take Ilya's dick out of your mouth before you talk

Ilya stares. He doesn't even try not to, because every tiny bit of his energy is now being spent on not hauling the asshole in by the collar and punching his lights out.

"Holy shit, dude," the loud guy says. "I told you guys, I fucking knew the MHL awards were being held here." He holds out his hand and Ilya takes it on autopilot. "I'm a huge fan, Mr. Rozanov. I mean obviously fuck the Raiders, but you're a fucking legend!"

Ilya nods politely. His eyes are dragged back to Brian, who looks kind of like he wants to murder his friend.

"We're from Montreal," another guy explains and right, Ilya isn't supposed to know that. "The Raiders are great-"

"Fucking take that back, Todd!"

"-Charlie's just dedicated to the home team."

"Best fucking team in sports," Charlie crows. "And best fucking center - I mean - fuck."

Ilya does smile at that, small but sincere. "Is fine. Hollander is a good player, they don't give MVP to just anyone."

"That's fucking right!"

Charlie would have made a good hockey player, Ilya thinks. He already has the vocabulary for it.

"Shit, man," Todd says. "Never thought I'd hear Ilya Rozanov say anything nice about Shane Hollander."

This is Ilya's cue to say something sarcastic or shitty, to play into the rivalry for the fans. He can't bring himself to do it, can't even find the words that usually come so easily.

"It's true." He shrugs. "I respect Hollander, he's the only one who can keep up with me. We came up together, we are alone at the top. The game would be less fun without him."

There's a lump in his throat as he finishes speaking and Ilya clears his throat, hoping they didn't hear it. Nothing he said was a lie but it's such a small fraction of the truth, it almost hurts to say.

"Fuck," Charlie says, sniffling. "That was beautiful, dude."

"Is he here?" another guy in the group asks, silent until now. His polo is an unfortunate lime green. "Hollander, I mean. I would actually give my first born to shake his hand."

Todd laughs. "I'm sure Heather would love to hear that."

Lime green polo shakes his head. "She'd agree, man. He's her hallpass, I think she'd just ask him to help her make a new one."

"I'm going out for a smoke," Brian announces, sudden and loud.

He sounds drunk, too, and Ilya feels briefly satisfied that he's probably been drowning his sorrows all day while Shane ignores his sad bids for attention.

But Ilya is in the same boat now, isn't he? He's also been rejected by Shane, only he won't be given the thousandth chance he doesn't deserve to come crawling back into his good graces.

The satisfaction evaporates in an instant, leaving a hollow pit in Ilya's stomach. That can't be how this ends, can it?

"Sorry about him," Todd says as soon as Brian is gone. "He's not a hockey fan, you know."

Ilya waves a hand, distracted. "Is okay. I have to go back to the party."

They all grab his hand to shake it before he leaves, but thankfully none of them ask for pictures. Probably they'd be drawn and quartered once they returned to Montreal if they did.

The party is in a banquet hall, a long corridor away from the bar. Ilya has no intention of going back; he's got his eyes on a small exit to the smoking area outside.

Brian is alone there, leaning against the wall and huffing on his cigarette like it owes him money. His head snaps up when he sees Ilya and his shoulders stiffen as he immediately draws himself to his full height.

"Come to gloat?" he scoffs. "Cute stunt you pulled earlier, not that it changes anything."

Ilya considers him coolly. The anger simmering in his veins is overwhelming and it's a conscious effort to keep his arms still at his side. Every time he thinks of Shane up in that penthouse, his incredulous why would you want me?, a fresh wave of anger pours over him, tinting his vision a hazy red.

Ilya isn't a violent man - not off the ice - but he supposes there are exceptions to everything.

The only thing keeping him from starting a fight now is knowing Shane wouldn't want him to.

"If you say so," he says mildly.

Brian glares at him. "I do say so. Shane wants a regular hookup and you're convenient, that doesn't mean shit. You think he'd actually want you for anything more?"

It lands like a blow to the chest and Ilya clenches his jaw, desperate not to let it show. To let Brian know the vulnerable spot he discovered by accident, the raw wound at the center of him.

"You know what I think?" he says. "I think you don't believe that. I think you're talking bullshit because you're scared."

Brian goes pale. He chucks the cigarette away, takes half a step towards Ilya. He seems to catch himself a moment later, maybe realizing that there is no scenario in which he could win a physical fight against Ilya.

"You don't know shit," he bites out, red faced. "You know where I'll be while you're rotting away in fucking Russia? With Shane, at his cottage."

Ilya's heart drops.

It must show, because Brian grins, smug and vicious. "That's right. And you know what else? Next week, I'm meeting his parents."

"You're lying," Ilya says reflexively. A child's response.

"We're getting more serious," Brian continues blithely. "Closing the relationship. Glad you had fun today, because it was the last time you're touching him."

He must be lying, because Shane would have told Ilya. Nothing that happened earlier today or tonight suggested the relationship was headed anywhere except towards total collapse.

But even if it is all a lie, Brian doesn't know what happened between them. He doesn't know Shane threw Ilya out of his room. So maybe he's lying to fake confidence in their relationship but if he knew the full story, would he even feel the need?

Ilya isn't so sure.

"It would ruin him," he tells Brian, because that much he is sure of. "You know this, yes? Staying with you, it would kill his heart."

For a moment, doubt flickers across Brian's face. It's replaced almost immediately by hot fury and then he's reeling back, swinging for Ilya's face.

Ilya dodges easily. Raises his fist, punches back.

(It's self-defense, Hollander. No judging.)

It's not even a particularly hard punch but there is blood on Brian's lips and he clutches his cheek, staring at Ilya wide-eyed and pale.

"Have a nice night," Ilya says.

Brian says nothing in response, still looking shocked.

Ilya leaves. As he's headed for the elevator, he checks his phone.