Heated Rivalry: Part 4 – Chapter 27

They left Shane’s parents’ cottage with a promise to come for dinner the following evening.

Ilya wasn’t sure how Shane felt about everything that had just happened, but thought it had gone surprisingly well.

“Holy shit,” Shane said. He hadn’t even turned the engine on; he was just sitting in the driver’s seat with his forehead on the steering wheel.

“It was okay, yes?” Ilya offered.

“I don’t know. Do you think it was? Fuck. That was really weird.”

“Well. Now they know.”

Shane blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

“We should go home.”

Shane nodded against the steering wheel before sitting up and pressing the ignition button.

Ilya spent the entirety of the short drive back to Shane’s cottage wondering if it was weird that he’d just called Shane’s cottage . He knew his grip on the English language was tenuous, but referring to a place he was staying for two weeks as “home” wasn’t weird, was it?

If it weird, Shane wasn’t saying anything about it.

Shane actually didn’t say anything at all during the drive back, other than a few muttered curse words. His hands were tight on the wheel. When they got back to the cottage, he dropped his keys into a bowl and strode into the living room with a hand in his hair.

“I need some air,” he said, and he walked outside to the patio, leaving Ilya alone in the house.

Fortunately, Ilya had packed just the thing for this situation.

He went to the freezer and pulled out the bottle of vodka he had stashed there the day he’d arrived. It was the good shit, distilled in small batches and impossible to buy outside of Russia. He grabbed two glasses and carried them and the bottle outside.

“Is maybe a good time for this,” he said, holding up the bottle.

Shane turned warily, and snorted when he saw the vodka. “The last time I drank that stuff was in Las Vegas. You remember?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, carefully pouring a couple of inches into each glass. “But you did not ever drink stuff. This vodka is special.” He handed Shane one of the glasses.

Ilya closed his eyes as he took his first sip, enjoying the contrast of the frigid temperature of the liquid and the fire of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. Perfect.

He opened his eyes when he heard Shane sputtering and coughing.

“Oh, wow,” Shane said. “That is . I might need some cranberry juice or something.”

“If you mix that with cranberry juice I will drown you in the lake.”

But Shane, seemingly unable to concentrate at all, was already taking a second sip. “This has been the weirdest day of my life.”

Ilya wanted to tell Shane that it had been one of the days of life. It had been awkward, sure, but Ilya felt that, if he hadn’t quite been already, he be welcomed into Shane’s family, and that was no small thing. In fact, to Ilya, who had barely been welcome in his family, it was huge.

He wanted to tell Shane that the closest he felt to home was when he was with him. It didn’t matter if it was in a hotel room, or Ilya’s apartment, or at that weird hideout building Shane bought in Montreal, or here at Shane’s cottage; he was himself when he was with Shane. He’d left Russia, he was uneasy in America, and he’d spent his entire adult life drifting between continents and between lovers.

But now he had been reeled in by this annoying Canadian, and all that he knew was that he wanted to stay. He wanted to anchor himself to Shane and just…stay.

He couldn’t any of that—literally, he could not possibly come up with the English words to articulate any of the things he was feeling at that moment. So instead he plucked the vodka glass from Shane’s hand and sat it on the table next to his own. Maybe alcohol the thing Shane needed right now.

He wrapped Shane in his arms, and held him. He nuzzled into Shane’s hair and breathed him in.

“I love you,” he murmured, because he say . After so fucking long he could finally say that.

Shane tilted his head up and studied Ilya’s face with questioning eyes. “I love you too,” he said. “Are you all right?”

Ilya nodded, and leaned in to kiss him.

It was exactly how Ilya had secretly always wanted to kiss Shane: a shameless display of adoration and care. Their tongues slowly caressing as Ilya held Shane’s face in his hands and brushed his hair with his fingertips.

His heart flipped and tumbled helplessly around in his chest. There would be no going back from this. From any of this.

“I keep thinking about logistics,” Shane said when they broke apart, as if Ilya hadn’t just poured his heart into that kiss. “Like, the earliest you would be in Ottawa would be the season after next, when your contract is done with Boston, right?”

Ilya did want to talk about any of this right now.

“Yes. Probably.” He nibbled behind Shane’s ear, hoping to distract him.

“So just over a year from now you’re in Ottawa, and then we wait, what, another whole season until we announce the charity? It would have to be that long, right?”

“Mm,” Ilya said. He really didn’t care.

“So that’s a year and a half or so until we can announce the charity. Which is the same as announcing our friendship,” Shane said as Ilya slid his hands into the back of his shorts and pulled him closer.

“And then what?” Shane continued. “How many more years do you think you’ll be playing?”

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya groaned. “I don’t fucking know.”

“I’m just trying to get an idea of how long we’ll be—what are you doing?”

Ilya had dropped to his knees, and he felt it was pretty obvious what he was doing.

“I am celebrating,” Ilya said. He tugged Shane’s shorts down until they hit the wood of the deck. “You should join me.”

“

My head is racing! How can you even be thinking about sex right now?”

“Because it is a beautiful day. And we are alone. And I met your parents. And I want you to calm the fuck down. And I love you.”

“Oh.”

Ilya leaned in and took all of him in his mouth, enjoying the novel sensation of the soft flesh resting on his tongue.

“Oh, fuck, Ilya,” Shane gasped.

He wanted to fuck Shane. Right here on the deck. But that would require stopping so he could go inside to grab lube and a condom. Stopping was unappealing.

For now, he put all of his efforts into taking Shane apart.

“You’re way too good at that,” Shane sighed.

Ilya hummed his agreement.

The thought hit him that this was it. This was going to be his sex life now. No more meaningless—but undeniably hot—one-night stands. No more booty calls while he was on the road. He was going to give it all up for this chance at something lasting. For the chance to hold the heart of the beautiful man who was exhaling Ilya’s name like it was the most important word in the world.

Ilya had no problem giving it all up. He would give up so much more, if he needed to.

“Ilya. God, . So good. Don’t stop. I love you.”

In response, Ilya reached for his hand and tangled their fingers together.

“Oh.

. Fuck, yes. I’m gonna—oh, holy shit, Ilya. Fuck, …”

Ilya squeezed his hand as Shane pulsed and spurted into his mouth. Ilya swallowed and licked him clean with long, lazy strokes of his tongue.

“Fuck. Get up here,” Shane panted.

Ilya rose to his feet, pulling Shane’s shorts up with him, and Shane hauled him in for a very sloppy kiss.

When they broke apart, Shane gazed up at him with sex-drunk eyes.

“Wow,” he said. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?”

The statement was vague, but Ilya understood. “Yes. If you want to try this, I will do what I need to do.”

“I will too. Anything. I want this. I want .”

Ilya brushed Shane’s hair out of his eyes. “Then I am moving to Ottawa, I think.”

“And we’re starting a charity.”

“And we will become friends.”

“And we’ll see each other all the time. As much as possible. And spend the summers together. Here.”

“Yes.”

They kissed again. Ilya couldn’t believe they had solved this impossible problem. Maybe it wouldn’t go as smoothly as they imagined, but it was a plan.

“And when I retire,” Ilya said, “after I have won twelve Stanley Cups and thirteen MVP awards—”

“The hell you will.”

“And you have been retired for, like, eight years already because you got very bad at hockey…”

Shane laughed. “Okay.”

“Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it…”

“That sounds like a fire hazard.”

“Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.”

“Oh, is it a clear night?”

“Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—”

“Ilya—”

“And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’”

Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you will say yes, because you are a nice, helpful guy.”

“No,” Shane said, taking his hands. “I will say yes because I will still be madly in love with you. And I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And, oh god, Ilya didn’t deserve him, but he didn’t care. He was selfish like that.

“I mean it,” Shane said softly. “I want to have a life with you. I know it will be awkward, and will still involve a lot of sneaking around for a while, but I’m playing the long game here. So, yeah. Whatever it takes, I’m in.”

Ilya lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed Shane’s knuckles. “Does this mean I get to see your apartment in Montreal? Your real one?”

“You can even keep a toothbrush there. I’m going to sell that other place. I was being paranoid when I bought it. I’m sorry.”

Ilya grinned. “Buying an entire building because you are nervous is very you.”

Shane shook his head.

“I really am sorry. I just wanted to protect what we had. I should have invited you to my real apartment sooner. I want you there. I want you in my life. All of it.”

God, were they really going to be able to keep this a secret until they were retired? Now that they were both honest about what they were to each other, Ilya feared it might be impossible to hide their relationship from the world.

Especially when Shane looked at him like he was looking at him right now—like Ilya was all this trouble. Like he was worth loving.

“I want to tell everyone,” Ilya said. “Right now.”

Shane’s eyes went wide with panic. “No! Don’t. We have to stick to the plan.”

Ilya sighed dramatically. “You and your plans. What if I just kissed you on the mouth at the next All-Star Game?”

“I’ll punch you. I swear to god.”

“You wouldn’t. Not if I kissed you like this.” Ilya cradled Shane’s face in one hand, his thumb brushing Shane’s cheekbone, and kissed him. He took his time, and finished with little nips to Shane’s bottom lip. Shane, already boneless from the blow job, fell heavily against Ilya’s chest.

“If you kissed me like that I would push you to the ice and start tearing your gear off,” Shane murmured dreamily.

“That would be interesting.” Ilya’s cock was suddenly interested in that imagined scenario.

“What if we just told our friends?” Shane suggested. “My family already knows. We could just…feel our way with the rest.”

“Mm,” Ilya said. “And what would your best friend Hayden Pike say?”

“He would probably think I was kidding.”

“You known for your pranks.”

Shane laughed. “I want to tell him. I want him to know you like I do.”

“

” Ilya made the word as suggestive as possible. “Do you think he’d like to join us? A night away from the kids, maybe?”

Shane buried his face against Ilya’s shoulder, probably to hide his blush. “Stop it.”

“Or maybe if Rose Landry wants a sexual experience with you that isn’t a disaster…”

“No threesomes!” Shane said. “That’s my hard rule.”

“You’ve never tried it,” Ilya scoffed. “You might love it.”

“When have I ever loved something I thought I’d hate?” Shane said dryly.

Ilya chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s four in the afternoon.”

“Yes, but when I am done with you it will be bedtime.”

“Promises.”

Ilya took his hand and pulled him toward the house. He picked up Shane’s vodka glass with the other. No sense wasting it. “And tomorrow, I am going to keep you in bed all day.”

“All day, huh?”

“Yes—bring the bottle in, yes?—and maybe the day after that also.”

“For two weeks?”

Ilya shrugged. “I could maybe extend my stay.”

Shane plunked the vodka bottle on the kitchen counter.

“You can?”

“A little. Yes. If you will have me.”

“I do have some other hot Russians coming to stay with me in a couple of weeks…”

Ilya gasped. “Shane Hollander! You have not ever told me that I am hot before.”

Shane frowned. “I haven’t?”

“No. I would remember.”

“Well, I mean…obviously you’re hot. Like, I-can’t-believe-I-get-to-kiss-you hot.”

“Come upstairs. You can kiss me and tell me about Ottawa. And maybe get me off because I am fucking dying.”

Shane raced past him to the stairs. “Only if you beat me.”

Ilya laughed. “Game fucking on, Hollander.”