Being Gay, Doing Crime

Ilya's pulled quite a few of these internet pranks on Shane and Harris always loves them so, eager to get one over on his husband, Shane sets up his phone, makes sure the camera is rolling, and sits down at their kitchen island with his morning smoothie. When Ilya makes his way into the room, Shane offers him a sip of his drink, which Ilya happily takes, with a softly spoken "thank you, любовь." Shane knows he doesn't like his smoothies but they've reached an agreement, where Ilya will always taste it and, in return, Shane won't make him drink a full glass.

Shane then carefully wipes off the rim of the glass with a napkin before sipping it himself.

He can see Ilya freeze up in his periphery and Shane can feel every nerve ending tingle as he desperately tries to remain nonchalant, so as to not give the prank away.

"What was that?" Ilya asks, his voice perfectly level, if slightly cold.

"Nothing," Shane tells him, trying not to vibrate out of his skin, trying not to look at the camera.

"Was not nothing," Ilya replies. "What did you do?"

Shane shrugs, "just wiped the glass."

"Why?" Shane makes the mistake of looking directly at Ilya and can feel a thrill shoot up his spine. He's not afraid of his husband but in that moment he can understand why some people are. Ilya looks imposing. His mouth a thinly drawn line, his eyes steely, arms crossed over his bare chest in a way that makes his already impressive biceps and pecs bulge out. Shane's throat suddenly feels dry.

"Hygiene?" It comes out sounding like a question, weak and croaky.

Ilya slowly raises his eyebrows before repeating Shane's answer back to him. "Hygiene," he says. He lets the word sit there between them for a while, as though to give Shane the chance to retract it.

He doesn't.

The footage never gets shared and when JJ asks Shane if he ever went through with the prank, he blushes from the roots of his hair down to his chest. He thinks he says no. He knows it's not believable. JJ doesn't press the matter but the look in his eye makes Shane fear he knows exactly what went down. Although, he can't, can he? How could he?

There's no way he can tell, just by looking at Shane, that Ilya slowly walked over to him and grabbed his glass before tugging at the drawstring of his sweatpants, letting them drop to the floor. He can't know how Ilya took himself in hand and tugged at himself, eyes firmly on Shane who sat at their kitchen island and watched on, frozen, as Ilya brought himself to climax straight into Shane's smoothie. He can't know how he walked over to their cutlery drawer and swirled it into Shane's drink before bringing the glass back over and sitting down, watching Shane expectantly. He can't know how Shane felt like every muscle in his body had locked up as he watched the display, nor how quickly he reacted when Ilya simply said, "drink." There's no way he knows that Shane drained the glass. He doesn't know the intensity of Ilya's gaze as Shane swallowed it down. He doesn't know how he then stood and grasped Shane's face with the same hand he had brought himself off with, hooking his fingers behind Shane's bottom teeth to open his mouth, as though to ensure that he had indeed swallowed it all down, before he spat into his mouth and closed it, tilting his head back to watch Shane's Adam's apple bob as Ilya's saliva slid down the back of his throat. He doesn't know how Ilya patted his cheek before walking out of the room. He doesn't know how long Shane sat there, completely immobile, his cock fully hard and straining against his trousers, before he gained enough awareness to collect his phone and stop the recording.

Like, when I think of book!Shane especially, he’s been with women, even before Rose. He’s not a total shut-in. It’s very occasional and rare, but he does hook up sometimes and it’s like… rote. He’s doing it because he thinks he should and he thinks he ought to enjoy it and he thinks he ought to enjoy women. There’s one point in HR where he mulls over not understanding why some guys like eating girls out because it’s just, like, not doing it for him.

And! I think it’s also crucial to remember! Shane never DENIES that he likes men. His comphet does not actually feature denial of his desire for men — the reason he tries to deny his desire for Ilya isn’t because he’s a man, it’s because he’s Rozanov and because there’s the fear of feelings. Not cuz he’s a dude.

No, Shane’s arc is so interesting to me because it’s not a story of realizing or discovering his queerness. He’s not, like, figuring out that he likes men. He’s figuring out that he doesn’t like women.

And I think that’s so interesting! Shane Hollander, golden boy of hockey, forcing himself to fit the mold and also go above and beyond, he thinks for a long time “okay, I want to fuck men and that’s fine, whatever, but I’ll find a nice girl and settle down someday” and he thinks it’s the first part that is making him feel trapped and panicky and scared, but NO! It’s the second! It’s the trappings (literally) of heteronormativity that has him reeling! He’s convinced himself it’s an option, just like it’s hypothetically an option for Ilya, and the tuna melt scene emotional overflow scares him because he’s thinking oh fuck, I have these options and I might choose the “wrong” (re: not straight) one

The moment he realizes “I don’t want to fuck women,” when Rose makes him confront that he’s gay and not bi?? That’s when he’s like “oh. That doesn’t have to be the choice I make. That doesn’t have to be an option for me. I don’t have to like women”

It’s liberating for him. It lets him open up, lets him let the feelings in.

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“You want to fuck my husband.”

Luca’s gaze darts around the locker room, as if Shane could be talking to anyone else. Praying he’s talking to anyone else. But it’s just the two of them, and Luca is a cornered rabbit, scrubbed rosy from the shower and pinned under Shane’s unflinching stare.

“Wh—what?” Luca asks, digging in his duffel for a clean t-shirt. He needs something to do with his hands or the shake in his fingers will give him away.

But Shane is lightning-fast, those hockey reflexes put to sudden good use as his fingers circle Luca’s wrist in a crushing hold. Then Shane smirks—he fucking smirks—and that hold might be the only thing keeping Luca upright.

“You want to fuck Ilya,” Shane repeats, softly, slowly, like Luca is a little bit dumb, and maybe he is. A noise escapes his lips, somewhere between a gasp and a whine. God, what must Shane think of him. Lusting after his husband like some obvious, cheap whore.

“It’s okay, Haasy,” Shane says, his thumb rubbing a gentle circle on the underside of Luca’s wrist, where the skin is thinnest and the heat of him threatens to burn right through. He’s never heard Shane like this—simpering and a little bit mean. “I’ve thought about letting you do it, you know that?”