shane x ilya - 'your tears a sea for me to swim'
Missing Tampa hotel scene from ep5 !
So, I realised I haven’t written any of these in order lol, but oh well! I, like many others, wanted to see this missing scene from ep5 after shane comes out to ilya. I know this scene is technically in the book, but I wanted to focus on show canon. I also wanted something less smutty than the book scene (sozzzz) thank you for reading! x
ao3 link; https://archiveofourown.org/works/79520701
It was late, in Tampa Bay. Ilya was in his hotel room, phone in hand, waiting for Shane Hollander. He was leaning against the room’s desk; the vibrations of his phone were the only thing making a sound. Ilya glanced to see his brother’s name illuminated on the screen, but he ignored it, as he had been the past few days. Alexei was the last person he wanted to speak to. A notification from Jane quickly appeared, to which Ilya moved towards the door, letting the Canadian player into the room. Shane didn’t speak as he entered, fidgeting with his fingers just outside of his pockets and avoiding Ilya’s eye. He immediately sat on the bed, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he did.
There was a moment of silence, which Ilya broke, as he was leaning against the wall, trying to figure out what was happening, “This looks serious.” “It's not. I mean, yeah, I guess.” Shane, still not looking directly at Ilya, was focused on the wall just next to Ilya. He couldn’t look him in the eye. “Can you just sit down or something?” Ilya obliged, slowly walking to the desk, leaning on it slightly, giving all his attention to Shane.
“It's not just me, right?” Shane looked at him then, his face full of anxiety and trepidation. “Not just you, what?” “You feel it too, don't you?” “Feel what? “Last time we were together, it was different.” Shane hadn’t taken his eyes off Ilya, hadn’t even blinked. It took nearly all his willpower not to leave the hotel room, to run to his own room for safety, to ignore what was so blaringly obvious. This was not a comfortable conversation, not for Shane, but it was one he had to have. “What was different? That you ran away?” Ilya sniffed, rubbing his nose. A small tell that he would sometimes do whenever he was anxious, stressed, worried, or uncomfortable. Shane scoffed, shaking his head. The irritation rose within him; Ilya was clearly ignoring what Shane was saying. And maybe he deserved that. He had run away. He’d left Ilya there, all by himself, still wearing his clothes, Ilya’s taste still on his lips. And Shane had hated himself afterwards. He hated the fact that they didn’t speak for weeks. Hated that they only saw each other on the ice. Hated how he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. “Look, I'm... I'm sorry I freaked out, OK?” “Freaked out over nothing.” Ilya shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide how much he cared, how much it had hurt him. Ilya had played that moment over and over in his head, trying to figure out how he could have fixed it. It was that one word, something that to anyone else wouldn’t matter, that had ruined it all. That had made Shane run away, all because Ilya had said his first name. It was something he had wanted to say for a long time. Something that had just slipped out. Something that, after 8 years, shouldn’t have mattered. But it had mattered. It had changed things. Shane raised his voice, “It wasn't nothing. Don't act like that. This is hard enough without you being an asshole.” “What do you want, Hollander?” Ilya sighed, moving his head to the side. He waited for a response, to which Shane just took another deep breath, trying to psyche himself up. “We get together, we fuck. It's simple.” “Simple?” “It's simple for me.” “Bullshit! I think...I think I'm gay.” There. He had said it. Those words had been swirling around inside his brain for much longer than Shane wanted to admit. He couldn’t say it outright to Rose. Hadn’t told Hayden. Or his parents. But with Ilya? He could say it to him. This was a big step for Shane – to finally realise something so integral to himself.
Ilya was surprised at first. This was definitely not what Ilya had expected Shane to admit to. Something that was so glaringly obvious to Ilya. A laugh escaped Ilya; he couldn’t help himself, “Hmm. Oh yeah? What... what makes you think that?”
“Fuck you, you're not gay.”
“No, not completely.”
“Yeah, well, I think I am. Completely.”
“OK, so you're gay, so what?” Ilya shrugged his shoulders, exasperated at the direction of the conversation.
“Well, it's kind of a big deal. To me, at least. Sorry if I'm being boring again.” Boring. How many times had Ilya described Shane using that word? Boring, in a sense of comfort, home, calm. So yes, Shane was boring. But boring was not bad, not for Ilya. He longed for boring. Longed for the stillness, peace, that boring brought. But Shane didn’t see boring as a good thing. It was just another thing wrong. Shane Hollander, the boring hockey player. A great player, but a boring person. He never had anything interesting to say. Ilya groaned, pushing himself off the edge of the desk, plonking himself down next to Shane on the bed. Clearly, humour was not going to help Shane. He felt Shane’s body turn towards him; his eyes fixed on Ilya. “Why are you telling me this?” “Who else am I gonna tell?” This was a fair comment, Ilya could admit that. Maybe there wasn’t anyone else Shane could tell, or even wanted to tell. “It's... not just being gay. It's you. It's this. Being gay is one thing, but this fucking your arch-rival is another thing.”
Ilya hadn’t looked at Shane since sitting on the bed, his eyes focused on his lap. He couldn’t bring himself to look up; he knew he’d falter immediately. He had to have some form of control, even though he could feel it slowly slipping away. “That is why it is a secret.” “I know that, but last time... And for the record, I am sorry about last time, OK? I'm sorry I freaked out. But before that... it was nice.” “It was.” Ilya agreed, nodding to himself. He had to concede on that at least. It was more than nice; it was more than that for both of them. Shane had apologised twice now, which Ilya appreciated. It didn’t change what had happened, but it meant something. Ilya had tried so desperately to make it nice for Shane. He had kissed him so tenderly, so gently. He had asked him to stay, with no pressure. He had filled his fridge with those stupid ginger ale cans. Prepped food just in case Shane had been hungry. Made sure to put a hockey game on the T.V. Sat far away so Shane wouldn’t feel crowded, but gradually moved closer to him, as Shane loosened up. It was almost perfect. Almost. Until they had done the unthinkable. “And it felt like we were something.” “We cannot be something, Hollander.” Ilya shut Shane down. He was shutting him out, putting those walls up. “Would you want to be, if we could?” “We can't.” “That's not what I asked.” “What does it fucking matter?” Ilya raised his voice, looking directly at Shane, to which Shane flinched so slightly. He hadn’t meant to get angry, but this was a pointless conversation to be having. It didn’t mean Ilya didn’t want that. Because he did, of course, he did. Being something with Shane Hollander was a fantasy. It was something Ilya had thought about, but those thoughts had always been pushed away, brushed aside. It was not realistic. Even if it was the only thing Ilya wanted. Even if he so desperately wished things could be different. Even if it was taking all of his willpower to admit exactly how he felt about Shane. “I don't think I can keep pretending I don't like you anymore.” Shane’s eyes started to glisten. He wasn’t going to let himself cry. There. He had said it. He liked Ilya Rozanov. No, he more than liked him. He longed to touch him, to kiss him. He wanted to drag his fingers through his curls. Wanted to hold him when he was sad. He loved playing against him; the thrill Shane felt when they were both on the ice was like nothing else. He wanted to spend those slow Sunday mornings with him. He wanted to spend those quiet evenings with him. To come home to Ilya, waiting for him. He wanted the normal things that everyone else was allowed to have. “You don't like me.” Ilya shook his head, as if shaking it long enough would stop this from happening. Why would Shane feel like this for Ilya? Why should he? What possessed him to think Ilya would be good for him? Because he was not good for him. Ilya was not good for anyone. But especially not sweet, boring Shane. “Yeah, I do. I think I like you maybe a little too much.” Shane wasn’t sure how much clearer he could be. How else could he convey what he felt for Ilya? The longing looks, the desperation and need whenever they were together, the subtle touches in public. Shane had done everything but say the words. “Don't. Don't fucking do this, Hollander. I'm not...” Ilya sighed, “I wouldn't be able to go home again. Ever. Do you get that?” “Because your family?”
“Because Russia! I would not be able to go back to Russia!” “What would happen to you?” “I don't want to find out.” Ilya’s voice cracked as he finished the sentence. He could guess what would happen to him. Shane could also guess what would happen. But to utter those words would be too much. Ilya was always so careful back home; he made sure of that, now more than ever. Ilya’s relationship with Russia was difficult. He hated going home. Hated seeing his father in the state he was. Hated his brother. Hated the memories their home held. Hated that it was the last place he saw his mother. Maybe the last place he had been truly happy as a child. But to be seen as something ‘wrong’ by his home country, to be cast out, forbidden to return – there would be no turning back. “But would your parents...” “My father is police. My brother is police.” “And your mother?” “Dead.” Oh. How had Shane not known this before? Ilya rarely mentioned his mother, which now made sense. It was always his father. His brother. Shane had been so wrapped up in his own problems he hadn’t even noticed. “I'm sorry.” “I was young. My father is very old-fashioned. And sick.” “Sick like crazy?” “That too, a little, but no, sick more like...” “Oh, like cancer?” Shane was asking too many questions; he knew that. But this was a rarity. Ilya was answering them; he was letting Shane in. “Dementia.” “That's awful.” Yes, it was awful. Regardless of how Ilya felt about his father, to watch him fade away, to become someone Ilya didn’t recognise, it was not a nice feeling. Every summer, he would go home, and his father was even less of a person. Sometimes he would recognise Ilya, berate him for something that happened years ago. Other times, he would become very angry, questioning why this stranger was in his home. He would cry out for Irina; he would cry out for Ilya’s mother. In this state, Ilya couldn’t correct him; he could only let his father become more upset until he tired himself out. At one point, Ilya would have felt some form of vindication from this when he was younger, full of hatred for the man. But he just felt sadness now. It was a difficult feeling, feeling such sorrow for a man who caused so much pain in Ilya’s life. His father was becoming a hollow shell, with confused and tired eyes. It was exhausting, and Ilya was just waiting, waiting for his father to finally let go. Ilya could feel himself letting go, a small tear rolled down his cheek. He turned from Shane, not wanting him to see him like this. Not wanting the vulnerability to escape. He’d worked so hard to keep it inside, to hold it tight against him. “Hey. Hey...” Shane started to move towards Ilya, wanting to hold him, to stop Ilya from feeling this way. He wanted Ilya to know he was here, he would look after him, he could love him, if Ilya would let him. “Sorry.” Shane sat on Ilya’s lap, pulling him close. He held Ilya’s face before kissing him. It was a soft kiss, not full of desire, but comfort. Their foreheads brushed before Ilya wrapped himself around Shane, holding tightly. He allowed the tears to flow, allowed himself to be held by Shane, as they rocked together. It was only the two of them in that moment; nothing else mattered.
“Better?” Shane asked sometime later, pulling himself to face Ilya. He wiped the tears that had fallen down Ilya’s face with his thumb, kissing them afterwards. Ilya silently nodded; his face still pressed into Shane’s chest. Shane started to move off Ilya’s lap, but Ilya grabbed hold of Shane’s waist again, pulling him back, not wanting to lose his touch.
“I’m heavy.” A small, playful whine escaped Shane, still holding onto Ilya’s waist, trailing small circles on his back.
“No, you’re not.”
“Come on.” Shane moved towards the side of the bed, still holding onto Ilya’s hand. Ilya followed, watching as Shane sat against the headboard, patting the space next to him. Ilya found his way to Shane, before being hooked under Shane’s arm, allowing his head to rest on his chest. A few absent tears rolled down Ilya’s cheek, dropping onto Shane’s shirt. Shane’s thumb appeared, caressing Ilya’s wet skin. Ilya felt Shane’s hand move up towards the top of his head, brushing his fingers through Ilya’s loose curls. They sat there, in those positions, for a while. Ilya wasn’t sure how long; he seemed to get lost in the rhythm of Shane’s chest going up and down.
Shane finally broke the silence after what seemed like an eternity. “What do you need?”
“You. Just you.”
“Okay.” Shane kissed the top of Ilya’s forehead, allowing his lips to drag down to Ilya’s cheek. Another kiss was planted. And then another. A kiss on his cheekbone. A kiss for his nose. A kiss for his jawline. A peck on the lips.
“Is this okay?”
Ilya nodded, pushing himself towards Shane, wanting his touch. His head fell into Shane’s lap; Shane adjusted himself slightly so Ilya could lie comfortably. A small jolt spread down Ilya’s back when he felt Shane’s fingers on the back of his neck. They slowly slid down underneath Ilya’s tank, rubbing up and down against his back. Shane’s fingers started to pull on the tank, dragging it up, over Ilya’s head. Ilya sat up, wrapping his hands around Shane’s thighs, gripping tightly. His breathing was quicker now, almost verging on a pant. He needed Shane. He wanted him. As if Shane enjoyed teasing him, Ilya soon felt a pair of lips on his neck. Then his shoulder. Shane’s head moved down Ilya’s chest, kissing each mole as he went. Ilya leaned his head back, breathing in deeply, trying to contain himself. Shane was taking his time with each kiss, clearly mesmerised by the scattered marks on Ilya’s skin, following them further down. When Shane finally reached Ilya’s belly button, he pulled his lips away and looked up. His dark, beautiful eyes were staring up at Ilya with such admiration, Ilya thought he might burst.
“Still good?”
“Mm. Still good.” Ilya croaked, his voice sounding rougher and coarser than he had meant it to.
Shane moved back up to face Ilya, taking his chin in his hands, the way Ilya had done so many times before with the Canadian. Shane’s eyes locked onto Ilya’s lips, before smashing into a deep, but loving kiss. Ilya returned the kiss, crashing his tongue against Shane’s, pulling Shane closer to him by the collar of his shirt. Neither stopped for breath, but they didn’t need to. Shane manoeuvred himself so his knees locked in between Ilya’s legs. The kisses didn’t stop, even as Shane pushed Ilya down to flop on the bed, his ribs digging into Ilya’s bare chest. Ilya’s hands found their way to the buttons of Shane’s shirt, which were undone in mere seconds. Shane pulled away from the kiss not long after, leaving Ilya’s hungry eyes looking up at him. Shane didn’t say anything for a minute, he didn’t kiss Ilya, didn’t caress his cheek and run his fingers through Ilya’s hair. Ilya was getting impatient, which was clear to Shane, who just smiled at him. His glossy eyes blinked rapidly, as if he were studying Ilya’s features, not wanting to forget them. There was a softness to how Shane was looking at Ilya, a softness that Ilya wanted to kiss, to keep, to have.
“What are you looking at, Hollander?”
“You.”
“Please,” Ilya begged him this time.
Shane obeyed, kissing Ilya again. This time, it was slow; Shane was taking his time with Ilya, which made him want to scream. But Ilya allowed Shane to take the lead, to guide Ilya whichever way he wanted. Ilya liked this side of Shane, to know Shane wanted this as much as Ilya did. Shane, who in the past had been quick and desperate one minute and cold the next. It was as if Shane was carefully familiarising himself with Ilya again, not wanting to step out of place.
Ilya slid Shane’s shirt off his shoulders as Shane sat up, placing his legs on either side of Ilya’s torso. He allowed his bulge to brush against Ilya’s chest, moving back and forth as he slowly pulled his shorts down to reveal the rim of his tight boxer shorts. Ilya, who couldn’t and wouldn’t wait anymore, yanked them down around Shane’s ankles. He watched eagerly as Shane removed the shorts entirely, leaving only his boxer shorts on, just to tease Ilya a little more. Ilya leaned his head up as his lips brushed against Shane’s neck, but Shane pushed him back down to the bed, gripping hold of Ilya’s chin. Shane opened Ilya’s mouth with his thumb, allowing it to be covered by Ilya’s tongue, swirling around in his mouth. Ilya bit onto Shane’s skin hard before Shane dragged his thumb away from his mouth and down towards his neck. Ilya felt the wetness from Shane’s thumb drag down until it reached the chain that hung around his neck. Ilya waited and watched as Shane held the cross between his fingers before planting a small kiss on the cross as it lay back against Ilya’s skin.
Shane, realising he could no longer wait, dragged his head down until it reached the top of Ilya’s pants. Ilya felt the quick kisses placed just above the waistband of his underwear as Shane pulled them down. Shane’s tongue trailed down the inner of Ilya’s thighs, his cheeks brushing against Ilya’s rapidly growing erection. Ilya could hear himself moaning, his fingers gripped hold of the headboard as he braced himself for Shane to use his mouth on him. It was slow, delicate, which was going to send Ilya off the edge, before Shane’s tongue became messy, sloppy, all-consuming. Shane’s fingers were gripping Ilya’s thighs, which were bound to leave marks the next day.
“Fuck, fuck,” Ilya yelped out, not being able to contain himself any longer. Ilya knew he wouldn’t last much longer after this and cried out as he exploded in Shane’s mouth. Shane wiped his mouth on the corner of the bedsheet and stayed there, rubbing Ilya’s thighs.
“Do you want to fuck me, Rozanov?” Shane gasped, out of breath himself.
“Yes, please.”
“Fuck, Ilya.” So, that is what they did. Multiple times. They had some lost time to make up for.
*
It was much later, and the early morning light had started to creep into the hotel room. The two men were lying across the bed, sheets hanging so they touched the floor, pillows scattered, sweat lingering. Shane blinked as he looked around the hotel room. They had been in this exact position so many times before, but there had been a definite shift. It wasn’t just a casual fuck; it hadn’t been that for a long time. Things had felt different the last time. It was scary. It had made things real. Those feelings that had been pushed down so many times had started to bubble, and Shane didn’t know what to do. So, yes, he had run away. But looking at Ilya now, he knew how utterly stupid it had been. He never wanted to let go of Ilya and would never run away again. He had laid himself bare to Ilya. He had told him how he felt, in that Shane Hollander kind of way. And Ilya had seemed to understand. Neither Shane nor Ilya was naïve enough to think they were at the same place they had been the last time, sitting in Ilya’s penthouse, eating tuna melts, watching Ryan Price on the screen, closing the gap between them. But that didn’t seem to matter, not now. Something else had begun between them. Something far more precious.
It was only a few hours until their flights, travelling in different directions. They would have to move eventually, but neither could bring themselves to be the first. Ilya had fallen asleep not long after they had finished, a light nap, he would say later, but Shane enjoyed this moment of peace. He looked down at Ilya, who was tucked under his arms again, his head resting on Shane’s ribs. He looked peaceful, content, happy. He was beautiful in that moment. He always looked beautiful. Shane silently thanked whatever it was that brought them back together again. How had he been so lucky? He’d fucked up, he knew that, but the way Ilya looked at Shane in the bar, the first time they’d seen each other, properly, for months. Shane could have melted right there. A braver man than he would have run to Ilya, held him tight, and apologised over and over. But this was good. It was better than Shane had expected. Better than he could have wished for. Ilya had forgiven him. Ilya’s confusion, the hurt on his face when Shane had left him, that image flickered past in his mind. He did not enjoy that memory. But that was the past. Shane had realised exactly what he had wanted, and he was going to get it.
Shane looked at him for a few minutes, wanting to keep this moment in his memory forever. He’d be thinking of this on his walk back to his room. Thinking of it at the airport. Thinking about this during his flight. On the drive back. Fuck, it was going to overcloud everything else, just as Ilya always seemed to. Shane was focused. He was focused as a hockey player. Focused on what he wanted to achieve. But this damn Russian, who seemed so guarded, so closed off, but looked at Shane like he was the brightest thing he saw – he threatened that every day. Ilya Rozanov was going to be the death of Shane Hollander. But Shane would gladly accept that. Over the years, they’d taken the small snippets they had been given: the fleeting meetings, knowing looks across the ice, the stupid ‘rivalry’ they were forced to enact. But maybe now, there was a small chance of something else, something more. Shane didn’t want to hope, didn’t want to jinx it, but he could allow himself to be happy, just for this moment.
Knowing he couldn’t lie there for much longer, no matter how much he wanted to, Shane moved down to Ilya. Stroking his forehead with his index finger, Shane forced himself to speak. A small whisper, “Hey.” Shane sighed, “I should go.”
“Hm.” Ilya’s eyebrows furrowed; his eyes stayed shut as he scrunched them up.
“I’ll shower first, okay?” Shane didn’t wait for a response before he got up and moved away from Ilya. He stopped before leaving the bed completely, slapping Ilya playfully on the arm. Ilya responded by throwing a pillow right into Shane’s eye. So, it was only a light nap.
Ilya was lying on top of the bedsheets when Shane came out from the shower, like a Greek God, leaning his head on his hand, his legs sprawled out. Shane couldn’t help but stare; he wanted to look at Ilya always. Ilya caught him, raising his eyebrows and smirking to himself, clearly happy with how he made Shane feel. A small, soft smile appeared on Shane’s face; a few flicks of water dropped from his forehead before Shane turned his attention to his clothes, which were neatly folded on the desk. Shane stood in front of the hotel bed, the bathroom towel hanging from his hips, holding onto his clothes. He stood there, waiting for something, waiting for Ilya to say something.
Ilya took a deep breath, gulping down as he watched Shane remove the towel and find his underwear. The morning light reflected onto the silver marks surrounding Shane’s waist and thighs. Ilya kept his eyes locked on Shane and watched as Shane dressed himself. Shane was well aware that Ilya’s eyes were focusing on Shane, not looking anywhere else. He took his time, especially with his shirt buttons that felt much looser now after being violently attacked by a desperate Ilya Rozanov mere hours before. Shane chuckled, catching Ilya looking at him. He was looking at him in a way Shane hadn’t seen before. Maybe Ilya had always looked at Shane like this, and Shane hadn’t noticed. He was awake now, however. “What?” “Nothing,” Ilya spoke with his sultry eyes, leaning his head against his hand. It was as if Ilya was teasing Shane, daring him not to go. This was so close to working; Shane was so close to crawling back to Ilya, to wrapping himself around him, to kissing him just one more time. Ilya had this pull, this hold on Shane, and he didn’t want to let go, not ever.
Shane finished dressing, patted himself down and moved towards the door. The two looked at each other for a minute, saying so much without any words being spoken. “Good night, Shane.” Shane sighed happily, tilting his head slightly as he looked back at Ilya. “Good night, Ilya.” The Russian’s name sounded strange on Shane’s lips. Not wrong, though. Shane liked the way it sounded. He wasn’t sure the pronunciation was completely correct, but there would be time for Shane to perfect it. They had given themselves this time, after wasting so many years. He liked the way his own name sounded when Ilya spoke it, so softly, so kindly. He wanted Ilya to say it again, wanted him to whisper it in Shane’s ear, breathlessly shout it out. Fuck, Shane knew they had turned up at a point of no return; they wouldn’t be able to turn back now. But Shane didn’t want to. The path they had taken wasn’t necessarily going to be easy, but Shane had Ilya back, and that was something he didn’t think was possible a month ago, let alone a day ago. He had him, and he wasn’t letting go.
Shane Hollander left the hotel room, left the All-Star Games, left Tampa Bay, feeling far more hopeful than he had when he arrived.
