( fingers ) : for SENDER to lace their fingers with RECEIVER'S.
IT STARTED WITH THE LIGHTEST TOUCH. there were a lot of unnecessary touches— but actually, no, they were all so fucking necessary. every time shane looked ilya's way backstage, the russian was already looking at him. there were people all around, but shane could still feel him everywhere. it was damn near impossible to be sharing the same air and not do something about it. he wanted to kiss ilya. he wanted to push ilya up against the wall and— okay, fine, whatever, he wanted ilya to push him up against the wall and kiss him stupid until he forgot his own name. he wanted to run his fingers through his favorite hair and— nope, he needed to stop thinking about ilya rozanov. he needed to stop looking at ilya rozanov. but that was the thing about the sun, you couldn't look away from it even though you knew you should, even when you knew it would burn.
shoulders brushed in the hallway, and shane thought he must have imagined it when he felt fingers kissing his own right before they walked into the press conference. there was no imagining the hand on his shoulder when they first got behind the table, standing side by side during the introductions. and then they went to sit, and he felt that hand slide lower and lower and fuck— yeah, he touched shane's ass. cocky russian motherfucker. then they were sat. and shane thought, that must be the end of the torture. and then he felt it, the finger grazing his thigh. he forgot how to breathe, didn't even blink. he just stared straight ahead at the wall behind all the sports journalists, not even bothering to shoot a glare ilya's way because rozanov would like that too much. but his own hand was on his thigh too, and he had never been more thankful for the cloth drapey thing they covered the tables with at these things, because before his brain could even process what was happening, ilya's fingers were laced through his. he was . . . holding his hand. ilya was holding shane's hand in a room full of people with notebooks and cameras, looking for the next big story. the press would have a field day with that one— and still, shane couldn't let go. so he just squeezed ilya's hand in warning, begging him to stop and never let go all at the same time. because shane thought he might die if he did. and then shane tried to remember literally anything about hockey so that he could answer the question from the reporter in the back of the room.