a loving gaze.
“Okay,” Shane shrugs, knowing that this meant that they would possibly be up all night.
-
In return, Ilya likes to take over the bathroom - all curly hair products and cologne, so many different types of body wash and soaps (Shane sighs, no wonder he always smells so good).
“Knock knock,” Ilya chants, all loud and buzzed on coffee and it’s still so fucking early. “Why is the door locked?” he goes on with.
Shane exhales while sitting on the toilet, completely exasperated. “Why do you think?” he shouts, almost hearing his partner wince.
“I need something from there,” he explains, hoping to persuade Shane.
“There’s a powder room down the hall,” Shane shouts again.
“But this washroom has a bigger cabinet, so I put all my stuff here!” Ilya whines.
Shane shakes his head, flushing and dousing the room in air freshener. “At your own risk,” he comments, opening the door for Ilya to walk in, a clothespin clipped to his nose.
-
The kitchen is where they both feel like, suddenly, they’re on the ice rink again.
(There’s always piles - which Shane hates - he’s the type to get to the dishes right after cooking, or even during if he catches a chance between potatoes baking in the oven and veggies sizzling on the stove. And yet, Ilya let them spill over, the counter, the sink, the dinner table, sometimes.
Finally, Shane has enough).
“You’re supposed to do the dishes tonight,” he mentioned, looking over the mess in the kitchen as Ilya sat on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table.
“I did do them,” Ilya replies, thumbs busying away on a new game he had gotten his hands on just this week.
Shane grabs a plate and looks at it closely, noticing the bits of food still left on it. “They don’t look done,” he remarks.
“That’s just whatever can go in the dishwasher,” Ilya mutters, far too absorbed into his screen.
“Ilya,” Shane scolds. “We can’t put plastic tupperware in the dishwasher,” he points out.
“Why not?” Ilya sighs. “It will still clean it, won’t it?”
The game is then loud and trashing - Shane finds himself wondering if things will always be like this, dirty clothes on the floor, not knowing which coat is his, accidentally sharing socks and all sorts of winter gear -
He is overwhelmed, pulling himself away from it all and plopping on to the couch instead. “From now on,” Shane starts with, grabbing a controller. “I do dishes, you cook,” he orders, firmly.
“Fine with me,” Ilya complied.
-
They live in a tall building with high ceilings and yet, their laundry room is still a shared space.
Every now and then, a neighbor will recognize them.
“Oh my,” an elderly woman chattered, catching Ilya as he was folding up the last of his now clean clothes, and most of Shane’s too, for that matter. “You’re that hockey player, aren’t you?” she continues with, eyes wide and shocked.
“You must be mistaken,” Ilya stammers, grabbing his basket and quickly bolting for the door.
“But,” she interrupts. “You look just like him,” she remarks, and, just then, Shane pops his head in.
“Hey Ilya, you forgot this batch,” he has a whole other pile of clothes in his arm as he watches Ilya walk by.
“Oh my,” the old lady speaks again. “And you’re Shane Hollander-”
“We should go,” Ilya grabs Shane by the hand. “Let’s use the upstairs laundry room instead,” he suggests as they escape their neighbors' gaze all together.
-
And so, life goes on - Shane is the one always in charge of late night snack runs (picking up all kinds of dried fruits and nuts, all the healthy things his boyfriend can’t stand), Ilya likes to take care of the grocery list, most of the time it’s all takeout and instacart orders but, they’re celebrities of course, how else should they live? They share a car now too, Shane changes the winter tires, Ilya fills the gas tank.
Their weekends are spent unwinding from hockey practice, sometimes they’re in other cities, and their routine is still quite the same really.
Especially when they come back home, and Shane finds himself sick with a cold.
When this happens, he’s a total baby about it - Ilya makes him soup, conjures up old cough remedies his mom had showed him back when she was still alive.
They imagine the rest of their life together - all the things they would say and do and experience.
It’s all so new, they don’t know what to think.
(“The houseplants need watering,” Shane stutters, nose still all stuffed up.
Ilya spoon feeds him the rest of his chicken noodle and sighs. “I’ll get right on it,” he softly kisses the top of his boyfriend’s head and walks away.
