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Ilya and Shane arrive separately to the Gala de Charité in Paris at the Maison Des Polytechniciens. The vaulted ceilings are dimly lit, providing a cozy atmosphere to the charity event benefiting the Olympic support of the Arts in Paris. Soft music plays from a stringed quartet in the far end of the large space, and small tables are scattered throughout to promote close quarter conversations, no doubt to ensure confident and large donations to the organization.
Ilya sees Shane first, blushing as the French Prime Minister shakes his hand and no doubt complements him on his achievements this year, probably wishing that he could represent the French team instead of the Canadians. Shane has been a life saver during this trip. English was a challenge to master over the last decade and a half, but Ilya has gotten more comfortable with it. French was different beast entirely. The freckle faced, blushing man that he adored so fully, had taken him to museums, restaurants, and even a café for a late treat one night translating beautifully as Ilya stared on in wonder. If Hayden were here he'd surely make a comment about their ‘heart eyes'.
The Russian was happy to see his amour flourish in the city, comforted by his fluency and confidence he'd gained over the last few years. They still weren't a public couple yet, so certain outings were group events but it wasn't uncommon to see players from their respective sports hanging out together for this event. They were still flying under the radar, and happily spending time together, in public. Ilya felt like this was a taste of what his future would be with Shane.
His eyes danced across the crowd, noting the political dignitaries, fellow athletes from other countries who had come to support - boring Canadians, loud Americans, and - oh, there were a few of his former Russian team mates here. He walked to the bar to refill his glass as he closed in on the group, focusing in to see who he'd recognized and mentalling cataloguing topics he'd need to field and contribute to. His eyes caught on his former Junior coach… and if Sergio was here, that meant. Fuck, he mumbled to himself. Panic seized as his chest as his eyes widened and he looked for Shane. Shane was nowhere to be found in the sea of tuxedos and elegant dresses. They'd already agreed to stay relatively far away from each other tonight, but in this moment, he needed to know where the other man was.
After receiving a generous pour of vodka, he turned to gain distance between himself and his former team mates. He would connect with them later, but for now, Canada was his home and he was well on his way to citizenship. As he wandered through the crowd he noticed Shane speaking to someone whose face he couldn't see. Shane was doing that awkward stance with his thumbs looped into his pocket, clearly uncomfortable, with a soft blush blooming under his freckles. And then, he let out a soft chuckle, with a laugh? Ilya recognized it immediately. Shane was flirting. Flirting with a strange man?
Ilya looked on for a moment longer, watching as the man circled the table to stand closer to him. Once his face came into view, Ilya lost his control. He quickly threw back the remainder of his drink and walked with purpose to his boyfriend, and Sasha.
—
Shane wanted nothing more than to have Ilya by his side. He wanted the comfort of a familiar face at an event that he had no desire to be at. He'd hidden his embarrassment to the best of his ability but felt his face heat with the compliments he received, they always felt more deliberate in French.
“What can I offer you?” The bartender asked in smooth French. Shane wasn't entirely sure how he got to the secondary bar, and fumbled with the question, not due to lack of understanding of the language, but due to the lack of understanding of what he could order in this space. Gingerale wasn't frowned upon as a beverage, but at a gala it might raise suspicions. “What can I offer you?” The bartender repeated again in English. Shane shook himself from his internal panic and muttered the first thing he could think of:
“Champagne, please.” The bartender smiled at him and asked a few simple questions in French which Shane politely responded to, but couldn't think over the fact that he'd be drinking champagne again. Memories of sharing a bottle with Ilya sprang fourth to his mind, tasting the sweet bubbles on his tongue.
He shook his head and moved to a table at the edge of the room, standing with his glass in hand, swirling it mindlessly silently counting down the minutes remaining before he could politely leave and go to Ilya's room.
“You know, these events don't have to be boring, right handsome?”
His eyes darted up to meet deep green eyes crickled with a devilish smile. Shane was taken aback by the thick accent surrounding the perfect French.
“They never have to be, yet they always are.” He responded, shifting so that he stood straighter, looping his thumbs into his pockets for comfort. As the words left his mouth the man took a few steps around the table, moving to step closer to him.
“Ah, so you don't want to have fun then? Fun can always be found if you're looking in the right places.”
Shane laughed to himself and felt a blush creep onto his face, “Yes I want to have fun,” The man scooted closer now, their shoulders were almost touching, “but I've found that when you go looking for fun, you generally find trouble.”
“Yes, this is true, but isn't trouble the best kind of fun?”
“Eh, I tend not to go looking for trouble,” Shane's eyes darted up to the other man's, momentarily flustered he chuckled to himself again, “but it does tend to find me.” A laugh escaped both of them, and the man placed a hand on Shane's forearm to steady himself.
“It looks like trouble has found you exactly where you stand, my dear.” Shane couldn't look away from the deep green eyes boring into his. His thoughts started swirling in his head when he noticed the other man lean onto the table, bringing his face closer to his. “And what do you say, cutie, to letting trouble take you somewhere new?” Shane's thoughts escaped him for a moment, a deafening silence ringing in his ears as he registered the hand still resting on his forearm.
“Hollander.” Ilya appeared, standing just beside the man speaking with Shane, and, honestly, he was standing a little too close for their supposed rivalry turned budding friendship. “Sasha.” he deadpanned, “What are you doing here?” The sudden switch to Russian gave Shane a pause. He looked between the two men, Ilya looking like he'd just lost the cup again, and Sasha, apparently, looking smug.
“You two know each other?” Sasha’s face twisted into confusion at the sudden change in language, but smiled menacingly at and idea brewing in his mind. Ilya hated that look, he knew it meant trouble, the kind he used to chase. But here, with Shane, he'd have none of it.
“Rozanov, who is this? A team mate?” Ilya, who had been glaring at Sasha, turned to Shane and his features softened at the confusion on his boyfriends face. He hated when Shane called him Rozanov unless it was in the bedroom, but he was trying to train himself to remain calm whenever he heard his last name fall from those lips.
“Yes, is um, old friend from Russia.”
“What are you telling him, cutie?” Sasha asked, interrupting their conversation. Shane's ears perked up at the familiar endearment, looking again between his boyfriend and this, tall, green eyed, bilingual, definitely NOT attractive man, who'd removed his hand from his forearm to trace his long fingers along the table. Shane's eyes darted down to watch and then immediately darted back to Ilya's as he spoke again.
“What, you don't speak English?” Ilya snapped.
“Didn't seem important enough to learn, but I see with your friend here, it might be worth it. Though…” Sasha paused, eyeing Shane over hungrily, having noticed the way his hands attracted his gaze. “You know Ilya?” He lifted his fingers to his lips, just to gauge Shane's interest. He wasn't disappointed when he saw the man track his every movement.
Shane cleared his throat before he responded, “Yes, we both play hockey in Canada.” there was a question in his voice, “How do you know Rozanov?”
“Ah, so you are not close then if you are still using last names.” Shane was starting to feel trapped. Trapped between this man who clearly knew his boyfriend, and his boyfriend who was still positioning him far to closely for them to continue their facade of friendship.
“We're acquainted.” He said quickly, looking back to Ilya for reassurance.
“What are you doing, Sasha?” Ilya demanded, leaning forward crowding Shane further, no doubt aiming to intimidate the other man.
“So you are not just friends, then?” Sasha asked, looking back a flustered Shane.
“Hollander, you told him we are friends?”
“I told him we play hockey together!” Shane was getting visibly flustered, and Ilya wasn't sure how to communicate that the man he was being flustered by was his… what was Sasha to him? Certainly not an ex, but how could he communicate this effectively without making this situation exponentially worse.
“He is my boyfriend, back off Sasha.”
“Ah, so you are not just friends. You are more than, how did you say?” Sacha raised a hand to wipe away invisible lint from Shane's shoulder, “Acquainted?”
“What did you tell him Ilya?” Shane's eyes didn't leave Sasha’s for a moment, finally registering just how much the man had touched him with his boyfriend looking on. Something was happening here that he hadn't realized, not that being the last to understand a social dynamic was new for him - but with Ilya it very rarely happened.
“I told him truth, he can know.” Shane's eyes snapped to Ilya's face, confusion and frustration warring in his eyes on an otherwise neutral face.
“Why can he know?” Ilya finally looked back to Shane after staring daggers into Sasha.
“He can know, my love, because he,” Ilya took a deep breath, looking back at Sasha who was now looking on in interest, curious as to what Ilya was saying after throwing out such a sincere form of endearment, “do you remember that first night? After the photoshoot?”
“Yes?” Shane's cheeks heated at the memory of their first night together.
“Do you remember how I told you I had been with… others?”
Shane's eyes left Ilya's hesitant gaze to stare into Sasha's. “You're the coach's son.”
“Oh, is that what he told you?” Sasha smirked, reaching across the table to touch Ilya's arm now. He moved it immediately out of reach and almost wrapped his arm around Shane before he remembered himself. “I wasn't just the coach's son, but if that's what he calls me, that's what I'll be.”
“What does that mean?” Shane looked between Ilya and Sasha, seeing nothing but curiosity and desire in Sasha's face, and angst and annoyance in Ilya's.
“It means, handsome, that I taught him everything he knows, and I'm almost certain that I could teach you a thing or two as well.” He reached for Shane who had finally pieced together the pieces, but he stepped out of reach knocking into his boyfriend in the process.
“Ilya, who the FUCK is this guy?”
“What the fuck are you doing, Sasha?” Ilya's voice was louder now. He gripped Shane by the shoulders to steady him, clearly done with the games he didn't know the rules to.
“Just extending a friendly invitation to you boyfriend, should he ever get bored of the old moves I know you're still using.” Ilya's face warped into a look of disgust before looking to the side of his boyfriends flushed face. He'd seen how flustered Shane had gotten, he'd noticed the coloring under his freckles. He knew that Shane had felt something during their interaction, but the thought of anyone else seeing Shane, knowing him, the way that Ilya did, caused bile to rise in his throat.
“Your freckles have almost turned red, it makes me wonder if you are curious at all?” Sasha purred. Shane looked back to Ilya, wondering what conversation had just happened that he wasn't privy to.
“I'm not.” Shane said softly. His brain had gone completely blank and words were becoming difficult to muster. He was becoming a shell of himself, something he hadn't felt since the season where he and Ilya weren't speaking. He'd lost himself to the moment, not in pleasure, but in a wordless stupor, frozen like a deer in headlights.
“Has anyone ever told you, that you are a bad liar?” Sasha's face was alight with mischief, grinning like the cheshire cat. He moved around the table, walking to stand between the two men, dipping to make sure they could hear his lowered voice “You know what makes me curious?” He continued, asking neither of them in particular, “I would be curious to hear the sounds you both make. How you both might sound as you come undone.” Shane gasped and straighted, Ilya did not like what was happening here. Shane was being affected and he couldn't register if it was with excitement or panic.
“What do you think Ilya? Are you curious to know all of the sounds this sweet boy could make for the both of us?”
“Fuck off, Sasha.”
“He's not saying no.” Anxiety built in Ilya's chest. He couldn't tell what was being said, all he could tell was that Shane had become stiff, concerningly so, and Ilya was beginning to worry that he might have to see his boyfriend and his… and Sasha together. His stomach twisted at the idea.
“Hollander,” It came out shaky, so Ilya cleared his throat, “Shane, my little sun, tell me what you are thinking.”
“I'm thinking I want to leave.” Shane said in a soft voice, clearly uncomfortable with what was happening.
“We're leaving.” Ilya said flatly, finally bringing a hand to Shane's lower back to help him start the motion of leaving. He hated seeing Shane freeze like this.
“But we were just getting started.” Sasha called behind them. Ilya felt Shane go even more rigid, “Call me if you get curious love, Ilya has my number.”
Shane snapped out of it and saw red. He stepped away from Ilya's embrace and turned to lunge at Sasha, but Ilya was faster.
“He's not worth it, my love.” Ilya tried to sooth Shane as his breathing became heavy. His cheeks were a scarlet red and tears had sprung into the corners of his eyes. Ilya could tell he was furious at whatever Sasha had said. “What did you say to him?” Ilya demanded.
“I just told him if he changes his mind that you could call me later. You sill have my number right?”
“Yes, saved under hui s’gory. Fuck off, Sasha.”
Shane left first, under the guise of a cool down, as Ilya went to the bar to return Shane's barely touched glass.
They were leaving before the auction started, and before the speeches began, but the press had gotten their photoshoot. They'd fulfilled their requirements of mentioning the Irina Foundation at least five times each.
Ilya found Shane around the corner from the venue. They stared at each other for a moment, basking in the quiet rumbling of the city after such a heated moment in a crowded room. They had just had a tense moment, but now, one on one in the most romantic city in the world, they were free to enjoy Paris.
Completely alone.
Together.