Moving Forward

Hollandry confirmed! Close insider gives the tell-all scoop on this top-star romance! They are there when he wakes up each morning. When he scrolls his phone during breaks at practice. And they are the last thing he sees before he goes to bed at night. Blocking the tag would be the smart thing to do. All of them—Hollander, Landry, Hollandry, every movie title she's ever been in. A smart man would cut himself off. But his father's voice reminds him: Ilya is a stupid boy, and he is lazy. It consumes him to a sickening degree, and for a time, it is explanation enough for the nausea. He is so wrapped up in his own head that it manifests in his stomach, cutting his appetite and keeping him awake long after he should be asleep. The soreness that lingers in his muscles—chest included—is the result of pushing himself and his team so hard. They are small things, unrelated and easily caused by anything else. But the longer it goes on, the more familiar the sensations begin to feel. The door in his mind widens to the chance that just maybe he had not been as careful as he had thought. Ilya is a grown adult. He does not need Svetlana to do his shopping for him nor sit outside the bathroom while he waits. He can do it on his own.

"Good, yes?" he teases. That moan told him it was more than good. Fantastic, even. "Shit, yeah. Fuck yeah. It's never—" Shane exhales rather than finishing the sentence. "Better than pussy?" "Shut the fuck up," he laughs, rolling into him. His dark brown eyes stare into Ilya's, and this—this moment in time—it feels perfect. Something tender and beautiful, he can sense it growing between them. Maybe even hope, which has always been dangerous for Russian boys nestling sadness in their hearts. He had hoped Mama would wake up. He had hoped Alexei would have changed again. That his older brother might continue to love him after that summer of clubs. But then Ilya had gotten his MLH money a few years later, and the truth had come out. And he had hoped that America would have embraced him. It welcomed him, yes, but as a casual friend, not family. A show pony to be brought out on occasion and then ignored when he was off the ice. His dual citizenship paperwork stalled some time ago, the answer as to why not forthcoming. But he shoves those things aside. Right now, he has a beautiful, slow hockey player with the most gorgeous freckles staring at him with so much affection, and it makes him smile. Shane gifts him with an equally dumb curve of his lips before burying his face in Ilya's shoulder. Voice dopey with intermingled satisfaction and fatigue, Shane jokes, "I think I finally understand why you always want a cigarette after sex." "I can offer you tuna melt," Ilya grins. No smoking for Shane Hollander. Not on his watch.