Heated Rivalry

Ilya responded by gripping both of Shane’s wrists and pinning them to the mattress.

“Oh,” Shane gasped. He shamelessly tipped his head back to give Ilya better access to his throat. Ilya took advantage of his generous offer by sucking the sensitive spot just under the hinge of Shane’s jaw.

Ilya was going to leave a mark—a hickey—if he kept sucking at Shane’s neck, but Shane realized that it didn’t matter. For the first time ever, they didn’t have to worry about evidence. About anything. No one would ever know what happened here.

Let’s be honest with each other. For these two weeks, let’s just...say what we’re actually thinking. Maybe...say how we really feel.”

I can’t, Ilya wanted to say. I can’t because if I do you’ll think I’m pathetic, or, worse, you’ll say it back and then what the fuck are we supposed to do?

“I will try,” he said instead.

Fuck,” Shane panted. “I’m...it’s been kind of a while... I might not last long.”

“Yes. Same. But we have two weeks, right?”

Shane laughed. “Right.” Then, “Wait...same?”

“Hm?”

“You said ‘same.’ You haven’t...been with anyone? Lately?”

Ilya grimaced. He probably shouldn’t have admitted that. But...

“No.”

“Like, not since—?”

“No. Not since. Can we please get back to—?”

“Really?” Shane pulled back so he could look Ilya directly in the eyes. He looked stunned and way, way too happy.

“Is not a big deal, Hollander. Relax.”

“It’s been, like—”

“Months. Yes. Which is why I would really like to—”

“I haven’t either,” Shane said quickly. “Not since the last time we were together. In Boston.”

“Well then...” Ilya said, moving his hand to continue to work his way into Shane’s pants. But Shane didn’t go back to grinding his hips or attacking Ilya’s mouth with filthy desperate kisses. Instead, he reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair out of Ilya’s face. Ilya could only stare, mesmerized, at Shane’s face as he looked down at him with so much...tenderness.

They hadn’t been together for months. The ridiculous thing was, Ilya hadn’t been with anyone in all that time. For the first time in his life, he hadn’t wanted to be with anyone else.

The tap water here is actually excellent,” Shane continued. He was so obviously nervous. “There’s a natural spring nearby and...”

A few minutes later, Ilya wrote back. What are you doing now?

Now? Now was one o’clock in the afternoon on a game day. Against Boston.

Shane: Nothing. I’m in my hotel room.

He stopped himself from writing “why” again.

Lily: Come over?

Shane’s heart stopped. Come over? Come over? Now?

Shane: I can’t! Don’t be stupid.

Lily: Come over. Not for long. An hour?

Shane actually let out a surprised laugh.

Shane: No. Come on. We both know that’s a bad idea.

Lily: Everything we do is a bad idea. Come over.

When Shane didn’t reply, Ilya added, It will be worth it. I promise. ;)

The knock at the door came almost forty minutes later. It had been enough time that Shane had almost convinced himself to leave. To put an end to this foolishness. But, of course, he hadn’t. And if the knock had come hours later, even, Shane would still have been on that sofa, waiting for it.

He opened the door. “What the fuck took you so long?” he asked, annoyed.

“We were celebrating. Big win tonight, you know?”

Shane stepped back to let the tall, smirking Russian man into the apartment.

“I got away as soon as I could,” Rozanov said, his tone less teasing. “Didn’t want to draw attention, right?”

“Sure.”

And that was the last word Shane got out before Rozanov’s mouth crashed into his.

Shane gripped his leather jacket with both hands and pulled him closer as he kissed Rozanov breathless. “How long do you have?” Shane asked quickly, when they had broken apart for air.

“Two hours, maybe?”

“Fuck.” He kissed Rozanov again, rough and needy. God, he needed this. This horrible, fucked-up thing.

“You taste like beer,” Rozanov said.

“You taste like that horrible gum you chew.”

“Is so I don’t smoke!”

“Shut up.”

They grappled and maneuvered each other until they reached the bedroom, where Shane shoved Rozanov roughly against a wall and continued kissing him. He felt the familiar slide of his rival’s tongue in his mouth, and slid his own tongue over teeth that had been fixed and replaced god knew how many times.

“And maybe...someday. When we both retire. We can...be together. For real.”

Ilya looked stunned by that part. “You really think that far ahead, Hollander?”

“I do about this.”

“You want that? To be together?”

“I do. So much it terrifies me.”

Ilya turned his face away from Shane, and was silent. Cold dread flooded Shane’s stomach; he had admitted too much.

But Ilya turned back and quickly rolled on top of Shane and was kissing him and kissing him and kept murmuring the same thing in Russian over and over again until he pulled back and translated:

“I love you.”

Shane froze. And then Ilya froze.

“Holy shit,” Shane whispered. It wasn’t how he had meant to respond.

“I...” Ilya’s eyes were so wide and so scared.

“I love you too,” Shane said.

Ilya gave a shaky smile and exhaled. “Thank Christ.”

“Does it...does it feel like agony for you too?”

Ilya started to nod, then stopped. He shook his head slowly instead.

“Not anymore.”

I feel like...I am dreaming?”

“You’re not. I love you.”

Ilya wasn’t sure his heart could take any more of this. It felt like it was pushing up against his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think. Hard to do anything except hold Shane down and kiss him over and over again.

Yes. And he is just so boring and he drives a terrible car and...that is my problem. All of these beautiful women and I am always wishing they were him.”