Shotgun Smiles

Something sours in Ilya's gut. It's not like he expected Hollander to dump his boyfriend of seven years after one night with him.... except who does he think he's kidding, that is absolutely what he thought.

After a night like that? Ilya doesn't think anyone should blame him. He doubts fucking Brian ever made Hollander come hands free, not if he can't even be bothered to eat him out.

"Are you okay?"

Ilya responds by biting the soft flesh of Hollander's thigh, grinning when Hollander gasps, hips twitching upwards.

He's just gonna have to keep going, he decides. One night was not enough but a few weeks or months of consistently amazing sex should do the trick. Ilya doesn't exactly love the idea of sharing Hollander for that long, but he can be patient.

To start with, tonight he'll suck Hollander's soul out of his dick.

But first, he'll make sure to wipe out every trace of his terrible boyfriend from Hollander's body and mind.

With that thought, Ilya places his mouth over the bruise and bites.

+

The first game of the season proper Boston beats Montreal and after, Ilya fucks Hollander in his own bed.

Hollander is tense when they start out. Maybe like Ilya, he's thinking of the fact that this is the bed where he sleeps with his boyfriend. Ilya doesn't mind; enjoys, in fact, putting Hollander on his hands and knees and fucking the tension out of him until he can barely stay upright.

They collapse on the mattress in the aftermath, sticky with sweat. Ilya turns his head to watch Hollander as they catch their breath, feeling smug at the dazed expression on his face.

"Where is your boyfriend tonight?" Ilya asks.

There were no hickeys this time but he's still fairly certain Hollander's relationship status hasn't changed and he wants to find out for sure.

"At home," Hollander says. "His place, I mean. We don't actually live together, it would be a logistical nightmare to keep hidden. He spends some nights here, I spend some nights at his, we make it work."

"Does he know I'm here?"

Hollander glances at him. "Why?"

Ilya shrugs one shoulder. "Just curious."

"Oh." Hollander's expression twists, lips tugging in a frown. "No, he doesn't. He doesn't tell me about other people, either. I don't wanna know."

"Sound healthy," Ilya says dryly.

"Fuck you. Don't you need to have been in a relationship to know what a healthy one looks like?"

Ilya resists the urge to tell Hollander that his relationship is so dysfunctional, a blind dog could see it. He doesn't feel like being thrown out of bed just yet.

"What about me?" he asks instead. "Do I get to know if you fuck anyone else?"

Hollander looks at him, startled. "Who else would I fuck?"

Ilya blinks. "Who - anyone you want to? You are aware that you're Shane Hollander, yes?"

Hollander's cheeks go bright red. It's a nice color on him, Ilya thinks.

"I know I'm successful," he mutters, like that's not a massive understatement. "But it's not like I could go out to a bar and pick someone up, you know? You're the only person besides Brian who knows I'm gay. I don't know how to find someone else I could trust to keep it secret."

"Hm." Ilya understands; it's the same reason men have been such a rare indulgence for him. It's also a sad reality he has no interest in dwelling on. "I see. So I am, what, last resort?"

Hollander rolls his eyes. "Oh, fuck off. You've got a different girl hanging off your arm every week, your ego doesn't need any more stroking."

"Still keeping up with me in the tabloids, I see."

Hollander smacks him in the face with a pillow.

+

shane’s stomach drops. he pulls away, looking for his shirt. the millisecond he manages to spare on noticing ilya’s face devastates him, but he doesn’t have time he has to move he needs to get out. through the itch at the back of his tongue, he scrambles off ilya’s lap, mumbling something about having to go, and bolts to the bedroom where his stuff is.

he’s crouched at his duffel bag, rifling through the pocket where his epipen lives—it has to be in that pocket, it’s never been anywhere else he’s never put it anywhere else—and his throat is starting to close as ilya finally catches up to him, and he’s saying something that shane can’t understand because where the fuck is his epipen oh god it’s getting hard to breathe fuck where is it—

his pinky finger brushes the hard plastic of the case, which he whips open to dump the auto-injector out into his right hand. he pops the safety cap off and swings down to stab himself in the thigh.

he’s still too panicked to take a full breath, but at least he’s not actively dying. he looks up at ilya to ask him to call an ambulance, but before the word “can” fully leaves his mouth, he stops at the look on ilya’s face. in one word: terrified. in two: terrified, devastated.

“i’ll be okay,” shane says. “i just need you to call an ambulance.” at the refreshed panic in ilya’s wide eyes, he repeats, “i’ll be okay. it’s just—the first thing they teach you when you get diagnosed with a life-threatening allergy, you always call an ambulance after using an epipen.” ilya doesn’t relax, but he manages to pull himself together enough to nod and pull his phone out of his pocket to dial 911.

they wait in the kitchen until they hear sirens.

“do you want—”

“could you—” they speak at the same time.

“sorry. you first,” shane says, ever canadian even when he just almost died.

ilya waves, head jerking in a single nod.

“okay. um. i know this is probably weird to ask, and you can totally say no and i won’t be mad or anyth—”

“hollander.”

“will you ride to the hospital with me? please?” shane rushes out, the request sounding like one single word.

“i…”

shane shakes his head a little. “seriously, it’s okay, you don’t have to come. it was stupid of me to ask, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make y—”

“shane. is okay. i will come to hospital with you. you should not go alone.”

shane nods once, and when the medics knock on the door, ilya is there to let them in.

"a cigarette? are you joking?" shane sits up incredulously, brow furrowed, "no, i like being in peak athletic form, thank you very much."

ilya rolls his eyes, reaching over to tap the tip of his cig against the ash tray at his bedside, "one cigarette is not going to do anything, hollander," he says matter-of-factly, "and i am also in peak athletic form by the way, if you had not noticed."

shane scoffs, "that's what you think. who knows what your performance would be like if you weren't inhaling those death sticks every hour of every day."

"is not that much."

"coulda fooled me."

ilya raises an eyebrow, "hollander, you're not actually mad about this are you? i will not force you to smoke a cigarette. you are fine."

"i know," shane grumbles, beginning to ease off the bed, eyes searching for his underwear discarded somewhere on the floor, "i just think you're being stupid, that's all."

"oh, that's all?" sardonic as always, ilya takes another puff, this time not bothering to exhale in the opposite direction. smoke trails past his lips and hovers over the center of the bed between the two of them.

shane stares. "seriously, what's the appeal? what was ever the appeal, before you started?"

ilya shrugs, lips downturned, "i don't know. is what everyone was doing. my friends, my brother. just seemed like normal thing."

"how old were you? when you had your first one?"

"twelve."

shane blinks. once, twice. his brow furrows even more, which ilya didn't think was possible. "you were twelve years old when you started smoking," he states.

another shrug, "was normal."

"that's crazy, rozanov," shane is staring at the cigarette now, and ilya sees something in his eyes that he can't place. he looks focused and yet far away, like he's trying to reconcile something in his mind.

"why? because i was having fun while you were watching mickey mouse?"

"because you- your body should not be in the condition it's in if it's been over ten years since you started. that doesn't make any sense. i don't think i've ever even heard you cough." shane seems to be spiraling a little, and ilya's not really sure why.

"why does it matter?" he asks with another shrug, "i am healthy, so no big deal."

"but it won't always be that way," shane is still halfway off the bed, one leg next to ilya's under the sheets while the other rests naked on the edge, like he's not sure if he wants to get up or stay seated, "it'll catch up to you eventually, it always does."

another shrug, "then i will quit."

"just like that? easy?"

"easy."

shane shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips, "you're unbelievable."

"thank you," ilya grins and taps the cig again, "and the offer still stands."

"...offer?"

"if you want to try, just ask."

shane breathes out through his nose, part laugh part huff, and finally pulls himself out of the bed. ilya watches, cigarette in hand, as shane nakedly crosses the room to pick up his briefs.

"no shower?" ilya asks; it's not a tease.

"nah, i promised hayden i'd get dinner with him and some of the guys at four," shane tugs his underwear on, "and if we get a shower i'm gonna end up blowing you." ilya doesn't think he'll ever be over the nonchalance of shane hollander saying things like blowing you in his bedroom at three o'clock on a weekday. he twitches under the sheets.

"are you sure? can be quick."

shane laughs, grin wide and beautiful as he reaches for his t-shirt, "we can not be quick. you know that." and the crazy thing is, ilya does know that. because this has been going on for so long now that they just know these things. shane just knows he'll want to take his time with ilya's cock, he knows he'll be on his knees in the shower until his skin gets wrinkly and uncomfortable, he knows ilya will want to return the favor as soon as he's done.

ilya sniffs, the scent of smoke beginning to permeate throughout the room. he watches shane tug on his sweatpants. "tell hayden i said hi."

shane rolls his eyes, walking back over to the bed to grab his phone from the other nightstand. he unlocks it and skims his notifications briefly before stuffing it in his pocket and turning his attention back to ilya.

"two weeks?" he asks, a confirmation.

"two weeks," ilya echoes back with a nod, "c'mere."

shane flushes a little, ilya's favorite thing, and then he's kneeling on the bed to press a soft kiss to ilya's lips, eyelashes fanning gorgeously over his freckled cheeks. ilya kisses back with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, fingers tightening on the cig so it doesn't drop.

"you taste like smoke," shane mumbles against ilya's lips, but he doesn't pull away. instead he deepens the kiss a little, hand coming up to cup ilya's face tenderly.

"you like it," ilya murmurs, slipping his tongue into shane's mouth. shane groans a little, breath shaky, pulls away to peer down at ilya hazily. ilya nudges his nose against shane's, chasing his lips, "admit it."

"mmm..." shane's response is soft, light, thumb stroking the apple of ilya's cheek as they continue to kiss unhurriedly, like suddenly they have all the time in the world. ilya brings his hand up, cigarette still burning between his fingers, and holds it in front of his face, in front of shane's.

"you want to taste it, hollander?" he asks, voice low and hushed, "i won't tell."

shane's eyes are lidded and droopy, gaze falling to the cigarette growing smaller the longer he dawdles. he does seem to be thinking about it, and ilya figures he'll make the decision for him before he chickens out.

"come here," he murmurs, bringing the cig to his lips and his other hand to the back of shane's head. he cradles it, fingers scratching through shane's dark hair as he takes a slow puff. he uses his pinkie finger to tap shane's bottom lip.

shane doesn't move away, doesn't say no. instead, he closes his eyes and ilya watches as he opens his mouth. just enough to kiss. just enough for ilya to lean in and softly press their lips together. for him to carefully blow the exhaled smoke into shane's mouth. shane's eyelashes flutter, nose crinkling a bit - but he doesn't cough. he breathes slowly, precisely, like he somehow knows exactly what to do, inhaling obediently, taking it all into his throat and his athletic lungs.

"good?" ilya murmurs when he pulls away, and shane slowly opens his eyes. he's going to that place again, ilya can tell. that place ilya takes him so often. soft. docile. pliant.

"mhm," shane nods, blinking slowly. he's looking at ilya's lips.

"let's shower," ilya says softly, reaching behind him to press the remainder of the cigarette into the ashtray, dropping it from his fingers. he turns back to shane and strokes his cheek gently, thumbing his freckles, "hm? don't go yet." he's not usually this needy. or this obvious. but shane needs him now, they both know it.

"okay," shane mumbles, and a small tendril of smoke slips past his lips alongside the word.