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Note: References Halloween with Ilya, a short story posted to Rachel’s website
at this link
Summary: Ilya tries to mess with Shane during a stop in play. Things do not go as he planned.
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 1,346
Ilya stared across the rink at Shane as he skated back and forth on the ice. He’d claimed that he needed to stretch his legs, keep them loose, but really he hated that he couldn’t see Shane from the bench. They hadn’t been in the same place for weeks. He couldn’t wait to wrap his arms around Shane and feel their bodies pressed together, until the ache in his chest eased and nothing else existed in Shane’s world but him. They texted and called each other all the time, talked for hours and jerked off together on facetime. That would ease the longing for a brief moment, then the loneliness crashed back down.
They would get their few precious hours together tonight, but first Ilya had a game to win. He knew he’d be on Shane’s mind while during play. Even when they weren’t facing off or fighting for the puck, they’d both still be engrossed in the struggle between their teams and anticipating line changes. But, right now play was stopped. They needed to wait so the audience at home could watch commercials trying to sell them on salad dressing or on the idea that a riding lawn mower is the key to happiness.
He needed Shane’s attention on him, but Shane was giving his attention to Hayden. Fucking Hayden. Shane sat on the boards, legs dangling over the ice and a stick loosely tucked under one arm. He was looking down and to his left, smiling at his teammate on the bench. Shane had played hard and scored a goal earlier. He was pleased with himself, relaxed and off-guard. The perfect target for some mischief.
Ilya pushed off across the ice and went in a wide arc to get out of Shane’s line of sight, but also crossing to the other team’s side. Both Shane and Hayden had a large blind spot and he was sure he could stay in it. He planned his line across the ice. The quicker and smoother he did this, the better. He pushed off hard. After a few powerful strides he went into a low crouch. The theme from Jaws played in his head and he smiled. As he passed Shane, he easily pulled the stick away, slipping it down rather than pulling against Shane’s arm. He skated fast enough that Shane had no hope of catching him.
“Coach! Ref! Did you see that? What the hell?” Shane’s complaints were music to his ears.
Ilya stopped hard, hopped the boards and stashed Shane’s stick behind the bench, making sure the blade stuck up in the air like a flag, not hidden at all. He heard grumbling and arguing from the Voyageur’s side. The refs skated out to consider the situation, and a surge of stress went through Ilya. He’d messed with gear from the other team and that could get him into trouble, but fortunately they skated away without calling a penalty. He let out a breath. Refs were so inconsistent sometimes it was hard to keep track of what was allowed and what could lead to winding up on the penalty kill. He hadn’t realized how risky his stunt had been in the moment, he’s just needed Shane’s eyes on him, but somehow he’d gotten away with it.
Shane skated over looking annoyed. Ilya grinned up at him.
“Yes, Hollander? You need something?” Ilya’s teammates laughed and groaned on either side of him. There was no way for Shane to get his stick back unless Ilya chose to give it to him. The other Bears jostled for position to get good filming angles.
“Can I please have my stick back?” He ground out the words. He looked like he didn’t want to be here, like a kid who’d been sent to knock on a neighbor’s door to ask for his ball back. His arms were stiff at his sides. He was the picture of delicious misery.
“What stick? I don’t see a stick?” Technically this was true, Ilya was facing forward and his prize was behind him.
“Listen we’re both adults, both team captains, so I will ask you one more time, give me the stick back.” The way Shane said it, demanding and formal, made Ilya want to annoy him even more.
“Your stick? Did you lose it? Did you only bring the one? Hollander, we’ve got hockey to play, and you are not prepared?” Then Ilya saw it, a gleam in Shane’s eyes. Ilya was one of the best chirpers in the league, able to get under people’s skin with deceptively mild comments. Shane didn’t really chirp and had a disgustingly wholesome reputation, but Ilya knew that Shane wasn’t a pushover. When they were in private, Shane stood his ground surprisingly well. When they were letting off steam, not really arguing but something more than teasing, Shane sometimes got the best of him. His angry kitten had claws.
Fuck, he knows Shane. He knows he’s lost the upper hand, but doesn’t know how.
Shane leaned over the boards and said in a stage whisper, “Listen, I get it, growing up I collected stuff from the best players, too. You’ve got my jersey, now you’ve got one of my sticks, here, let me complete your collection.”
Shane tossed a puck at him, and Ilya’s reflexes kicked in. He caught it without thinking about it. The black disk had a strip of white around it. He knew without checking that it was from the goal Shane had scored earlier and that he’d put tape around it, signed and dated it.
“What? No, no…” was all Ilya could get out. He was too flustered to properly deny the accusations in English, especially since he did want the puck. He couldn’t keep photos of Shane. His house was completely devoid of any sign that he was in a committed relationship with the love of his life, except for the jersey from his Halloween costume that still hung in his closet.
He knew he should toss the puck away like it meant nothing to him, but he couldn’t. This is the Shane he knows, he loves, peaking out from behind the golden aura of his media image. He felt a rush of affection, painful and sweet.
Troy and his other friends were also getting a glimpse of the real Shane, the man he loves. Most where filming the whole thing and would see it dozens of times on youtube. He couldn’t see Harris, but he knew that somehow he was getting everything. His teammates where laughing at him, but with Shane. One of the rookies leaned in and said “Holy shit, the look on Roz’s face.”
Shane grinned, letting his smugness show, and pushed off, robbing Ilya of a chance to even try to give it back.
“Okay, enough. Time to get ready to get back on the ice.” Ilya swiped at his teammates’ phones with his free hand. He wasn’t really trying to grab them, but he had to do something other than sit there like a lovestruck idiot, even if he was making the situation a bigger and bigger deal with every shout and flail.
And so what if he was making this a bigger deal, a bigger story? He’d started shit with Shane and Shane had ended it. His love deserved a victory lap for shutting down Ilya Rozanov.
Later, in a hotel suite far from the team’s room block, Shane crushed him against a wall. Shane had won on the ice and off the ice, and wasn’t going to let him forget for one moment.
“I mess with you on the ice, not the other way around, Hollander,” Ilya growled.
“Not always, Rozanov. You don’t always get your way.”
Ilya grinned. He rolled his hips and moaned at the wave of pleasure. “Not true, moya lyubov, somehow I do.” He kept going, using being trapped to his advantage.
Shane snorted. “You’re ridiculous, Ilya.”
“Yes, and you love me, my Shane.”
“I do, always.”
at this link
Summary: Ilya tries to mess with Shane during a stop in play. Things do not go as he planned.
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 1,346
Ilya stared across the rink at Shane as he skated back and forth on the ice. He’d claimed that he needed to stretch his legs, keep them loose, but really he hated that he couldn’t see Shane from the bench. They hadn’t been in the same place for weeks. He couldn’t wait to wrap his arms around Shane and feel their bodies pressed together, until the ache in his chest eased and nothing else existed in Shane’s world but him. They texted and called each other all the time, talked for hours and jerked off together on facetime. That would ease the longing for a brief moment, then the loneliness crashed back down.
They would get their few precious hours together tonight, but first Ilya had a game to win. He knew he’d be on Shane’s mind while during play. Even when they weren’t facing off or fighting for the puck, they’d both still be engrossed in the struggle between their teams and anticipating line changes. But, right now play was stopped. They needed to wait so the audience at home could watch commercials trying to sell them on salad dressing or on the idea that a riding lawn mower is the key to happiness.
He needed Shane’s attention on him, but Shane was giving his attention to Hayden. Fucking Hayden. Shane sat on the boards, legs dangling over the ice and a stick loosely tucked under one arm. He was looking down and to his left, smiling at his teammate on the bench. Shane had played hard and scored a goal earlier. He was pleased with himself, relaxed and off-guard. The perfect target for some mischief.
Ilya pushed off across the ice and went in a wide arc to get out of Shane’s line of sight, but also crossing to the other team’s side. Both Shane and Hayden had a large blind spot and he was sure he could stay in it. He planned his line across the ice. The quicker and smoother he did this, the better. He pushed off hard. After a few powerful strides he went into a low crouch. The theme from Jaws played in his head and he smiled. As he passed Shane, he easily pulled the stick away, slipping it down rather than pulling against Shane’s arm. He skated fast enough that Shane had no hope of catching him.
“Coach! Ref! Did you see that? What the hell?” Shane’s complaints were music to his ears.
Ilya stopped hard, hopped the boards and stashed Shane’s stick behind the bench, making sure the blade stuck up in the air like a flag, not hidden at all. He heard grumbling and arguing from the Voyageur’s side. The refs skated out to consider the situation, and a surge of stress went through Ilya. He’d messed with gear from the other team and that could get him into trouble, but fortunately they skated away without calling a penalty. He let out a breath. Refs were so inconsistent sometimes it was hard to keep track of what was allowed and what could lead to winding up on the penalty kill. He hadn’t realized how risky his stunt had been in the moment, he’s just needed Shane’s eyes on him, but somehow he’d gotten away with it.
Shane skated over looking annoyed. Ilya grinned up at him.
“Yes, Hollander? You need something?” Ilya’s teammates laughed and groaned on either side of him. There was no way for Shane to get his stick back unless Ilya chose to give it to him. The other Bears jostled for position to get good filming angles.
“Can I please have my stick back?” He ground out the words. He looked like he didn’t want to be here, like a kid who’d been sent to knock on a neighbor’s door to ask for his ball back. His arms were stiff at his sides. He was the picture of delicious misery.
“What stick? I don’t see a stick?” Technically this was true, Ilya was facing forward and his prize was behind him.
“Listen we’re both adults, both team captains, so I will ask you one more time, give me the stick back.” The way Shane said it, demanding and formal, made Ilya want to annoy him even more.
“Your stick? Did you lose it? Did you only bring the one? Hollander, we’ve got hockey to play, and you are not prepared?” Then Ilya saw it, a gleam in Shane’s eyes. Ilya was one of the best chirpers in the league, able to get under people’s skin with deceptively mild comments. Shane didn’t really chirp and had a disgustingly wholesome reputation, but Ilya knew that Shane wasn’t a pushover. When they were in private, Shane stood his ground surprisingly well. When they were letting off steam, not really arguing but something more than teasing, Shane sometimes got the best of him. His angry kitten had claws.
Fuck, he knows Shane. He knows he’s lost the upper hand, but doesn’t know how.
Shane leaned over the boards and said in a stage whisper, “Listen, I get it, growing up I collected stuff from the best players, too. You’ve got my jersey, now you’ve got one of my sticks, here, let me complete your collection.”
Shane tossed a puck at him, and Ilya’s reflexes kicked in. He caught it without thinking about it. The black disk had a strip of white around it. He knew without checking that it was from the goal Shane had scored earlier and that he’d put tape around it, signed and dated it.
“What? No, no…” was all Ilya could get out. He was too flustered to properly deny the accusations in English, especially since he did want the puck. He couldn’t keep photos of Shane. His house was completely devoid of any sign that he was in a committed relationship with the love of his life, except for the jersey from his Halloween costume that still hung in his closet.
He knew he should toss the puck away like it meant nothing to him, but he couldn’t. This is the Shane he knows, he loves, peaking out from behind the golden aura of his media image. He felt a rush of affection, painful and sweet.
Troy and his other friends were also getting a glimpse of the real Shane, the man he loves. Most where filming the whole thing and would see it dozens of times on youtube. He couldn’t see Harris, but he knew that somehow he was getting everything. His teammates where laughing at him, but with Shane. One of the rookies leaned in and said “Holy shit, the look on Roz’s face.”
Shane grinned, letting his smugness show, and pushed off, robbing Ilya of a chance to even try to give it back.
“Okay, enough. Time to get ready to get back on the ice.” Ilya swiped at his teammates’ phones with his free hand. He wasn’t really trying to grab them, but he had to do something other than sit there like a lovestruck idiot, even if he was making the situation a bigger and bigger deal with every shout and flail.
And so what if he was making this a bigger deal, a bigger story? He’d started shit with Shane and Shane had ended it. His love deserved a victory lap for shutting down Ilya Rozanov.
Later, in a hotel suite far from the team’s room block, Shane crushed him against a wall. Shane had won on the ice and off the ice, and wasn’t going to let him forget for one moment.
“I mess with you on the ice, not the other way around, Hollander,” Ilya growled.
“Not always, Rozanov. You don’t always get your way.”
Ilya grinned. He rolled his hips and moaned at the wave of pleasure. “Not true, moya lyubov, somehow I do.” He kept going, using being trapped to his advantage.
Shane snorted. “You’re ridiculous, Ilya.”
“Yes, and you love me, my Shane.”
“I do, always.”
