Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The Bears locker room is fucking alive with an energy usually reserved for the playoffs. The reason being that it’s Coach LeClaire’s last game. At least, for the four months he’ll be on paternity leave while he and his wife welcome their first child.

“We’re going to fucking crush them!” Ilya screams at the top of his lungs. “And we’re going to win this fucking game for our fucking coach and show him that we are the best!”

The Bears roar their support, slamming sticks into the ground and jumping up off the benches, fully invigorated for the game against the Admirals.

Cliff claps Ilya on the back, “We’re gonna fucking kill them tonight.”

Ilya grins back, “Damn fucking right we are!”

Everyone senses the energy as soon as the Bears hit the ice. Their play is incredible, and everyone knows that even before the first faceoff, The Admirals are going to lose. But it doesn’t mean they’re going down without a fight.

Scott plays his heart out, and they’re neck and neck with The Bears, but Scott has to hand it to Ilya; the man is playing like a beast tonight. More so than usual.

“Where’s your head at Rozanov?” Scott asked during their faceoff, trying to get under his skin. He’s doing a piss poor job of that, and they both know it.

“Attached to my neck,” Ilya easily replies. “Do you not know basic human body?” A beat and then a smirk, “Also attached to my dick.”

Scott sighs, he should've seen that one coming.

“Ah,” Ilya says disappointed in himself, “Should have said that one first.”

The puck is dropped and Scott takes it, but not for long as Ilya steals it back and barrels towards the end zone. He scores and wins the game 5-4.

“Good game, good game, good game,” Scott shakes hands with the players before reaching Ilya. “Hey,” he says, grabbing him for a longer than necessary, “Next time you’re in New York, Kip wants to hang out.”

Ilya nods, “Ah, I forgot to text him back.”

“So?”

“Tell him yes, also I will reply.”

“Cool.” Scott claps him on the back and they part ways.

It’s a surreal feeling for Ilya as he skates back to the locker rooms with his team. He’s high on their win, he’s fucking friends with Scott Hunter and his boyfriend, regularly hangs out at The Kingfisher (something he never thought he’d be doing so openly), he bagged Shane fucking Hollander, and his last season with The Bears is going so damn well he’s certain he’s going to depart with a Stanley Cup.

The locker room is already filled with boisterous laughter, cheers and plans to go clubbing afterwards. LeClaire stands in the middle of the room laughing while he’s attacked by hugs and sprayed with water. Water because last time it was champaign and janitorial and management got pissed at them last time for doing it without proper room protection.

“Alright, alright!” LeClaire is laughing, shaking his head to flick off some water. “Incredible win tonight guys!” He’s met with roars of joy and celebration. LeClaire claps his hands, “Get changed, get clean and before you leave, I want to introduce my replacement.”

There are cheers of approval before everyone breaks off to shower and change.

“You going out with later?” Cliff asks as they head to the showers.

“What am I a monk?” Ilya snorts.

Cliff laughs, “Hardly. But you know since you’re with Jane now, isn’t going clubbing like… I don’t know, not okay?”

Ilya rolls his eyes and turns on the shower, “I am a taken man Marley, I can still have fun. I’m just not out to pick up girls.”

“She doesn’t get jealous when women try to flirt?” Cliff waggles his eyebrows.

“She does,” Ilya laughs, “But then I show her exactly why I’m never leaving her.”

Even though they’re not talking about Shane directly, Ilya had to admit it feels really fucking good to talk about him with Cliff. He came out earlier and it was much less… intense than he’d been expecting.

-

“Marley,” Ilya pulled him aside after practice.

“Yeah? What’s up?” Cliff looked at him taking in Ilya’s tense expression. “Is everything okay?”

Ilya swallowed hard. Fuck this was a lot scarier than it was coming out to Scott Hunter. “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh fuck, it’s serious.” Cliff reached out and guided Ilya to the benches. “Are you sick?”

Ilya shook his head, “No. Not… sick. I am… free agent next season.”

Cliff stared, “You’re leaving us?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

“No and yes,” Ilya answered, horrified that his voice cracked. Fuck he didn’t want to cry. He wasn’t going to.

“Hey look,” Cliff put a hand on Ilya’s back, “I’m your best friend, Roz. You can tell me anything.”

Ilya took a breath, “I’m moving to Ottawa.”

“Ottawa? They suck.”

“Yes,” Ilya sighed, “But it is closer to Montreal.”

Cliff’s face broke into a broad grin, “You dog! Montreal Jane got you locked down!”

Ilya smiled a little at that, “Yes. I want to spend forever with my Jane and this is… how do you say, child steps?”

“Baby steps.”

“That.”

“Well, I can’t be upset about that. I’m sure she-”

“He.” Ilya corrected before he lost the nerve.

“He?” Cliff repeated.

Ilya shut his eyes, his hands balled into fists. He was prepared to defend himself in case something went horribly wrong. “Yes, he. Jane is a man. I have boyfriend.”

“You’re gay?” Cliff asked.

“I’m bi.”

“Damn so he’s really special then?” Cliff smiled and automatically pulled Ilya into a hug. He ignored how Ilya was making his shirt wet. “So I get best man privileges right? Fuck, when do I get to meet him? He’s gotta be a stud right? Because no way are you pulling anything less than a ten.”

Ilya opened his eyes and laughed, “Yes, you get to be my best man when we get married. But we do not have plans for this yet. But no meeting yet, he is not out and would be very dangerous for both of us.”

“Oh fuck,” Cliff realized, “Fucking Russia right?”

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed, “Fucking Russia.”

-

“Who do you think it’ll be?” Cliff asks, nudging Ilya. They’re back in the locker rooms, already changed and putting away the last of their gear.

“Eh,” Ilya shrugs, slipping on his sneakers, “Probably some old retired coach. Good guy probably, but not as good as LeClaire.”

“It’s weird they haven’t announced it yet,” Cliff shoves the rest of his stuff into the cubby. “Last time we had a guest coach it was, what? The week or two before?”

“Maybe it’s a surprise,” Ilya finishes tying his shoes, “Coach said he was going to tell us today anyway.”

They look up to see LeClaire exiting the offices. “Alright! Listen up!” He shouts and the locker room goes silent. “I’d like to introduce the new coach who will be taking over for me for the next four months. Please welcome, Coach Dimitry Petrov!”

A well built Russian man with muscles that almost rival the players, steps out from behind the door. He grins and gives a short, friendly wave. The Bears roster explodes in whoops and cheers, giving the man a warm welcome.

“He comes to use from Russia,” LeClaire goes on to introduce, “Has been coaching for over 30 years and was a youth coach for a very long time. I hope you will all show him the same respect you give me.”

There’s more rounds of applause and Dimitry steps forward. “Thank you so much for the welcome,” His accent is thick and his eyes linger over each and every one of the players. They stop on Ilya, “I look forward to working with you.” There’s more cheering and applause. Dimitry steps back and LeClaire tells everyone to go home or celebrate.

Ilya feels his stomach dropping and his heart racing out of his chest. Dimitry Petrov. He’d been one of Ilya’s coaches back in Russia when he was a kid, alongside Sasha’s father. And now he was here, in fucking Boston. He thought maybe he’d have some kind of karmic immunity after surviving under him; leave Russia and never see the fucker again. But apparently, the universe wanted to fuck him again.

“You’re Ilya Rozanov, right?” Dimirty walks up to Ilya and holds out his hand with a smile. “Captain, yes?”

Ilya nods, “Yes.” Did… did Dimitry not recognize him? Was he so old he was becoming like Grigori? A little spark of hope shot through him. He could do this, he could survive this again. Four months, and then he’d be gone for good. And besides, he’s older now. He’s not a kid, he’s not Dimirty’s type anymore.

Dimitry shakes his hand, “Great, I’d love to get your thoughts on the team and how we can best work together.”

“Sure,” Ilya replies, keeping up appearances.

“When you’re done here, meet me in the office. It won’t take long.”

He nods.

Cliff watches Ilya talking to the new coach. There’s something about it that doesn’t sit right with him. He knows Ilya well enough to see the signs of discomfort, past the false bravado, and performances. And with the new coach… Ilya seems uneasy. Granted, no one other than Cliff would be able to tell but… it’s not like there’s anything outwardly wrong or anything that screams ‘danger’. It’s just… a vibe.

Petrov had just asked Ilya to meet him in the offices to talk about the team dynamics so why did Ilya look so stiff? They shook hands and Cliff notes how Ilya wipes his hand on his jeans afterwards.

“Rozy, do you know him?” Cliff asks when Ilya steps away to grab his bag.

“Ah, yes. Kind of.” Ilya shrugs, “He used to be my coach in Russia.”

“He was!?” St-Simon overhears, butting into their conversation.

“Dammit Vic,” Cliff curses internally, “I wanted to talk to Ilya about this.”

Ilya nods, “But he coached so many kids, I don’t think he remembers me.”

“No fucking way!” Connors approaches now.

Cliff curses again. “Back the fuck off!” He wants to shout.

“If I was a coach for the Ilya Rozanov, I’d definitely remember.” Connors laughs. “Especially with you being the number one fucking draft pick.”

Ilya shrugs, “Was not for long. He was my coach when I was thirteen until I was sixteen. So, was only a few years.”

“That’s still so fucking cool though,” St-Simon goes on, “Even if he doesn’t remember you.” He claps Ilya on the back, “You coming to the clubs?”

“We’ll see,” Ilya grins, “But probably yes.” He hasn’t told anyone else about “Jane” and doesn’t plan to. He doesn’t need that kind of attention.

“My man!” Connors nods at Cliff, “Marley?”

“Obviously,” Cliff replies. “We’ll see you there.”

Connors and St-Simon leave, calling back that they’ll drop the club name in the group chat.

“You go ahead,” Ilya gestures at the door, “I need to talk to coach.”

“Nah, I’ll wait.” Cliff sits. There’s something that tells him to stay. He can’t fucking ignore it. He’d grown up with an older sister and witnessed first hand how important gut checks and intuitions are. There had been many (far too many in his opinion) potentially dangerous situations they’d managed to get out of because of her. So, he’s not leaving, not until he’s walking out those doors with Ilya.

Ilya gives him a confused look, “Okay? But it might be awhile.”

“My phone is fully charged,” is all he says.

Ilya nods his confused acceptance and marches himself to Dimitry’s office. His name plaque is on the door and he can see the lights on from under the crack. He lifts a hand and knocks.

-

“Hurry up, Rozanov!” Ilya hears Dimitry clapping his hands to get his attention, “You’re making your brother wait for you!”

“Sorry Coach!” Ilya called back in a panic. Practice had ended some time ago and he was the last to get in the shower. His hair still dripped in the locker rooms and he’d accidentally dropped his towel on the filthy floor.

“What are you even doing in there?” Ilya saw Dimitry round the corner. “Why are you so slow?”

“I’m hurrying,” Ilya stood in his underwear, frantic and trying to make sure his shirt wasn’t inside out.

Dimitry sighed and leaned against the door. Just watching. Ilya’s skin was still wet and the fabric was sticking to him.

“Ilya,” Dimitry pinched his nose. He stopped leaning against the door and grabbed Ilya’s shirt. He turned it right side out. “Arms.”

“I can dress myself,” Ilya told him.

“Can you?” Dimitry snapped back, “Because clearly you can’t.”

Startled and upset, Ilya just lifted his arms and Dimirty slid the shirt on.

“Pants,” he ordered and Ilya handed them to him. He watched while Dimitry held them up. “Your legs are so small. No wonder you're clumsy on the ice.”

“No I’m not!” Ilya argued back.

“Yes, you are.” Dimitry gestured for Ilya to stick his legs in the pants while he held them open. “If you were, I wouldn’t be here. You can’t even dress yourself properly.”

Ilya bit back another sharp remark. If he said anything more, Dimitry would tell Alexei and then Alexei would tell his father. And then he’d be playing injured. Well, more injured.

Dimitry slid the jeans up, brushing a little too hard against Ilya’s crotch. Ilya jumped at the contact, horrified at his body’s sudden arousal. But Dimitry didn’t seem to notice, or if he had, he didn’t say anything. He just tugged Ilya’s pants hard, zipping and buttoning them up for him.

Ilya tried to forget how it felt, and the pit that grew in his stomach.

-

“Come in,” Dimitry’s voice calls.

Ilya opens the door. “Hi coach.”

Dimity looks up from his desk putting down the paper work he’d been studying. “Ah, thank you for joining me. Shut the door, will you? I’d like your honest opinions about the team and I think privacy will help with that.”

“He really doesn’t remember me,” Ilya thinks gleefully as he shuts the door.

Dimitry gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Ilya sits and Dimitry rounds the desk to lean against the edge of it. For a second he stares at Ilya, sizing him up before he breaks out into a smirk, switching to Russian.

“Hello, Ilyusha. I missed you.”

Fuck.

Chapter Text

“Rozanov!” Ilya winced, hearing Dimitry bark his name across the ice. “After practice, my office!” The other boys laughed and pushed Ilya around. He was having a shit practice. It was the anniversary of his mother’s death, so fucking sue him for not performing up to the standard.

He reluctantly trudged into Dimirty’s office after practice. He didn’t bother to shower, only kicked his stakes off. Ilya didn’t care that he smelled bad, Dimitry could suck it up.

“What?” Ilya has an attitude. He knew Dimitry would tell his father but he didn’t give a flying fuck about it. His father had been getting more violent recently, so what did another smack or bruise matter?

“You have an attitude,” Dimitry noted and shut the door behind Ilya.

“So what?” Ilya snapped back.

Dimitry leaned against the door, arms crossed. “You played like shit today.”

“So what?” Ilya repeated. “I can have shit days.”

“Not if you want to make it to the MHL.”

“I’m already better than everyone else,” he pointed out, “And I’m younger.”

Dimitry scoffed, “You’re making excuses.” He reached out, and grabbed one of Ilya’s arms in a bruising grip. Ilya winced, it was the same place where his father grabbed him last night.

“You don’t have muscles, you’re too fucking small.”

Ilya wrenched his arm back, “I’m not fucking small.” He technically was in comparison to the other boys. He was working on building his body, but he knew he was a work in progress.

“Again with the fucking excuse,” Dimitry snapped his fingers in Ilya’s face. “Show me then. Show me these fucking muscles you claim to have.”

Ilya lifted one of his arms and flexed. Dimitry rolled his eyes. “Under so much fabric? There’s nothing there. Go on,” Dimitry demanded, “Where are these muscles? Or are you all talk?”

Ilya scoffed and shed his shirt. He flexed to the best of his ability and Dimitry laughed.

“Is that it?” He stood up and smacked Ilya’s arm. “You’re weak. Pathetic. I should kick you from the program. You’re clearly not putting in the effort. You know what?” Dimitry starts to head for the door, “I’m telling your father right now.”

“No!” Ilya shouted, fear spiking through him. He couldn’t lose hockey.

“No?” Dimitry turned around. “No? Because today’s performance wasn’t what I would expect from you. Your body isn’t even acceptable.”

“I can work on it,” Ilya begged, “Don’t kick me out.”

Ilya didn’t notice that Dimitry locked the door as he went back to behind his deck. He opened the drawer and pulled out a camera.

“Fine. But we do this my way.”

“Okay.”

“We work on your body. Condition you, build up muscles.”

“I can do that.”

“Take off your clothes.”

Ilya froze, “What?”

Dimitry held up the camera. “Before and after progress. In one month, if your body hasn’t changed, you’re gone.” As if it was a perfectly acceptable answer.

Ilya’s stomach lurched. He didn’t want his body to be in pictures. It would show just how damaged he was.

“I can see you’re not willing-”

“No!” Ilya forced down his anxiety, “I’ll do it.” His shirt was already off so he reached for his pants. He steeled himself and forced them down, draping them over the chair.

“All of it,” Dimirty ordered.

Ilya frowned, “Why-”

“If you don’t-”

The threat was enough. His hands shook and he shed his boxers. The cold air hit him and he covered himself with his hands.

“How the fuck am I supposed to take pictures if you’re covering yourself?” Dimitry demanded. “Move them.”

Ilya hesitated but he moved them. His face burned with embarrassment at being naked and on display. He waited for Dimitry to take his pictures. Each flash made him flinch and he fought back the scared tears that sprang to his eyes.

-

Ilya wants to vomit. He thought he’d left it all behind. Russia, Dimirty, Alexei, his father. He thought he was far enough in the future to forget about his horrific experience entirely.

“You’re an adult now,” Ilya reminds himself, “You’re a professional athlete. There’s no reason to be scared.”

“You grew up so well,” Dimitry grins at him. “You have so much more muscle now. I bet your mouth is still perfect.”

“Fuck you,” Ilya bites back, “What are you doing here?”

“Coaching,” Dimitry gestures to the office, “always with the obvious questions, Ilyusha.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Fine, Rozanov.” Dimitry is too smug. He reaches down and starts to palm the front of his pants.

Ilya watches in disgust and stands, “I’m fucking leaving and I’m reporting you.”

“No you won’t,” Dimitry laughs. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone and tosses it to Ilya. “Go on. Look through the photos.” He pulls out his cock, stroking it for Ilya to see. 

Ilya grabs the phone. It’s clearly a burner but the photo roll is filled with the pictures. The first ones he took of Ilya when he was a boy just standing in Dimitry’s office. And then others that were taken later. Ones where he was on his knees covered in cum and bruises, and others where he was unconscious in Dimitry’s bed.

His hands are shaking so hard, his mouth tastes bitter and dry. Fuck, he’s going to pass out. And Dimitry is just there, stroking his fucking cock, getting off to Ilya’s obvious panic.

“Don’t even think about taking the phone either. They’re not the only copies I have. And if you try, I have an email that will automatically send in one hour with all the photos attached. Your face will be plastered across every tabloid around the world. I wonder how long a faggot like you will last when you get deported.”

“What do you want?” Ilya growls, handing the phone back.

Dimitry pockets it, “I want you to be a good boy and service me while I’m here. And then, I’m gone.”

“That’s it?” Ilya’s fists clench.

“That’s it.” Dimitry spreads his legs wider. 

“And the pictures?”

“If you satisfy me, I’ll give them back.”

That’s it. Ilya’s heart is racing. Four months. He can do that. He can survive four months. Four months and he’ll get the pictures back. They’ll never see the light of day. All he has to do is satisfy Dimitry for four fucking months.

“Okay,” Ilya agrees. “And I get the pictures. All of them. And you destroy the backups.”

“Deal.” Dimitry points to the floor, “Now, get on your knees.”

Everything in Ilya is screaming at him. He shouldn’t be doing this. Shane is the only man he ever wants to be on his knees for. He should be with Cliff- fuck. Cliff. He’s waiting for Ilya. If he can make Dimitry come fast, then he can leave faster.

Ilya drops to his knees and obediently opens his mouth. He lowers himself onto Dimitry’s cock, closing his eyes before tears can leak out. But Dimitry has other ideas. His hands find purchase in Ilya’s curls gripping them painfully.

He fucks Ilya’s mouth hard and fast. Ilya chokes, struggling to breathe. He grabs Dimitry's legs, instincts kicking in as he struggles to breathe. But Dimitry doesn’t let up. Drool is dripping out from his mouth and pooling onto the floor. Tears fall anyway and his nose gets stuffy making everything worse. There’s an obscene wet sound that escapes his throat with each thrust.

Ilya’s stronger now, he should be able to fight back. Instead, he’s that scared thirteen year old boy again. He chokes on Dimitry’s cock; it somehow feels bigger than he remembered it being. Spots swim in his vision and he’s mentally begging for it to be over already.

Dimitry’s cum is hot and it burns when he comes down Ilya’s raw throat. He shoves Ilya’s face down until his nose pressed into Dimitry’s pubes. Ilya lets out an embarrassing whimper that makes another gush of cum shoot down his throat.

“Swallow if you want to breathe again,” He orders. “If you don’t I’ll fucking leave you here and your team can see what a slut you are.”

Blood is rushing through Ilya’s ears, muffling everything. But he knows what Dimitry wants. Coming inside is always what he wants. He wants to leave himself inside Ilya, burning a claim into his body and a stain in his memories. Dimitry doesn’t let go until he’s forced Ilya to swallow everything. Only then does he shove Ilya onto the floor and tuck himself away.

Ilya coughs and gags. His cheek is pressed to the dirty floors and his body is shaking. Tears drip down and terror seizes him. Is this what his next four months are going to look like? Tonight was just a taste, he knows it’s going to get worse. It did back then, there’s no reason to believe it won’t now. Fuck, he’s scared he’s not going to survive it. But he has to. He needs those pictures. He needs Shane. He needs Ottawa.

“Disgusting,” Dimitry laughs, “Your mouth still needs work. Next time-”

“Oh god, there’s going to be a next time,” Ilya realizes in horror.

“-you’ll be better. Now get out of my office. See you next practice.”

Ilya doesn’t want to be anywhere near Dimitry anymore. He can’t get away fast enough. Ilya forces himself up and stumbles into the bathrooms. Thank fuck he didn’t have to pass through the locker rooms. He didn’t know how he’d explain this to Cliff.

Darting into the first open stall, Ilya falls to his knees and vomits. He doesn’t even need to shove fingers down his throat to do it. He watches the contents of his stomach come up and horrifically, he notes there’s an upsetting amount of cum mixed in.

Ilya dry heaves until he tastes blood in his mouth and the stomach acid starts to eat at his throat. A sob makes its way out and he cries pathetically into the toilet. He can’t fucking breathe. Even after blowing his nose, the stuffiness persists.

In his mind, he can hear Shane’s voice detailing just how disgusting the locker room bathroom’s floors are, and just how many germs can be found on a toilet seat. He can’t really bring himself to care. All he wants to do is curl up on the dirty bathroom floor and disappear.

Fuck, he needs to get back to Cliff. Ilya flushes and goes to the bathroom sink. He turns on the cold water, knowing from experience that it’ll help soothe and hide the puffiness in his eyes. Ilya washes his face, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He looks like shit. His face is red and puffy from the abuse. His lips are trembling and his eyes are raw from crying. Ilya desperately wants to brush his teeth and get the taste of Dimitry’s cum out of his mouth. But he doesn’t have a toothbrush so he does the next best thing. He squirts the liquid soap into hands and puts it into his mouth. The bitter taste makes him wince, but anything is better than Dimitry. He swishes a few more times until he’s satisfied that he can’t taste it anymore.

Finally, Ilya looks at himself in the mirror and forces on his mask.

Cliff’s foot is tapping anxiously on the floor. Ilya should’ve been back by now, so where the fuck was he? There’s no way that he and Dimitry were still talking. And about team dynamics? That’s something they could’ve done at next practice. Maybe he should go there, knock on the door and try to hurry things along.

He checks the time on his phone. It’s been over twenty minutes. “Trust your gut,” His brain screams at him. Fuck, yeah. He needs to.

Cliff stands, ready to barge into Dimitry’s office when the locker room doors swing open.

Ilya waltzes in, “Marley, you’re still here.” He sounds more exhausted than before and something inside Cliff screams.

“Yeah,” he says trying to play it cool, “I said I’d wait, didn’t I?”

Ilya nods, “Okay.” He grabs his bags and they start heading out.

“So,” Cliff asks, “What did the new coach want? You’ve been in there for a while.”

He notices the way that Ilya’s body seems to tense. “Ah, just team stuff.” Ilya answers with a little too much confidence, “Like how is team? Is it good? And I say we have won fucking Cup, obviously.”

“Right,” Cliff nods. He doesn’t like that answer. “That was it?”

Again, Ilya tenses. “Yes Marley. Boring answer, I know.”

“Right.” Clearly Ilya doesn’t want to talk about whatever happened. Cliff can live with that, but he still can’t shake the feeling like something is wrong. “Hey, I’m not feeling the whole clubbing vibe thing tonight.” Cliff changes the subject and hopes Ilya will take the bait. “We should go to yours and play video games instead? I’ll order that greasy pizza from that place you like.”

“Say yes,” Cliff begs silently.

“Yeah, okay.” Ilya seems grateful for the change in topic. “Jane probably doesn’t want me going out anyway. And I don’t feel like making her jealous.”

“Fuck yeah!” Cliff grins and throws an arm around Ilya’s shoulder. “Wait, let's swing by my place first! I got the new Street Fighter too. Haven’t had the chance to play it yet.”

Chapter Text

Ilya wakes up on the couch with his mouth open, breath smelling like pizza and vodka, playstation controllers on the floor, and the menu screen for Street Fighter still on the TV. Cliff is asleep to his left, mouth open snoring so loudly Ilya is shocked he’s not making the whole couch rumble. He’s missing a sock too and a quick scan of the living room doesn’t locate it. The pizza boxes are mostly empty, with the only things left being crumbs and the crusts.

“Marley,” Ilya groans and kicks Cliff’s foot. Cliff doesn’t stir.

Ilya sighs and gets off the couch. It’s been a while since they just stayed in and got drunk while eating pizza. Overall, it wasn’t a bad night. His phone is still stuffed in his pocket and sporting a nasty 5% battery life, eight missed texts from Shane, and two missed calls.

Thank fuck he, for whatever reason, doesn’t have a hangover. Carrying himself to the bedroom, he grabs a charger and checks Shane’s messages.

And then… he remembers.

Jane

Lol sounds like you and Marlow are having fun

After that win you deserve it

Lily

Yes

We do!

Wish you were here

I miss you

🥺

Lily Has Sent (1) Image

Jane

ILYA!!!

Did you just seriously whip out your dick???

In front of Marlow???

Just so you could send me a dick pic????

Lily

No

Was in my pants

Pointed phone down

He did not see

Jane

I can see Marlow in the background

HIs mouth is OPEN!

HE SAW YOU!!

Lily

We shower together is fine

He has seen my dick

I have nice dick

Jane

Send me dick pic

I want to suck

I want you in my mouth

Not him

Dont like him

Dont want his taste anymore

Jane

Baby, what are you talking about?

Marlow?

You want to suck his dick?

Lily

No

Marley wont let me

I know he is bi, but wont let me

ME

I am hot

But he says im not his type

Dumb

I am everyone type

He says hayden is his type

🤮

Jane

Bi?

Baby he's straight.

Lily

I am right, you will see

Jane

Okay, well I’m glad you’re not sucking Marlow’s dick

But who are you talking about?

Who don’t you like?

Lily

coach

Jane

Excuse me????

Lily

ihno

Was not on purose

*prupse

*purpose

He tell me i will be good hockey player

If i suck dick

So i do

Dont like that

Dont want to do that

anymore

Jane

Ilya.

Call me.

(2) Missed Calls from Jane

Call With Jane (5) mins (2) sec

Jane

Call me when you’re sober please

I love you so much

Fuck. FUCK. FUCK!!! Ilya scrolls in horror. He just fucking told Shane. He told SHANE. The text isn’t explicit but it’s definitely revealing a trauma he wished he didn’t say over text. Fuck, he never planned to tell Shane period. It was supposed to be dead and buried. But instead he fucking blabbed because he was drunk. This is not good.

Ilya calls Shane immediately. He need to figure out what he told Shane in those five minutes and he needs to figure out how to fucking fix it. If Shane gets involved Dimitry will find out and his pictures will be plastered all over the news. He’ll fucking die before he even makes it to Ottawa.

Of course, Shane answers immediately. He sounds frazzled and panicked.

“Ilya!?”

“Malysh,” Ilya tries to play it cool. “Why are you sounding like this?”

“Did you read our messages from last night!?”

“Yes,” Ilya forces his voice to remain steady. “Hollander, you sound like you are having panic attack.”

“I’m coming to Boston.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m packing. I’m coming.”

“No, Shane. Stay, is fine. Everything is fine.”

Fuck. Ilya switches to video and waits for Shane to answer. His love’s face fills the screen. Shane definitely hasn’t slept. His eyes are red and his hair is a mess. He’s in the bedroom and Ilya can see a half-packed suitcase on the bed.

“Ilya,” Shane’s voice cracks, taking in Ilya’s appearance. Thankfully, Ilya knows he looks like he just rolled out of bed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, lyubov moya.” Ilya sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “You do not need to come to Boston, I am okay. I can explain what I said.”

“Please do,” Shane’s eyes are doing that doe eyed thing that Ilya adores in the right context. “Because it sounds like you were- it sounds like LeClaire coerced you into giving him a blowjob.”

Ilya shakes his head, “No. LeClaire is good man, he would not do this. I mean…” Fuck, he didn’t think it was going to be so hard to say. “My coach back in Russia. He was not a good man.”

“He made you-?” A tear drops from Shane’s beautiful eyes and Ilya hates that he’s the cause.

“It was nothing,” Ilya tries.

“That’s not nothing, Ilya. You were a kid! That’s fucking traumatic! That's assa-”

“I know,” Ilya wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Was long time ago. It is… what is word for memory but forgotten on purpose?”

“Repressed?”

“Yes,” Ilya nods, “Is repressed memory.”

“Why tell me now?”

Ilya shrugs, “Was drunk and stupid. New coach he-”

“Did he hurt you!? Is it him!?” Shane nearly explodes. “I heard the Bears have a new guest coach. Ilya-”

“Reminds me of him.” Ilya’s lie tastes sour. “Is not really him. Will be fine. He is okay, we have not talked much.”

“Well, I’m still going to fly-”

“Shane no,” Ilya sighs, “Please do not make big thing of this. It was one night of bad memories. I need…” He swallowed hard. He hates lying and hiding things from Shane. “Normal,” he finishes, “Don’t come here.”

Shane looks deeply hurt but he nods, “I can do that. But… you’ll tell me right? If you need me or want me, I’m here. I don’t care when, just call me or text me. I’ll drop everything for you, Ilya. I love you. I don’t want- if these are repressed memories then you can’t just go through it alone. You have me. I’m here, okay?”

“Okay, Shane. Will be fine. I will tell you if I am having panic attack.” Ilya smiles softly at him, “Ya tebya lyublyu. I’ll call you later. I want to shower and Marley is still asleep on my couch.”

“Okay,” Shane nods. “I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”

"I love you too."

The call ends and Ilya puts his phone down. He scrubs his face trying to gather himself. That was fucking close. There’s no way he could’ve handled Shane showing up in Boston. He would immediately know that Dimirty was hurting him again. But it was just four months. He could do it. Four months, he’d get the pictures back, and he can go back to repressing memories. Shane will never have to know.

He knows that Shane will talk about it, but Ilya knows himself. He's great at brushing things off. he can feed just enough of the truth to Shane and say he's already healed and over it so no reason to dredge it up more. He just wants to forget the whole thing and be done. Shane will have to respect that. It doesn't affect their relationship so... it'll be fine.

Ilya shucks his clothes and after a moment, picks them up and tosses them into the hamper. He rolls his eyes fondly. Shane would be proud. In the silence he listens for a moment and hears another loud snore from Cliff. Grabbing his phone he shoots a quick text to Cliff letting him know that he’s in the shower in case he wakes up and wonders where he is.

His shower is nice because thanks to Shane’s real estate fetish, he might’ve taken a little inspiration from one of his little rants on bathroom decor. And then St-Simon’s WAG had directed him to a decently priced home decor store. So, he’d gone, pointed at the display and told the seller it was exactly what he wanted.

The hot water hits him, instantly soothing his muscles and washes away the lingering pizza grease and overall drunken odors. His neck is a bit sore from sleeping wrong, but he knows it will go away soon. Ilya lets the water run through his hair and his brain drifts to Shane.

He wishes Shane were with him. They had sex in the shower, and it was sexy and hot as hell, but Ilya also loved the more intimate moments. The ones where they weren’t necessarily horny and Shane would insist on shampooing Ilya’s hair because “his technique wasn’t optimal for stimulating hair growth and blood flow”. Shane had even gifted him with a shampoo brush that his mom had brought back from a trip to Japan. It was purple. Like his dildo.

Ilya can’t help but laugh with fondness as he reaches for the conditioner. Again, another thing that Shane had scolded him into using. The white globs hit his hand and Ilya freezes looking down at it.

-

“Conditioner is for girls!” One of the older boys, Lev, teased Ilya and smacked the little bottle from his hand. The others laugh at him. “Are you a fucking girl, Rozanov?”

“No,” Ilya snapped, “I’m a fucking boy.”

“Are you sure? Your dick is so small it's basically a clit! I bet your asshole is just a pussy!” Lev laughed again and pushed Ilya to the ground. The other boys laughed too.

He was a stocky fifteen year old, and unfortunately much bigger than Ilya. But Ilya knew how to stand his ground. He’d had to fight off Alexei before.

“Are you sure you’re a boy?” Ilya growled back, standing back up, “The way you cry on the ice-”

Lev punched him. Ilya didn’t see it coming and hit the shower floors.

“Kuznetsov!” Dimitry’s voice barked from the shower entrance. “Quit fucking around!”

“Sorry coach,” Lev mumbled.

The rest of the boys scattered, rushing off to avoid more yelling from Dimitry. Lev ran off behind them and left Ilya on the floor with Dimitry standing with him. He shut the door and locked it.

Ilya was at least glad to see that he wasn’t bleeding. It wouldn’t be hard to pass off as a hockey injury, but it would be annoying to chew with a bloody mouth.

Dimitry sighed and walked over as Ilya started to get up. “Rozanov, what happened?”

The water pelted Ilya as he ended up standing awkwardly in front of his coach. “Lev made fun of me for using conditioner. He called me a girl.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

Dimitry sighed again and pointed to the forgotten bottle. “Is that it?”

Ilya nodded. He watched Dimitry walk through the water stream to pick up the bottle. He stood next to Ilya and opened it.

“You didn’t finish washing your hair did you?”

“No sir.”

“Alright turn around, I’ll do it for you.”

“No, that's okay, I can do it.” Ilya said. He really didn’t want Dimitry touching his hair. Hell, he really didn’t want to be standing naked in front of him at all. It wasn't the first time, but he still didn’t like it.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dimitry said, grabbed Ilya and turned him around. His hands went into Ilya’s hair rubbing in the conditioner. “You know there’s more than one use for conditioner.”

“No, there isn’t.” Ilya scoffed. He crossed his arms even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything to protect his dignity from his coach.

Dimitry laughed, “That’s because you’re a kid. You don’t know.”

“What’s there to know? It’s on the bottle. It says it’s for hair.”

Again, Dimitry laughed. “Let me show you.”

-

Conditioner wasn’t supposed to make him fucking panic. A nice shower wasn’t supposed to make him panic. He wasn’t supposed to be remembering the first time a man put his fingers inside him. He wasn’t supposed to remember sitting on the floor of the showers afterwards until the water got too cold to bear. He wasn’t supposed to remember rushing to the showers after that. He’d tried to be the first in and out of the shower so Dimitry could never corner him in there again. It had only happened a couple times after when he wasn’t fast enough.

Ilya drops to his knees, his chest tightening. Fuck he was going to pass out. The water was too hot, the steam too thick. He couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Rozy?” Ilya jerks at the sound of Cliff knocking on his bathroom door. “You okay in there? I got your text like… an hour ago. But I just woke up.”

The direction is enough to kick him back into focus. Fuck. He’d been in the shower that long? His fingers and toes have pruned. His bathroom feels like a fucking sauna.

“Yeah,” Ilya manages to say. He hopes Cliff doesn’t here anything wrong with his voice. “I’m good.”

“Okay, cool.” Cliff calls back. “Um, is it cool if I use your kitchen to make food?”

“Do whatever Marley, just make it edible.”

He laughs, “Fuck you, I know how to cook!”

-

A week later, Ilya takes great fucking pleasure in knocking out Dallas Kent’s teeth. He watches in satisfaction as three teeth fly out and skid across the ice. “Only hat trick you’ll ever get!” Ilya chirps.

Dallas screams his rage and comes at Ilya full force only to be dragged back by his teammates. The refs give them both five for fighting but Ilya doesn’t care.

The past week has been shit. Practices are fine, the Bears are an efficient fucking hockey machine and Ilya feels like he’s doing a remarkable job of keeping his shit together. Especially during the times when Dimitry thinks it’s convenient to try and corner him or get him alone. But Ilya is making sure he’s not alone. He times his showers and leaves with Cliff, or any other group.

Only once has Dimitry managed to get Ilya alone and it was after practice. He’d lured Ilya in by lying and saying that a complaint was filed against one of the rookies. When Ilya had gone in, Dimirty had forced him under the desk to suck him off.

All the helplessness and rage that had been building up inside Ilya was only exacerbated by Dallas fucking Kent. The most homophobic asshole in the whole MHL. He was relentless in his slurs, up until the point where Ilya couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his fist into Dallas Kent’s face.

After his five minutes, Ilya flew back out onto the ice. His grin was feral as he won the faceoff and charged down the ice like a madman. He passes the puck to Cliff who expertly maneuvers it and passes it back to Ilya to score. The puck goes flying into the goal, winning the game. However, at the same time Dallas barrels into Ilya.

Ilya goes flying across the ice. It’s a dirty hit and the crowd cries out their overwhelming boos. Dallas doesn’t stop. He goes after Ilya, grabbing the front of his jersey and knocking his helmet off. His fist collides with Ilya’s face. Blood sprays across the ice.

But Ilya’s momentary stun doesn’t last because he shoves Dallas off him. The other man stumbles and goes down. But Ilya isn’t letting up. He swing his own fists, mouth bloody. And It turns into a fucking scrum. Refs are blowing whistles and it’s a mess of jerseys and gloves.

By the time Ilya is pulled away by Connors and Hammersmith, he’s laughing while Dallas Kent screams obscenities. “Rozanov!” Dimirty looks furious but Ilya can’t bring himself to care. For the first time in a week he fucking feels alive. “Medical, now!”

Ilya waves him off, still grinning but obeys and heads towards medical.

“Brother, what the fuck?” Cliff asks, clapping him on the back. “What happened?”

“It was a dirty hit,” Ilya gestures backwards, “He’s too fucking stupid.”

“Clearly,” Cliff snorts, “The fuck was he coming after you for?”

Ilya throws his head back and laughs, “I knocked out three teeth and told him it’s the only hat trick he’ll ever get. Now when he looks in mirror, he will see his ugly face and know it was me.”

“Fucker deserved it,” Cliff laughs, “Fuckin a’ Rozy. Good for you.”

“Go shower Marley, you stink.” Ilya playfully shoves him towards the lockers, “I will go uh… make good with medical.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Cliff waves, “I just know they’re going to put you on concussion protocol.”

“Ah, no they won’t. I barely got hit.” Ilya shakes his head and ducks into the medical room before Cliff can argue. Okay, so he did get hit but, not hard enough to cause a concussion.

Cliff was annoyingly correct. Ilya was put on concussion protocol.

“So?” Cliff asks, watching Ilya stroll back into the mostly empty locker room.

Ilya groans, “I am on concussion protocol.”

Cliff grins, much more smug that he should be. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Go shower brother, I’ll drive us home.”

“Your place or mine?” Ilya asks, shedding his gear.

“Mine.”

“Okay. But I want to eat from that Mexican place.”

“Deal,” Cliff opens his phone, “I’ll call and order for pickup.”

Ilya nods his approval and ducks into the showers. The prospect of being alone in the showers was terrifying, but he’s injured. And Dimitry has never once bothered him while he was injured so he should be okay.

The water is fucking cold but Ilya doesn’t care. If he can rush through this, he can at least get the smell off and use Cliff’s shower later. He grabs the soap doing a quick scrub before he hears the shower doors open. He thinks nothing of it until-

“Still using conditioner?” Dimity appears behind him, speaking in a low Russian.

Fuck.

“What the fuck was that on the ice?”

“Hockey,” Ilya replies, forcing himself to remain calm.

“That wasn’t hockey, that was fucking pathetic.”

“Well that’s what it was,” Ilya bites back. The water gets slightly warmer which helps his nerves. He rinses the soap and reaches to turn off the water so he can leave.

Dimirty’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist hard, but not hard enough to bruise. Never enough to bruise or leave a mark. “You didn’t wash your hair.”

“I will wash it later.”

“You should wash it now.”

“No.”

Dimitry frowns and withdraws his hand. “Okay.”

Ilya breathes a sigh of relief. His hand turns the knob-

“Which news outlet do you think will want to break the story first? Or should I just post them directly online?”

Ilya freezes, he turns to Dimitry knowing he can’t school the terror on his face. Dimity is holding up his phone with more recent pictures of Ilya. The ones from a few days ago where he was sucking Dimitry’s cock.

“Don’t,” Ilya whispers.

“You disobeyed me,” Dimity frowns, “You said ‘no’ to me.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Ilya blurts out, “I’m just tired from the game.”

“Then make it up to me. Show me just how sorry you are.”

“How?” He hates how soft his voice is, how it cracks on his words.

“Turn around and bend over.”

Ilya’s bruised ribs scream in protest as he does what Dimitry orders. He shuts his eyes and tries not to cry when he hears Dimitry spit and a glob lands on his hole. A rough hand smacks his ass and Ilya bites back a sound.

“Always so good at following orders when it matters,” Dimitry traces the rim of Ilya’s hole. “Are you tight? Or is there someone who fucks you like the slut you are?” He forces two fingers inside him. Ilya nearly screams but clamps his hands over his mouth to muffle his cries.

“Fuck you are tight. I thought you’d be loose like a whore.”

Dimitry doesn’t care about being gentle. He roughly shoves his fingers in and out of him. Ilya’s legs are shaking and he’s not sure if he can keep standing. He stares down at the water trying to lose focus and drift away so he doesn’t have to endure this.

But then Dimitry crooks his fingers and Ilya lets out a muffled moan. His traitorous dick gets hard and he tries to will it into going soft. Dimitry chuckles and keeps abusing Ilya’s prostate. It’s a mix of pain, pleasure, and overwhelming shame. He doesn’t want to be here.

“Touch yourself,” Dimitry orders. “Come on my fingers.”

Ilya shakes his head and begs, “Please don't ask me to do that.”

“Good thing I’m not asking. I’m ordering you. Touch yourself or these pictures will go out.”

Ilya’s knees shake when Dimirty gives a particularly brutal thrust of his fingers. His head is fucking spinning. He tries to adjust his position but the floor is slippery and his legs give out. He cries out in pain when he hits the floor, Dimitry’s fingers ripping out of him.

“Ilya!?” Cliff’s voice echoes from the locker rooms.

They can hear Cliff hurrying to the showers. Dimitry kneels by Ilya putting on a worried expression just as Cliff bursts in.

“Rozanov! Are you okay!?” Dimitry fakes concern, just loud enough for Cliff to hear him.

“I heard you fall!” Cliff falters seeing the scene before him. “What the fuck-”

“I heard him falling and I ran in here.” Dimitry explains helping Ilya to his feet. Ilya feels Dimitry gripping his arm a little too hard.

“Fuck, Roz.” Cliff grabs Ilya’s towel and takes him from Dimitry, automatically wrapping him in it.

Ilya wants to fucking cry. Thank fuck he’s not hard anymore, but the fall made his bruises scream and his ass is on fucking fire. Silently, he thanks Cliff for running in and covering him up with a towel. He wants to beg Cliff to just get him the fuck out.

Dimitry turns off the shower, “I’m glad I found you Rozanov. Who knows what might’ve happened if I hadn’t.”

“I would’ve found him,” Cliff cuts in. He doesn’t like the way Dimitry had just been there when he walked in. There was something about the man that set him on edge. He wraps a protective arm around Ilya. “Come on, let’s get you changed and home. I can bandage those ribs too.”

Ilya makes a grunt of pain in lieu of an answer. But that’s all Cliff needs to support Ilya and get him the fuck out of the showers.

“I am fine,” Ilya starts and then bites back a scream when he sits on the bench. He doubles over, squeezing his eyes shut and forces himself to breathe through the pain. Dimitry had been rough, but he hopes not rough enough to make him bleed.

“I’ll call med-”

“No,” Ilya shakes his head, “I’m okay.” He stands up, “I will change and we will go, yes?”

Cliff hesitates and then nods. “Sure.” He pauses and then, “Ilya what happened?”

“Got dizzy and slipped,” Ilya sighs. It’s technically not a lie.

“Fuck, you definitely have a concussion.”

“I don’t. Is fine, you will see.”

Ilya scoops up his belongings, just throwing them into his bag. He can organize it later. He just wants to fucking leave and go to Cliff’s house. He grabs his phone. There’s a text from an unknown number.

Against his better judgement, Ilya opens it. It’s a picture of himself in the shower just moments ago, taken from Dimitry’s perspective. Bent over with that man’s fingers in his ass.

Cliff hears Ilya making a soft choking noise. “Ilya?” He stands ready for anything.

“Nothing,” Ilya doesn’t sound fine, “Is nothing. Just picture.”

“A picture?” Cliff asks, walking closer.

Ilya shoves the phone in his pocket. “A naked one, Marley. And no you cannot see it.”

The answer makes his stomach queasy, and he doesn't know why. Realistically, it's probably a nude from Jane so why didn't he feel right about it? In his head, Cliff can’t stop thinking about what he’d seen. He’d heard Ilya scream in the shower and when he went in… Why was Dimitry already there? Their coach was crouched on the floor next to Ilya, getting soaked in shower water. But... it was the way Dimitry was holding Ilya. He was just holding Ilya’s arm but it felt… possessive. And he seemed almost annoyed that Cliff had come running. But what set of the alarm bells was that Ilya had looked so fucking scared when Cliff saw him.

There's the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that is telling him something is wrong. Very wrong. And Cliff can’t get the idea out of his head that Dimitry somehow put Ilya there.

Dimitry is dangerous. He just needs to prove it.

Chapter Text

“Morning,” Kip hands Scott his morning smoothie. “I added that new blueberry protein powder, so let me know how it tastes.”

“Thanks,” Scott sips the smoothie and nods his approval. “It’s got the aftertaste that all protein powders have but it’s not bad at all.”

Kip grins. “So your game is with Boston tonight, right?”

Scott nods, “Yeah. Aren’t you supposed to hang out with Ilya later?”

“Yeah… actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“You’re not leaving me for Rozanov are you?” Scott teases.

Kip snorts, “Nope. You’re stuck with me.” Then his face falls.

“Kip?”

“I think there’s something wrong with Ilya.”

Scott freezes, “What do you mean? Did he say something?”

“No, but it’s like… how he texts me? Here, look.” He pulls out his phone and passes it to Scott. “Just scroll. Look how it changes from the past couple of weeks.”

Horny For Hockey

“What the fuck, that cannot be the name of your chat.”

“It was Ilya’s idea.”

“And you just kept it?”

Kip shoves him playfully, “Yes. Now read.”

14 Days Ago…

Kip

You’re coming to The Kingfisher in a couple weeks right?

Ilya

Yes

I will be gracing bar with my presence

Will the geriatric be there?

Kip

Lol yes, Scott is coming

Ilya

😏

I bet he is

Kip

ILYA!

😂

13 Days Ago…

Ilya

What do I do when someone sends porn

Kip

Context???

Ilya

I want to send Jane a porn video

Kip

So do it??

Ilya

Yes but it will make him have panic attack

*her

Kip

Baby

Ilya

Her?

Really?

Ilya

Yes I know

But must respect privacy

So “her”

Kip

Alright I can respect that

So this video?

Ilya

I want her to do this with me

Ilya Has Sent (1) Link

Kip

HOLY SHIT

“HOLY SHIT!” Scott sees the thumbnail to probably the most obscene porn video. “Did you watch this?”

“Yeah,” Kip says, “You’ll see that I did.”

Kip

Babes

What the fuck

This will definitely give Jane a heart attack

Ilya

The position?

Kip

No the video

Ilya

So I should not send?

Kip

Maybe you can watch it in person?

Or make sure that she’s alone?

Ilya

Thanks

Kip

Is it bad that I want details

When you’re done

I want to see if it works

With Scott

Obviously

Ilya

😂

10 Days Ago…

Incoming Call… Ilya Rozanov

Call Ended 3:04:30

“What the fuck were you even talking about for three hours?”

Kip pauses and looks at Scott. “Think about it. What happened ten days ago?”

Scott frowns, “I was probably at practice?”

“After.”

“After?”

“Wow,” Kip sighs in mock disappointment, “Can’t even remember the time I fucked you so good you came hands free, twice in a row.”

Scott’s face goes bright red. “Of course I remember that! You learned that from Ilya!?” he asks in horror.

“You liked it, so what does it matter?”

Scott groans and buries his face in his hands.

“Keep reading,” Kip nods to the phone.

7 Days Ago…

Kip

Hey

We still on for Kingfisher?

6 Days Ago…

Kip

Ilya?

Are you okay?

5 Days Ago…

Ilya

Sorry

Was busy

Yes will be there

Kip

Can’t wait to see you!

Ilya

Can you hack into personal computers?

Or phones?

Kip

Me personally?

Ilya

Yes

Kip

Sadly no

What's up?

Need to hack into something?

4 Days Ago…

Kip

Did you figure out your computer issues?

Ilya

No

I need tips

How to avoid someone

Kip

😢

Am I bothering you?

Ilya

NO

NOT YOU

Kip

Someone else?

Ilya

... 

Is not for me

Is for friend

He asks many questions

But I don't know answers

I say I will ask someone smart

Kip

I’m flattered

What’s going on?

Ilya

My friend says he sees this person everyday

And is not good

This person likes to do sex things

But my friend does not like this

He does not want to keep doing sex things

But it keeps happening

Kip

Does your friend say this?

Ilya

Yes

He says no

But other person does not listen

Outgoing Call… Kip Grady

Missed (1) Call

Kip

Ilya

Please call me

What your describing isn’t good

Your friend sounds like he’s in real trouble

Ilya

Sorry

Cannot answer now

Kip

Okay well please call me when you can

Ilya

👍

3 Days Ago…

Kip

Hey

Can we talk about your friend?

It sounded really serious

2 Days Ago…

Kip

I can’t wait to see you

Kyle says he ordered some special vodka for you

Yesterday…

Outgoing Call… Kip Grady

Missed (1) Call

Kip

Ilya?

This is the longest you’ve ghosted me for

Is everything okay?

I don’t know what happened but I’m worried

Today…

Kip

I’ll be in Scott’s seats tonight

Hopefully I’ll see you later?

Ilya

Please talk to me

If you do I’ll wear a Rozanov jersey

Ilya

👀

Sorry

Phone got taken

“Concussion”

Kip

A concussion is serious!!

Ilya

Yes this is why I say “concussion”

Was not real

Head is fine

Kip

So you’re okay?

Ilya

Yes

I’m okay

No concussion

Will give Scott one

Kip

😭

Please don’t

Ilya

You will wear my jersey?

👀

Kip

Fuck

I did promise that didn’t I?

Ilya

I will be looking

😘

Scott hands the phone back to Kip. He can’t deny that something didn’t settle right with him. It was the way Ilya had asked about hacking into a personal computer and then the situation with his friend. Wait... the computer… a pit opened up in Scott’s stomach. Blackmail?

It seemed a little too specific. Ilya could just be saying “friend” as a way to cover for himself. It's not an uncommon thing to do. Was Ilya being blackmailed? And… Ilya’s text… “This person likes to do sex things. But my friend does not like this. He does not want to keep doing sex things. But it keeps happening.”

And if this "friend" doesn’t exist… Fuck. That means someone is blackmailing Ilya and… Scott doesn’t even want to imagine someone… repeatedly assaulting Ilya.

“Fuck, Kip.” Scott whispers.

“You think it’s him too, don’t you?” Kip bites his lip with worry. “I was hoping he’d show up at The Kingfisher and we could talk. Like, properly talk. If he’s in an abusive relationship, we need to help him.”

“We will,” Scott nods, determined. “I’ll talk to him after the game. Maybe I can gather some extra information.”

-

Ever since the shower incident, Cliff can tell something is wrong with Ilya. Not physically, he’s been keeping an eye on Ilya’s body; not in a creepy way, he just takes notes of the new bumps and bruises that come from playing hockey.

But he notices that Ilya seems more exhausted than usual. He’s a monster on the ice, but outside of that… he’s slower. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. His chirps are less intense, and he’s too quick to shower and leave the rink. There’s something about Ilya that feels… detached.

Cliff keeps an eye on Dimitry too. Their fucking coach still gives him the fucking creeps. He can’t even explain it. Dimitry doesn’t do anything abnormal. He coaches and yells at the team like he should. The rest of the players love him. He’s fucking charismatic and (unfortunately) good at his job.

But Cliff can’t let it go. He refuses to.

It’s obvious that Ilya’s been looking forward to the game against The Admirals. Ever since Scott Hunter came out, Ilya has been very vocal about supporting him. Not publicly of course, because Russia. But Cliff knows that somehow, Ilya has become quite good friends with Scott Hunter’s boyfriend. He also knows that every time they’re in New York now, Ilya will sneak out to go hang out with them. He feels a little left out at not being invited to go, but it also makes sense. Cliff isn’t gay but he understands the need for a safe space.

“Your head better not be attached to your fucking dick tonight, Rozanov.”

Cliff freezes, hearing Dimitry’s voice coming from a corridor. Rozanov. Ilya is with him. Panic shoots through Cliff. They can’t be alone together. He finds himself running towards them.

“It’s fucking not,” Ilya snaps back.

“You fu-”

“Rozy!” Cliff rounds the corner and grins at Ilya. “Fuck brother, I was looking for you.” He pretends to notice Dimitry. “Sup coach. Sorry, were you two talking or something?”

“No,” Ilya plays it off, “Why were you looking for me Marley.”

“Right, so check this out-” Cliff swings an arm around Ilya’s shoulder immediately noticing the ease of tension in his body. “My sister Nikki says the last time she was in New York, she found this bar-” He leads Ilya away and back to the locker rooms, blurting out some made up story as a distraction. 

“-and apparently it’s where a bunch of the Admiral WAGs hang out. So she heard some rumors about-” He keeps rambling about a sports bar his sister vaguely mentioned once. Granted the bar was in Phoenix, but Ilya didn’t know that. “-called Boycott.”

“That sounds like a lesbian bar, Marley.” Ilya laughs. “You will not be picking up any girls there.”

He changes topics to other supposed bars in New York, and Ilya lets himself breathe. Unintentionally, Cliff has started becoming Ilya’s guardian angel. He’d been fucking terrified that Dimitry was going to fuck him before the game, or do something to mess with him. And then Cliff showed up at just the right time to save him. Just like he’d saved him from worse in the showers.

“Marley, Marley!” Ilya laughs at his best friend while they put on their gear, “You need to stop taking bar advice from Nikki. She is lesbian! She keeps telling you about lesbian bars. This is not for you.”

The other guys laugh as they listen in, the conversation is loud enough to be overheard.

“It could be!” Cliff argues back.

“You are not lesbian.”

“Oh... right…” The locker room howls with laughter.

-

Scott steps onto the ice, skating to the center. Ilya grins at him as they crouch for the faceoff. “You’re coming tonight?” He asks.

Ilya smirks, “Only if you make me.”

Scott rolls his eyes, “You wish, Rozanov.”

“You are denying me orgasm, Hunter?”

“Spend a lot of time thinking about my dick?”

“Kip says you have very good one. But I don’t believe him.”

The puck drops and Ilya wins the faceoff. They fly down the ice and for a while all of their problems vanish. It’s just the game, the adrenaline, and the sheer joy of playing hockey.

The Bears score the first goal of the game and Ilya is flying high. It’s been awhile but he’s actually having fun. Not as fun as it is to play against Shane, but it’s a close second. The Admirals score the next one and Scott lets his joy radiate.

“Did you see him?” Scott asks before their faceoff.

“Kip?” Ilya perks up. “Did he do it?”

Scott sighs, “Yeah.” He nods up at the jumbotron which is showing the Admirals WAGs section.

“Would you look at that!” The announcer is shouting, “Scott Hunter’s boyfriend is wearing an Ilya Rozanov jersey!”

“Oof, that’s got to be a blow to the ego.”

“Wait, what is he doing?”

The camera zooms in as Kip waves to the camera, laughs, and pulls off his Ilya jersey revealing that he’s wearing Scott’s underneath. Ilya laughs so hard he has to hold onto Scott for support. Their faces are projected on the jumbotron and the crowd is having a blast.

Scott wins the faceoff and the next goal.

Their next faceoff, Scott decides he should try a soft approach.

“Rozanov,” Scott feels the words hoping they don't come out sounding like a chirp, “You good? Where’s your head at? And don't say your penis this time.”

Ilya fucking flinches and Scott freezes. The puck drops and for the briefest of seconds neither takes the puck. But then Ilya steals it and he’s off.

What the hell was that? Even the commentators noticed the delay. The replay shows up on the jumbotron in horrific slow motion.

“What do you think happened there?” One of them was saying.

“Maybe some kind of game of chicken? Who knows.”

Scott chases Ilya down the ice and manages to steal the puck back for three seconds before it’s back in The Bears’ hands. Ilya scores again.

Throughout the rest of the game, he watches Ilya. Something changed. His chirps are bland and uncreative; for him anyway, Scott knows the difference. There’s no real bite to them, but they get the job done. Ilya plays the game but it lacks the same vibes. It’s like he’s just going through the motions of hockey. And the Bears lose 6-5.

“Good game, good game, good game,” Scott shakes hands anxiously waiting for Ilya. “Hey,” He holds him in place, “Kingfisher tonight. Not optional. Kip wore your jersey and everything.”

“Okay, later.” Ilya agrees but there’s no spark. Normally he’s excited about it and Scott hears the alarm bells.

-

After the game, Ilya had tried to leave but was forced to talk to the media. He’s the captain, he knows that it’s his job but… all he wants is to go back to the hotel, drop his shit off and drink his problems away with Scott and Kip. He’s short with the press, and it comes across as ruder than he intended, but he has no intention of staying longer than he needs to.

But the universe must hate him for losing because Cliff isn’t there to save him.

Ilya knew the locker room had cleared out by the time the press conference was done which meant he was ripe for the picking. And he was right. Dimitry had immediately called him into the away teams’ office.

“What the fuck was that garbage out there!?” Dimitry snaps. Getting yelled at in Russian somehow feels worse than in English. It reminds him too much of his father.

“Was bad, I know.” Ilya replies. He’s too fucking tired for this.

“Bad?” Dimirty laughs harshly. “You think that was bad? You let a fucking faggot win!”

“He’s not-!” Ilya immediately finds himself jumping to Scott’s defense.

Dimitry just laughs, “You are defending him? Of course you are. Because you’re just like him. I will fucking show you what happens to fucking faggots like you.”

He grabs Ilya and slams him facedown on the desk. His face stings with the impact. Dimitry grabs a wad of used lunch napkins from his desk. “Open your mouth.”

Too exhausted to argue, Ilya opens his mouth and lets Dimitry shove the napkins inside. Saliva soaks into it; it’s too much and he gags on it. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ilya grips the edge of the desk for support and squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe if he just lets it happen and just takes it, Dimirty will hurry up and let him go.

He feels Dimity pulling his pants down to his ankles. He kicks Ilya’s legs forcing them apart before spreading his cheeks and spitting in his hole. That’s all Ilya gets before he feels Dimitry’s cock pressing against him. Fuck, he’s not going to be prepared. He’s going to fucking tear. He’ll fucking bleed.

“No, wait-!” Ilya tries to beg for some kind of mercy but gets none. Ilya screams into the napkins as Dimitry’s cock rips him open. He sobs and digs his nails into the desk until his knuckles are white. He tries to struggle but Dimitry has the better angle. He pins Ilya down while he fucks him.

Each drag of his cock is sheer agony and Ilya is suffocating in pain. He feels something hot and wet dripping between his thighs and he knows it’s blood.

Dimitry confirms it with a moan as he reaches down and drags his fingers along Ilya’s inner thighs. “Look,” He brings his fingers up to show Ilya the bright red liquid that stains his fingers. “This is what you get for being a fucking pussy. You bleed like you’ve got one.”

Ilya can’t stop the tears that fall. His legs are shaking and his body is on fire. “Stop,” he resorts to begging, anything to make it stop. “Please, stop. Please. Please. Please.”

But his begging only spurs Dimitry on. He speeds up the pace moaning into Ilya’s ears. Dimitry slams hard into Ilya and grabs his hips with such force that he knows they’ll leave bruises. Bruises he’ll have to figure out how to fucking hide.

“Fuck you’re so tight. You have such a tight fucking pussy. I’m going to fucking-!” Dimirty buries himself as deep as he can go and comes inside.

Ilya feels his insides being stained with Dimitry. He feels it like a brand on his soul. He sobs openly, his head pressed to the cold desk. He just wants everything to be over. It hasn’t even been a month yet. He’s not going to fucking survive this.

Dimitry doesn’t pull out until he’s gone soft. He slides his fingers through the blood and the cum that’s started to leak out of Ilya then roughly shoves his fingers back inside to trap it. “Such a filthy fucking whore.”

He steps back and pulls up Ilya’s pants and slaps his ass.  Reaching forward he pulls the spit soaked napkins from Ilya’s mouth and chucks them in the wastebasket. “Get the fuck out of here. You’re disgusting.”

Ilya doesn’t have to be told twice. He runs from the office, ignoring the razor sharp pain that threatens to take him down. He scrubs the tears away and shoves open the locker room doors.

Fuck.

Cliff is standing there. His face is twisted in worry.

“Ilya!”

“Marley.”

“I was looking for you, where were you!?”

He’s panicked. Why? Ilya can’t even comprehend it. If Cliff was looking for him, why didn’t he find him? Why didn’t he see what Dimitry was doing? Why didn’t he save him?

“Bathroom,” Ilya lies.

“No you weren’t,” Cliff pushes back. “I was just there. I checked all of them. Even the home team lockers.”

“Well you missed me,” Ilya is short and mean. He knows it. But he needs to leave.

“Roz-”

“Go back to the hotel Marley! Go drinking, I don’t care! Leave me alone!” He screams.

Cliff looks hurt. “Ilya-”

“Go!” Ilya points at the door. “Fucking go already! I’m not some fucking lost puppy! Get the fuck out of my face!”

For some reason, Cliff isn’t yelling back. He’s not matching Ilya’s energy and it’s pissing him off. Instead, he just nods. “I’ll wait for you outside.” And then he’s gone.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Dimitry grins, sliding his blood and cum stained fingers into his mouth. The salty and iron taste sends jolts of pleasure straight down to his cock. He leans back in his chair, sucking his fingers like its the best fucking thing he’s ever tasted. Eyes closed, he remembers the muffled tears and the way Ilya’s body shook.

Fuck, it had felt so good to bend him over and pliant under his hands. He wanted to make him bleed more and mar his beautiful skin. Dimitry wanted to hear how loud Ilya could get when he was crying with pain. He wants to lick tears from his eyes and make Ilya beg for mercy. A mercy he would never give.

Ilya had always been his favorite. Where the other kids had given up on hockey all together and left because they were weak, Ilya was different. He was so determined to become a hockey player and join the MHL that he let Dimitry do anything. The way his little body just accepted the pain was a testament to how incredible Ilya was. Even now as an adult, the cries and sounds he made were music to his ears.

And the pictures. Dimitry loved the way Ilya looked in pictures. So helpless and weak. His eyes were so full of a delicious anger with no outlet. Dimitry knew he was greedy. He wanted more. He didn’t want to break him; no, that would take the fun out of it. He wanted the hate and anger, he needed it. He wanted Ilya to fear him.

It was so fucking funny to him that Ilya just believed him about the pictures. Sure, at the end of his four months he’d give Ilya copies, but he had no intention of getting rid of them. How could he? Ilya was his favorite and he wasn’t going to give up those trophies.

His fingers lose the taste of Ilya and he sighs with disappointment removing them from his mouth. He grabs his things; no use in lingering any longer.

Pushing back his chair, he nearly steps in something. Dimitry bends down and picks it up. The screen lights up and the background is a blurry photo of a fucking duck on a lake. But he knows this background. It’s Ilya’s phone. Holy shit, the fucking gods must be smiling down on him for giving him this gift. Ilya will need to come back for it.

Dimitry looks down at the phone and grins, he knows Ilya’s password. Of course, he does. He’s observant. He types in 74263 and the phone grants him access.

(8) Missed Calls from Scott Hunter

(2) Missed Calls from Kip Grady

“Interesting. He really is friends with the faggots.” Dimitry frowns and opens their messages.

Anger boils in him. Ilya was plotting with them. He was opening his fucking mouth. He grabs his own phone and saves Kip and Scott’s numbers. If Ilya wanted to play this game, then he needed to be more careful. For good measure, Dimitry finds Cliff Marlow’s number and saves it as well. That man is a nuisance and he might need the number for some extra leverage. 

(6) New Texts from Jane

“Who is Jane?” Dimitry opens the messages.

Jane

Holy shit what was that fight!?

Are you okay?

Sorry that you lost

Call me after okay?

I love you

♥️

He laughs. Ilya is in love and he has a girlfriend. Perfect. He saves Jane’s number in his phone. He wonders how much it would break Ilya if he got Jane involved. How would she react knowing her boyfriend was a whore who spreads his legs for anyone?

Dimitry slides the phone into his pocket and starts to come up with a plan to reunite Ilya and his phone. And then once again, the gods smile upon him. He sees Ilya Rozanov sneaking back into his office. They make eye contact and Dimitry sees the look of horror on his face.

“Coming back for seconds? I knew you couldn’t resist being a slut.”

“My phone,” Ilya grumbles. The meekness in his voice sends shivers down his spine.

Dimitry pulls Ilya’s phone from his pocket, “This?”

The Russian boy holds his hand out like a petulant child. Does he really think this will be it? He’s changed into regular clothes and his hair is still damp from his shower. And Dimitry wonders if his cum still leaks from Ilya’s hole.

“I don’t think so,” Dimitry smirks. “You’re going to have to pay me for it.”

Ilya pales. “What do you want?”

“He’s such a good boy.” He thinks. Dimitry motions to the desk. “Spread yourself for me. I want to know how well you cleaned yourself.”

Fuck. Ilya looks like he wants to cry and Dimitry wonders how little of a push it would take to make that happen. But the boy does it anyway. His body is stiff as he walks forward and pushes his jeans and boxers down to expose his bare ass. Ilya bends over on the desk, crossing his arms and burying his face in them.

Dimitry steps closer and nearly moans at the sight. Ilya’s hole is puffy and red. He can’t see any blood or cum anymore but that can be fixed. He doesn’t bother to spit and presses his fingers against Ilya’s used hole. He whimpers softly as his body flinches from the touch. Ilya’s shoulders are shaking and Dimitry hopes he’s crying.

He forces two fingers inside and groans when he feels Ilya’s warmth try to reject him. His insides are painted with his cum, he can feel it. Ilya’s hole flutters in protest as he wiggles his fingers. Blood starts to trickle out again.

The desire to see Ilya utterly wrecked tonight takes over any  instinct he might have. He knows it’s getting late. Janitorial will be coming soon, but as long as he’s fast it won’t matter.

Dimitry angles his fingers, searching for the spot that will ruin Ilya. He finds it almost immediately and is rewarded when Ilya unintentionally bucks back into him.

“There you go,” He grins, “I always knew you were a whore. You’re enjoying this.” A sob escapes Ilya’s mouth and it makes Dimitry harder. “Does Scott Hunter fuck you like this? Does he watch while his boyfriend fucks you?”

Ilya freezes.

“I saw your messages,” Dimitry feels his own anger bubbling up. He slams hard into Ilya making him choke on air. “You were fucking telling them about us.”

“I wasn-!

“Don’t try to deny it.” Dimity digs his nails into the inside of Ilya’s flesh. “We can’t have that, now can we. So here’s what’s going to happen.” He adds another finger making Ilya whimper. “You’re going to stop fucking talking to them. And if you don’t, I have their numbers now. I’m going to send them the pictures and they can see exactly what kind of pathetic slut you are. Do you really think they’re going to be your friends if they see you like this? Bent over with another man’s fingers in your ass?”

Ilya only sobs into his arms, “Please don’t.”

“Shhh,” Dimitry croons and continues to pump his fingers in and out. “I won’t if you do one additional thing for me.”

“What?”

Dimitry licks the shell of Ilya’s ear. “Beg,” he whispers.

He feels Ilya’s body tense up. With his free hand, Dimirty pulls out his phone. He opens the camera and hits record. At least, if something happens he’ll have proof that Ilya was asking for it.

“Beg me to let you cum. Tell me how good it feels.”

Ilya doesn’t speak and Dimitry growls. “Fine, I’ll just-”

“P-please,” Ilya’s voice cracks; wet with tears.

"In English."

The boy lets out a soft sob, “P-please let me come. It feels so good.” There’s no real intention behind the words but it doesn’t matter.

“I’m not convinced.”

“Please let me come,” Ilya repeats, his shoulder shaking with tears. “Please let me come. You feel so good. I love- I love your fingers. They’re so good.”

Dimitry hums, “Tell me what a good slut you are. Tell me how much you like to spread your legs for me.”

That makes Ilya sob just a little louder. “I’m such a good slut. I love to spread my legs for you. Please let me come.”

Close enough. Dimitry stops the recording and puts his phone back in his pocket. He angles his hand again, makes sure to give Ilya wave after wave of agonizing pleasure. He feels Ilya’s hole clench as he comes on Dimitry’s fingers.

“Good slut,” Dimirty kisses his back. He slides his fingers out moaning as fresh blood trickles down his legs.

Careful not to get blood on the outside of Ilya’s jeans, Dimitry pulls them up for him and turns him around. The sight makes his breath waver. Ilya’s eyes are burning red with hatred. Even his tear stained cheeks can’t hide how much he loathes Dimitry.

“Open your mouth and suck me clean.” He orders and raises his bloody fingers to Ilya’s mouth. Obediently, Ilya opens his mouth and Dimitry slides his fingers in. Ilya sucks like he should and lets Dimitry play with his tongue until he’s satisfied they’re clean. Only then does Dimitry hand his phone back to Ilya.

-

Ilya can barely walk, let alone run as he books it from the office. His phone is clutched like a lifeline in his hands. He can’t breathe. How the fuck did Dimitry know his password? He must’ve been watching. But he has Scott and Kip’s numbers. There’s a horrified relief in him knowing that it’s just them and not Shane.

Fuck, he remembers Cliff. He shouldn't’ve sent him away. If he hadn’t, maybe he’d be here this time. Maybe he could’ve rescued Ilya. But he didn’t. Because Ilya was so fucking stupid. He yelled at his best friend and now Cliff probably hates him.

He shoves open the rink doors, ready to call himself an uber back to the hotel.

“Ilya?”

Ilya jerks and sees Cliff leaning against the wall. He’s here. He’s waiting. And Ilya feels like the biggest piece of shit. He has no idea what he looks like, but it must be bad because Cliff’s face is all worry.

“Brother, what happened?” Cliff rushes to Ilya’s side, his eyes scanning for signs of injury.

Ilya just shakes his head, “I’m sorry.” Fuck, and now he’s fucking crying in front of him.

“No, don’t be.” Cliff lifts his arms a little, “Can I-?”

Ilya just nods his permission and Cliff wraps his arms around Ilya.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” He says into Cliff’s shoulder. “Was mean, I was a dick. I’m sorry.”

“Water under the bridge,” Cliff rubs his back so gently that for just a minuscule of a second, Ilya lets himself believe that he’s okay. “We’re good, man. Things happen, it’s okay.”

All the alarm bells are going off in Cliff’s head. First, Ilya had come back from the press conference looking utterly broken down, he’d exploded on Cliff for no reason, and now he came out looking like a man who’d gone through hell. And to top it all off, he was crying.

Granted, Ilya had cried in front of him before but this was different. He’d cried during his rookie season on the anniversary of his mother’s death, once because of a bad practice and English was too overwhelming, once after he’d accidentally put Hollander in the hospital, and after when he came out to Cliff. He doesn’t count drunken crying over puppy videos.

This type of cry was wrong. It was the type of cry that warranted a deeper investigation. This wasn’t Ilya crying because he was exhausted by English or just tired from practice. This was a painful cry. This was the kind of cry that was the result of something heavy on the soul.

Cliff didn’t know what to fucking do. He just rubbed Ilya’s back, telling him that everything was going to be okay. And fuck, he felt like the biggest damn liar. He didn’t know if things were going to be okay. He couldn’t even fucking protect Ilya from whatever the fuck was happening. He just knew it had something to do with the new coach.

-

Scott stared at his phone. His heart was fucking racing and he had half a mind to drive back to the rink and see if Ilya was still there. Or at least maybe figure out where the Bears hotel was.

Ilya wasn’t answering any of his calls. Maybe he was busy but after 8 missed calls, Ilya should’ve said something. Called him annoying or old, or some other stupid chirp he could think of. He also wasn’t answering any of Kip’s calls or texts either. He knew they hadn’t done something to piss Ilya off so… what was happening.

“Babe, I’m worried.” Kip was sitting on their couch continuously staring at his phone, willing it to ring.

Scott was pacing and burning holes into his floor. “Fuck, something is wrong. I know it is. He was off at the game today. And the press conferences. You saw the footage, he was different. Distracted, I don’t know.”

Scott calls Ilya again. It goes straight to voicemail. Then-

Ilya

Sorry

Cant make it

Scott

I was really hoping to talk to you

Or see you tonight

Kid, you okay?

He sees Ilya’s read receipt but there’s no response.

Scott

Ilya

Please talk to me

Or Kip

We’re worried about you

Again, there’s a read receipt but no answer.

“Should we do something? We should do something.” Kip announces. “Do you have anyone’s number on the Bears?”

Fuck. He doesn’t. Scott shakes his head, “No. But I think I can get Cliff Marlow’s? One sec.” He opens his phone and calls Carter.

“Scotty!” Carter answers cheerily, “I was just about to text you that I’m on my way to The Kingfisher. I’m picking up Eric on the way. Do you and Kip want a ride too?”

“Actually, no. Um…”

“Fuck,” Carter’s voice gets serious. “Is everything okay?”

“Do you have Cliff Marlow’s number?”

“Yeah. He’s in the East Coast Ass Caps group chat. Do you need it?”

“Yes, please.” Scott can’t hide the relief in his voice.

“Scott, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully nothing. I want to be overreacting right now.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Just send me his number.”

“Sure, one sec.”

True to his word, Scott gets a text from Carter with Cliff’s number. “You’re the best, Vaughny. Thanks.”

“Promise you’ll tell me if anything is wrong? Or if I can help in any kind of way.”

“Promise. Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

(b)Eastie Boys

Vaughn

Hey Cliff

Heads up

I gave your number to Scott

Cliff

Scott Hunter?

Vaughn

Yeah

He called me and it sounded urgent

I didn’t think he’d use your number for nefarious purposes so…

Cliff

Did he say what was wrong?

Vaughn

No

Whatever it is it sounded bad

Really bad

Cliff

Got it thanks for the heads up

Unknown Number

Hey this is Scott Hunter

Cliff

Hey

Carter mentioned he gave you my number

Whats up

Scott

Is Ilya okay?

Outgoing Call… Scott Hunter

“Hey, Marlow.”

“What do you mean?” Cliff doesn’t care about formalities now. He doesn't care that he sounds frantic. “Do you know something? What do you know?”

Scott sounds surprised, “Know? I don’t know anything other than the fact that he’s been acting weird the last couple of weeks. He stopped answering my texts and calls and he bailed on our plans for tonight.”

“Fuck,” Cliff lets out a relieved laugh. “Fuck, I thought it was just me.”

“Where is he now?” Scott asks.

“At the hotel,” Cliff replies, “I just brought him to our room. He like, passed out immediately.”

“So he’s safe?”

“Yeah, what’s going on? Do you know something? Because if you do, please tell me.”

Scott takes a deep breath. “Can we meet?”

Cliff looks back at Ilya’s sleeping form. “Yeah, give me a second.” He swipes to open his chat.

Cliff

Connors

Do you have plans tonight?

Connors

Um yes?

St-Simon asked if I can wingman for him

Cliff

Tell him you’re busy

Connors

Wtf?

Why?

Cliff

I need you to stay in mine and Roz’s room

No questions asked

Sworn to secrecy

Connors

Okay?

I’m not opposed to a nice quiet night in

I can get room service

Cliff

Don’t leave till I’m back

Don’t let him leave either

Don’t let anyone in

Connors

Dude you’re scaring me

Cliff

Good

Fuck up and I’ll kill you

Text when you’re at the door

Don’t knock

He’ll wake up

Connors

👍

Bro are you sneaking out?

Cliff

Stfu

Don't snitch

Connors

🤐

“Okay,” Cliff gets back to his conversation with Scott. “I’m having Connors stay with him. Where were you thinking?”

“My apartment. I’ll send you the address.”

Chapter Text

“Come on it,” Scott steps aside to let Cliff in. “Shoes by the door.”

“Thanks,” Cliff kicks his shoes and notices Scott’s boyfriend coming around the corner. “Hi, Kip, right?”

Kip smiles and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.”

Kip is very cute up close, Cliff decides. No wonder Scott fell in love with him. Maybe he should try to find a man- Huh… he pauses the train of thought before it can get too far. He makes a mental note to really unpack that when things aren’t falling to shit. Maybe ask his sister, Nikki. She's a lesbian, she knows things.

“I made coffee,” Kip gestures for them to follow him into the kitchen. “I’m guessing it’s going to be a long night.”

“Probably,” Scott agrees, “Marlow, what time is your flight?”

“Early afternoon. It should be fine.”

“Great. We already ordered food, I hope Chinese is okay.”

“Fucking love it.” Cliff makes himself comfortable on one of the chairs. “I’m really glad Vaughn gave you my number. I swear I thought I was going fucking crazy.”

“So we’re right?” Kip’s expression is all worry. “Something is wrong with Ilya?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Cliff nods, “I just can’t fucking prove it though. And I think it has something to do with our new coach.”

“Start from the beginning,” Scott instructs and slides him a coffee. “You start and maybe we can help fill in some gaps, or vice versa.”

Cliff takes a deep breath. “We got this new coach a couple weeks ago, because LeClaire is out for paternity leave. And Roz mentioned that they used to know each other. Like Dimitry was his coach back in Russia when he was kid. I didn’t think anything of it but like… he just gives me these really weird fucking vibes?”

“How?” Kip asks.

Cliff shakes his head, “I don’t know. It’s just a gut feeling. Or maybe I’m reacting to Ilya?”

“Reacting to Ilya how?” Scott leans forward, listening intently.

“He’s just different around Dimitry but also in general.” Cliff thinks back and tells them about all the times when he saw Ilya flinch or avoid being alone. 

“I try to keep him company, but I can’t prove anything. And then…” Cliff meets Scott and Kip’s eyes. “There was the time Ilya slipped in the shower after a game. I was waiting for him in the locker rooms and I heard him shouting. So I went in, and Dimitry was already there. He acted like he was helping Ilya get up but…”

He swallows hard. “I don’t think that’s what happened. I tried to ask Ilya what happened but he told me got dizzy and slipped.” Cliff looks to them helplessly, and gives voice to the horrible thing that’s been eating at him, “I think Dimirty is abusing Ilya. I just don’t know how to prove it.”

“Fuck,” Scott whispers. He ducks his head down, shutting his eyes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He had no reason to distrust Cliff’s assessment. His stomach twists in anger and devastation.

Kip is rubbing tears from his eyes. “I fucking knew something was wrong.”

“He texted us,” Scott motions to Kip, “or well, he texted Kip.”

Kip nods and holds out his phone showing him their texts. 

“He does not want to keep doing sex things. But it keeps happening.”

Cliff sucks in a sharp breath. Ilya said “friend” but he knows Ilya well enough to know he’s talking about himself. This is proof. Cliff feels sick reading it.

“He says no. But other person does not listen.”

He doesn’t want to imagine what Ilya is going through. What kind of pain he’s suffering at Dimitry’s disgusting hands.

“We need to do something,” Cliff hands Kip his phone back, shaking with rage. “We need to fucking protect him. Find evidence, get that motherfucker out of the fucking locker rooms and into prison. Or kill him.” Cliff knows he’s going into a spiral, but he doesn’t care. “I have a cousin in prison,” He continues, “Maybe he has some kind of connection he can pass along. And we’re rich. We can literally get away with it.”

“Slow your roll there, Marlow.” Scott holds up his hand. “We need actual evidence first. Because if we’re wrong-”

“Then we kill an innocent man.” Cliff groans, “And Ilya still gets hurt.”

“Not what I was going to say,” Scott shakes his head. “We’re not actively going to hire a hitman or advocate for anyone’s death.”

Cliff growls a little at that. “We’re literally ‘get away with murder’ rich.”

“I know.” Scott acknowledges to Kip’s sheer horror. “But we’re not doing that. Think about Ilya. Focus on the now. We need a plan to protect him while we gather evidence. You already did the first step by asking Connors to stay with him tonight.”

There’s a knock on the door and they all jump. "That's the food,” Kip realizes and rushes to the door. After waiting in silence for Kip, he returns with bags of Chinese take out.

“I’ll never get over just how much you guys can eat,” Kip unties one of the bags and starts organizing the boxes.

Cliff shrugs, “Gotta keep up the calorie count somehow.”

Scott hums in agreement. He hands out paper plates and chopsticks and once everyone is satisfied with what they’ve currently grabbed, Scott continues. “We need to make absolutely certain that it’s Dimitry that’s hurting him. Which means we need to do research on him. Figure out what his history is, if there’s anything that points to abusive behaviors.”

“I’m not fucking leaving Ilya alone for a second,” Cliff starts planning, “I can say that I’m going through a breakup or something. That way he’ll feel more like… captain-y, I guess? Instead of like I’m babysitting him. Or paranoid. I think he’s already caught on that I’ve gotten clingier than usual.”

Kip snags another wonton, “What makes you say that?”

“He got pissed at me today. Actually pissed, blew up in my face for no reason. Told me that I was treating him like a lost puppy. I mean, he apologized for it but I don’t want to freak him out.”

Scott nods thoughtfully, “That’s a good plan. I’m hoping that Ilya will talk to us again. I’m thinking maybe if he’s just that exhausted, he’ll sleep and have a clearer head tomorrow.”

“We should also make a group chat,” Kip adds, “Keep each other in the loop about what’s going on. It’s only a 3.5hr drive to Boston so we can probably try to meet up on the off days. We can say we’re in town for vacation or something. Or I wanted to go see a museum.”

“That’ll work?” Cliff asks skeptically.

“I’m an art history student, it’s a very plausible story.”

After dinner, the trio settle into the couch with more coffees, laptops and phones.

“What’s his last name?” Scott asks.

“Petrov,” Cliff replies.

Scott nods and types the name into his laptop. There are… a ton of Russian men named Dimitry Petrov. But only one connected to hockey. Apparently, he was a hockey coach for the KHL before he retired and went on to become a private coach. He primarily worked with kids and eventually gained some connections in the MHL. He scrolls the search results and finds only accolades for the man.

“Fuck,” Scott mutters. He’s not finding anything. Not even a hint of a scandal. The most he could find was his stance on LGBT individuals playing hockey and it was… atrocious. He had to really dig for it and it was found on some obscure site that probably gave him a virus.

“Holy fuck.” Kip blurts out. “I fucking found something.”

Cliff and Scott’s head pop up and they scramble over the couch cushions to sandwich him. Scott scans the page. “It’s in Russian.”

“Yeah,” Kip replies, “I changed my language to get different results.”

“You read Russian?” Cliff asked.

Kip shrugs and blushes a little, “Sort of. Ilya taught me all the inappropriate words and I ended up learning a little bit. Plus my new paper is on Russian Art during the Golden Age. Never mind, the point is look.”

He scrolls through and starts explaining. “This is actually from an anonymous blog. It’s um…” Kip takes a deep breath. “It’s a suicide note.”

Cliff feels his blood run cold. “He drove a fucking kid to suicide?”

Kip nods solemnly. “At the time, the author was fifteen. He claims he was a student of Dimitry Petrov and was promised a spot in the KHL as long as he worked hard. He later on goes to say that Dimitry would become increasingly inappropriate and started sexually harassing him. Eventually, it led to repeated rapes and it only stopped when…” Kip trails off.

“He fucking killed himself,” Cliff finishes in anger.

“Yeah,” Kip says softly. “I followed up with this thread and it looked like there was an investigation. But it never went anywhere. The case got buried and ignored. The comments aren’t very nice either. A lot of people are siding with Dimitry saying that the kid got what he deserved for being... and…” Kip shakes his head, “Some of the comments are coming from parents who are saying the post is a lie. That their kids have been taught by Dimitry and he’s never done anything like that. It’s bad. It’s really fucking bad.”

“Fuck,” Cliff chokes, “I fucking knew it. I knew this fucker was bad news.”

“It’s not enough though,” Scott points out.

“How is this not enough!?” Cliff argues back.

“Look at how far back it’s been dated,” Scott tries to keep a level head, “Look at how this was buried. If he got away with this, it means something. He has connections, maybe, someone looking out for him on the legal side. We bring this up and it can be just as easily swept under the rug. It might make things worse. This is a great fucking start, but we need something more substantial.”

“Fuck!” Cliff screams, "We can't just do nothing! We have evidence, we can leak it or something!"

"I know," Scott sighs, “But think about it. If we leak these things, how much of it will get buried again? This might look like Ilya is fighting back and we don't know what Dimitry has on him. it might make things worse for Ilya."

Cliff's heart clenches. He can't let anything worse happen to Ilya just because he wants to be reactive now. Dimitry might lash out and take it out on Ilya. He's not willing to risk his life for that.

Scott continues, "We need Ilya. If we're very lucky, maybe he’s not being hurt now, but this is a really good indicator that he might be a victim. And to be playing on a team that’s being coached by his abuser… that can’t be good for him mentally. He must be exhausted.”

“I’m not leaving him alone for one second,” Cliff promises. Even if they can't take action, he'll be damned if he's leaving Ilya alone with that fucker.

For the next few hours, they scour the deepest recesses of the Russian internet. They find more articles after that. All in Russian and all with the same type of story. Anonymous sources claiming that Dimitry Pertov either harassed and/or molested them. Some rescinded what they’d originally claimed, while others disappeared. The most worrying ones were the followups. Each time there was a claim tied to an investigation, the case went nowhere.

They were absolutely certain, someone in the Russian police was helping to cover up what Dimitry Petrov was doing. And he was in America, then there might be someone at the local level helping him hide.

-

Ilya made fun of Cliff for sneaking out and returning in the same clothes he wore, reeking of coffee, Chinese food, and deodorant that definitely wasn’t his. But Cliff could handle the teasing. He was a man added to a new group chat and on a fucking mission to protect his best friend.

“He says no.” Keeps echoing in Cliff’s head. “But it keeps happening.”

Every time he’s around Ilya, he makes sure that he’s never alone. If there’s a practice or a game where Ilya needs to stay late, Cliff is glued to his fucking side.

“Marley,” Ilya finally says after the 6th press conference, “You are like chicken mom.”

“Mother hen.” Cliff corrects. They’re sitting in Ilya’s living room, playing Cuphead. It’s ridiculously annoying but fine enough that it proves a distraction from everything that’s been going on.

“Yes, that. Whatever. You are around. Why?”

Cliff shrugs, already sweating from the start of this interrogation, “Because I like you.”

Ilya narrows his eyes, “I have boyfriend.”

“Okay, yeah. And?”

“Marley, you are not my type.”

Cliff snorts, “I could be!”

“Jane would not like this. I would not like this.”

“So I’m not hot?” He tries to steer the conversation away into something lighter. He needs to distract Ilya from the real reason he’s been clinging to his side.

Ilya frowns sourly, “You are- ugh, what is word? Jane teaches me this and I- oh! Deflecting.”

“I’m just…” Cliff racks his brain for a fucking explanation. Fuck, why is he suddenly blanking!? “I broke up with a girl and it sucks.” He blurts out because he’s the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.

Ilya raises an eyebrow. “Marley,” he says slowly, “You are always breaking up with girls or they are always breaking up with you. You have never been upset about it before.”

“THINK!!” Cliff screams and then because he can’t think of anything else and decides to make everything worse, he says, “I broke up with her because Scott Hunter’s boyfriend is really cute.”

“What the fuck?” Ilya stares.

Cliff word vomits before common sense can catch up to him, “Yeah. I met him in New York and I thought like ‘oh this guy is a total babe, Hunter is really lucky to have him’ and then I got to thinking that maybe I should find a dude like that. Not Kip, obviously. I’m not some home wrecker.”

Ilya’s mouth is open. “Did you just… come out to me?”

“Uhhhhhhh,” Cliff neanderthals, “I guess? I don’t know?”

“You don’t know?”

“Fuck!” Cliff is panicking now and it must show on his face because Ilya quickly turns to him and grabs his shoulders. What Ilya doesn’t realize is that Cliff just dug himself a gay grave and doesn’t know how to get out of it. Is he going to have to commit to this now? He could probably handle having a boyfriend or hooking up with men. He’ll probably have to do a bunch of research to get it right, but he could do it. 

“Marley, Marlow.” Ilya shakes him a little, “Is okay. You do not have to know. You just like what you like, yes? You break with with girl because you think maybe boyfriend-”

Cliff looks at him with sheer panic and horror.

“-or not! Or guys! Or whatever might be fun. Is okay! Yes, is very okay! Look at me. I am very hot, I like women, I like men. I am still Stanley Cup winner. Still Ilya Rozanov. You are still Marley.”

Cliff nods. Fuck, he’s going to have to do it. Commit to the bit or whatever. “Thanks,” he croaks, “Uh… thanks for being chill about it.”

“So this is why you are like baby duck?”

“Yeah,” Cliff nods, “Just need my best friend for a while. Not be so… in my head and stuff. Being alone just doesn’t feel great, you know?”

Ilya nods appreciatively. “You are my best friend, I will be here.”

Cliff smiles and breathes out, “Thanks, brother.” Crisis averted.

“Can I tell Jane?”

“Will Jane say anything?”

“No. I trust him.”

Cliff shrugs and nods, “Yeah. Go for it.” he switches to single player mode watching Ilya immediately whip out his phone to gleefully text Jane.

Ilya has never been more grateful for Cliff’s broken heart and sexuality crisis. He’s been having a fucking phenomenal couple weeks. His ass finally healed and he doesn’t bleed anymore. Dimitry hasn’t been able to get him alone once. Not for an after practice “meeting”, not after game days, not in the shower, bathrooms, nowhere. Cliff is always around like his own personal (and unintentional) guard dog. Fuck, if Cliff can stick around until Dimitry is gone and he gets the pictures back, he’ll be fucking golden. He can tell that Dimitry isn’t thrilled, but he keeps his distance.

Delighted by the new information that Cliff has revealed to him, Ilya immediately texts Shane.

Lily

Malysh

Solnyshko

Lyubov moya

Jane

Jane

Jane

Jane

Jane

Omfg! 

Lily!!!

What!!??

Lily

😢

This is how you speak to me?

You sweet and loving girlfriend?

The love of your life?

Jane

🥺

I’m sorry, baby.

What do you want?

Lily

Who says I want anything?

Besides your dick

👅😋

Jane

Lily.

Lily

You owe me $2000

Jane

What the fuck?

No, I don’t.

Lily

Hmmm

Yes you do

Remember our bet?

Jane

Which one?

Lily

Marley

Jane

👀

Lily

Maybe he tells me things

Maybe I am right that he is not straight

Jane

NO FUCKING WAY

PROOF

Lily

Is private conversation

Jane

Then, I don’t believe you.

Lily

Hang on

“Marley,” Ilya says very carefully, “I need you to do something for me.”

Cliff pauses the game, “Uh, okay?”

“If I give you Jane’s number-”

“Yes!” Cliff bursts out, "Immediately, yes! I’ll do anything you want. Forever. Please let me have his number!”

Ilya glowers with amusement, “I do not like how quickly you say this and how bad you want my Jane’s number.”

“Please,” Cliff begs, “You’ve been so secretive about him for years. I just want to meet him, even over text.”

Ilya nods, “Jane is mine.”

“Yeah man,” Cliff nods, feeling a little like a dog, “No flirting. He’s yours, I get it.”

“Good, you are helping me win bet.”

“What? What bet?”

“Huh?” Ilya shakes his head and pointedly ignores Cliff’s question. “I will send her your number.”

Lily

Here, is Marley’s number

Ask him

He will tell you

Jane

And I’m just supposed to trust that?

Lily

I can send you video of me telling him your number?

Jane

I’ll believe you.

Just send it.

Lily Has Shared (1) Contact

Cliff sees his phone lighting up and he grins wide. His excitement at finally getting to meet “Jane” is through the roof. His messages say “Hollander” and his grin fades. What the hell is Hollander doing texting him? Cliff had his number from the time he ran into Hayden Pike and the man had forgotten his phone so he’d borrowed Cliff’s phone to call Shane because apparently it was one of the only numbers he’d memorized. He’d just kept it and forgotten about it.

Hollander

Hey, it’s Jane.

Ilya says this is your number.

Cliff

???

Hollander??

Hollander

Marlow??

Cliff

Yes?????

Hollander

Why do you have my number?

Cliff

From that time I helped Pike call you?

Because he forgot his phone

Hollander

Oh right…

Cliff

Wait…

HOLY FUCK

HOLY FUCK

YOU’RE JANE!?

Hollander

FUCK

OH FUCK

“HOLY FUCK!” Cliff explodes and turns to Ilya with the biggest grin. “ROZ! You fucking dog!”

Ilya looks up at him, “Marley what!?

“You bagged Shane fucking Hollander!?”

Ilya pales, “What are you saying!?”

“You told Jane to text me and I guess I already had his number and it fucking came up as Hollander!”

“Fuck,” Ilya whispered, “Shane will kill me.”

“Brother!” Cliff laughs and throws and arm over his shoulder and shakes him, “You’re dating the literal hottest man in the MH-fucking-L! The man who can turn anyone gay with how hot he is!”

Missed (6) Call(s) From… Jane

Incoming Call… Jane

Missed (7) Call(s) From… Jane

Incoming Call… Jane

“Uh, you should answer that,” Cliff nods towards Ilya’s violently buzzing phone.

Ilya nods quickly and answers it. “Shane-”

“Ilya!?” Shane’s panicked voice is so fucking loud even without being on speaker. “Ilya! He knows!”

“Hi Shane!” Cliff calls out, “Congrats on the relationship! I promise you don’t need to panic about me knowing. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

“What he said,” Ilya replies. “Besides, Hayden knows. Marley should get to know too. Maybe they can hall pass or whatever.”

Cliff hates how his ears perk up at 'hall pass'. Shane says something but Cliff can’t hear anymore.

“Yes,” Ilya says soothingly, “Is fine. I trust Marley. We are good. He will not tell. We trade secrets, yes? He likes men too.”

“Yeah!” Cliff decides to add loudly, “I do!” Ah, he’s really dug himself a gay grave and it keeps getting deeper.

“Okay,” Ilya laughs and nods, “I love you too.” He hangs up and grabs the second controller. “So you know now.”

Cliff nods and leans back, “I’m really happy for you. And you know that I won’t say jack shit, right? I love you man, I’m not in the habit of outing people.”

“I know,” Ilya smiles, “You are good man Marley.” Ilya’s phone chimes and he checks it. A broad grin crosses his face. He types something and then-

Cliff sees a notification on his phone.

Ilya Rozanov Has Sent you $1000

“What the fuck?”

Ilya shrugs, “I win bet. We split 50/50.”

“What bet?”

“Nothing.”

“Ilya!? What bet!?”

-

Ilya is flying high. It doesn’t matter that he’s a little bruised up from getting slammed into the boards by his boyfriend a couple days ago. They’d even had sex and Ilya was so proud of himself for not having a panic attack about it. Hell, Shane doesn't even suspect that anything is wrong because he's so good at hiding it. He probably shouldn't be proud of that, but he is. It just means that he's got things under control.

Dimitry hasn’t fucking touched him in almost two months. Cliff remains clingy as ever, and Ilya is more than happy to try and wingman some men for him. It sometimes works, but other times Cliff just freaks out and they end up going home to eat shitty takeout and play video games until someone falls asleep first.

“Rozanov!” Dimitry calls out to him when they’re in the middle of practice. “There’s a phone call for you in the office!”

Ilya nods and slaps Cliff on the back, “Take over for me.”

Cliff nods, “Alright you fuckers! You heard Cap, I’m in charge ‘till he gets back-”

Ilya laughs to himself and skates off quickly changing into his slides. He’s delighted to note that Dimitry hasn’t spared him a second glance and isn’t moving from his spot. Thank fuck for that. He knew he could at least rely on Dimitry not bothering him during practices. It was too risky anyway.

He heads towards the offices where he expects someone to be waiting for him with a phone call. Except… the room is empty.

“What the fuck?” Ilya asks the empty room. He turns to leave and comes face to face with Dimitry.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Chapter Text

Dimitry steps inside, shuts and locks the door behind him. Ilya feels fear gripping him. Fuck, he thought he’d be fine. But this was all a big fucking trap.

“You thought you could fucking avoid me?” Dimitry steps forward and instinctively Ilya takes a step back. He grabs Ilya’s jaw hard, but not hard enough to bruise. “Stupid fucking whore. You thought you were being clever? Sticking by Marlow, thinking he would be enough to protect you? Well, he’s not. But maybe I should invite him. Show him what you look like speared open on my cock, or down on your knees where you belong.”

Dimitry lets go of Ilya and shoves him back. The desk rattles with the impact. “Turn around and bend over.”

Ilya bites the inside of his cheeks. He knows what’ll happen if he doesn’t. Stomach churning, he turns around and lays forward, pressing his chest to the desk.

“Good boy,” Dimitry walks around him and opens the locked drawer of his deck. “Because you’ve been avoiding me, I’m going to fucking punish you.”

Ilya watches in horror as Dimitry pulls out a plug. It’s not very large by any means, but it’s also not small enough that he could ignore it. It’s a plug designed to press against his prostate and be felt with every movement.

“Because I’m nice I’m even going to use lube.”

With one smooth motion, Ilya feels his lower half getting exposed. He holds his breath, willing himself not to freak out. He flinches when he hears the pop of the lube cap.

“I want you to apologize to me,” Dimirty says, pressing the tip of the plug against his ass. The cold lube sends shovers up his spine. “Tell me you’re sorry for avoiding me. Maybe I’ll be gentle so you don’t bleed out there.”

“I’m sorry,” Ilya forces the words out. They taste like ash in his mouth. “I’m sorry for avoiding you.” He gasps when the tip of the plug pushes into him.

“Good boy,” Dimitry whispers. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Yes, it was,” Ilya thinks, his fists clenched. He wants to strangle Dimitry. Kill him and end this shit for good. But he can’t. He needs to hold on. He needs to make it through.

Dimitry is true to his word at least, and he’s gentle when sliding the plug into Ilya. He takes care to wipe away the extra lube and pull up Ilya’s pants.

“Don’t think this will stop now. After practice, you’re going to come back here and I’m going to finish punishing you, got it?”

Ilya stays silent and Dimitry smacks his ass hard. The plug pushes up painfully, making Ilya grunt.

“Answer me!”

“Yes,” Ilya replies through gritted teeth. “I got it.”

“Good.” Dimitry steps back. “Don’t take too long getting out there. We still have a practice to complete.”

Ilya stays bent over on the desk trying to catch his breath. Fuck. Dimitry really expected him to go out there with a plug in his ass and practice? He couldn’t do it. He can’t. They’ll know. Everyone will know. Tears rush to his eyes and he squeezes them shut. “Breath.” He tells himself, “Just act normally. It’ll be okay.”

Ilya forces himself to take several deep breaths before finally standing. The plug shifts uncomfortably against him. Fuck, this was going to be the worst practice of his life.

Ilya feels fucking humiliated. His face stays red the whole practice.

“Roz,” Cliff skates over to him, “Are you okay? Maybe you should sit this one out.”

“No,” Ilya shakes his head, “I’m good. I can practice.”

Cliff is not convinced, “You look sick and you’re fucking sweating like a dog. If you have a fever-”

“I don’t.”

“Look, you can’t play if you’re sick. You’ll get everyone else sick too.”

“Not sick,” Ilya grits out. “I’m playing.” He skates away from Cliff and bites his lips to keep from screaming. Every movement feels like fucking agony. He’s not used to having things in his ass so the plug feels like it’s torturing him. It alternated between pressing against this prostate that makes balance feel impossible, or it's at the wrong angle and makes him want to collapse.

Ilya can’t fucking concentrate and it shows. He misses easy passes, he trips more than once and he’s panting like he’s smoked four packs of cigarettes. And worse is when Dimitry yells at him.

“Rozanov! What the fuck are you doing!?”

“Rozanov! You missed that pass!”

“Rozanov! You’re too slow!”

“Rozanov! Where is your fucking head!?”

“Rozaonv! Eyes on the puck!”

He’s getting chewed out in front of everyone and it’s probably the worst he’s ever felt. Ilya wants to pass out but he knows if he quits now, it’ll be worse later.

"Roz," Cliff shucks off one of his gloves, confronting Ilya, pushing him to the wall.

"Marley what are you-"

"Shut up," Cliff takes off Ilya's helmet and presses a hand to his forehead. "Brother, you are burning up. You need to go home."

"No," Ilya bites back, "practice-"

"Coach!" Cliff ignores him, "Cap has a fever!"

“Rozanov!” Dimitry yells, “Get off the ice, you’re done!”

Cliff pops Ilya's helmet back on, "Look, go home. Rest. I'll swing by as soon as practice is over, okay?"

Ilya shuts his eyes and lets the humiliation consume him. The darkness that he’s been holding back floods into his chest. He wants to vanish. He wants to quit hockey right now, get into his car and drive to Montreal. He wants to cry in Shane’s arms and tell him everything.

He drags himself to the locker rooms and changes, not bothering to shower. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. Ilya grabs his phone to text Shane when he gets a different message.

Dimitry

Wait for me in my office

You know what I want

“Fuck,” Ilya whispers. With heavy feet, he goes to the office and shuts the door. He hates that he knows what Dimitry wants from him. It isn’t the first time either.

Ilya sheds his clothes, dumping them in a nearby chair. The plug still presses uncomfortably inside him. He thinks it’s a small mercy that he’s not hard. He doesn’t want to give Dimitry the satisfaction of arousal.

He takes a deep breath to steel himself and drops to his knees under Dimirty’s desk.

And waits.

Eventually, the door opens and Ilya can hear the voices of Dimitry and… Cliff.

“I know you know where he is,” Cliff’s voice is low and angry.

“Marlow,” Dimitry sounds so condescending. “I know you’re concerned about Ilya so feel free to look around, but he’s not here. You sent him home, didn't you? Look, come inside.”

Ilya does not want to be found like this, but he secretly prays that Cliff notices him. Maybe he can rescue him from this situation. Get him out of here and expose Dimitry. But that would mean pictures. And he wasn’t sure what was more preferable.

“Notice my clothes,” Ilya silently pleads, “They’re on the chair. You’re so close!”

“I can see plenty from here,” Cliff snips, “His stuff is still in the locker rooms so I know he’s in the building.”

“Well, would you like to wait for him in my office? We can wait for him to appear together.”

“No,” Cliff replies shortly.

Ilya wants to cry out for his best friend. Let him know that he’s here. To please, please notice. But he doesn’t and Cliff’s footsteps retreat.

Dimitry locks the door and rounds the desk to find Ilya exactly how he wanted. “Did you fucking tell him?” He sits in the chair, pulling out his cock.

Ilya shakes his head, “I didn’t say anything.”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Dimitry grabs the back of Ilya’s head and forces him down on his cock. He groans with the warmth of Ilya’s mouth. “Marlow really doesn’t like me for some reason.” He fucks Ilya’s face no giving him the freedom of movement or air to breathe. “He knows something doesn’t he? You opened your little slut mouth for him, didn’t you?”

Ilya makes a sound of protest, trying not to vomit.

“Do you spread your legs for him? I bet that you do. Does he fuck you while you beg and cry for his cock?” Dimitry kicks out one of his legs and slots it against Ilya’s soft penis. “You know what to do, don’t you? Get yourself off like the dog you are.”

Ilya whimpers but does as he’s told. He ruts against Dimity’s leg; the plug hits him in just the right way so he gets hard. Tears leak out as he does and Dimitry wipes them away with his thumb. He brings his finger to his mouth and tastes Ilya’s tears.

“There you go,” Dimitry croons, “Chase your pleasure.” He grabs Ilya’s head and sets a punishing pace fucking him until black spots fill his vision.

Ilya wants to die. He’s tired of being scared and used. He just wants Shane. He wants the warmth of his boyfriend’s arms and his voice telling him that everything will be okay.

Dimitry comes down his throat and Ilya is forced to swallow. He expects that Dimitry will pull out, but he doesn’t. Instead he leaves his cock in Ilya’s mouth.

“If you want to leave,” Dimitry smirks down at him, “You’re going to have to come.”

Ilya can’t stop the sound of despair he makes. He needs to come or else he’ll be stuck here. Pushing down the shred of his dignity, Ilya rocks himself against Dimirty’s leg. He shuts his eyes and tries to concentrate on the physical sensations, hoping it’ll get him off faster. But it doesn’t. He’s so fucking mentally blocked that he can’t.

“Poor thing,” Dimirty mocks, “Can’t come? Pathetic.” He pulls out his phone and takes new pictures of Ilya sobbing on his cock. “Look like you’ll be here with me all night if you can’t get yourself off.”

Ilya sobs around Dimitry’s cock and it twitches with interest. He thrusts his hips forward trying so hard to come. Every rock sends the plug into his prostate which spurns him on even further. “Please,” Ilya silently begs his body, “Please let me come so I can go home.”

After what feels like forever, Ilya feels the weakest orgasm of his life hit him. It’s just enough that it splatters cum on Dimity’s leg but weak enough that it thankfully didn’t feel like much.

Dimitry pulls his cock out of Ilya’s mouth and tucks himself back in. Ilya coughs and gasps for air. “So dramatic,” Dimitry laughs. “Get up and turn around.”

Ilya stands on shaking and weak legs. His head is ducked and he knows how bad he looks.

“Spread your legs.”

He obeys, parting his legs just enough for Dimitry to reach between his legs and remove the plug.

“Clean it with your mouth,” He orders and holds it up.

Ilya leans forward and opens his mouth letting Dimitry slide the toy inside his mouth. He chokes on his own taste, more tears springing to his eyes. For the second time that day, he lets Dimitry fuck his mouth. Once he’s satisfied, he drops the toy into his drawer and shuts it. He waves his hand at Ilya indicating that he should leave. Ilya doesn’t hesitate. As fast as he can he rushes to the chair and starts putting his clothes on.

“Leave your underwear and don’t ever do something like that again,” Dimitry threatens. “If you do, I’ll tell your Jane exactly what you’ve been up to.”

Ilya’s blood runs cold. He turns to face Dimitry who has the evilest smirk he’s ever seen on a fucking man. “How-?”

“I had your phone, remember? I was gracious enough not to send any pictures of you while you were avoiding me. But now? One wrong move and it’s over for you.”

-

Cliff had gone inside the locker rooms after practice expecting to find Ilya’s stuff missing or a text saying he’d left and gone home. But Ilya’s bag and phone were still there. And Cliff had done the most irrational thing he thought of. He stormed to Dimitry’s office and demanded answers.

“Coach,” Cliff intercepts the man just as his office door opens.

“Marlow, can I help you?” His fucking nice guy voice and face doesn’t fool him.

Cliff wedges himself half inside and narrows his eyes. He’s physically taller than Dimitry, probably stronger too. He can take him.

“I know you know where he is,” Cliff’s is done pretending.

“Marlow,” Dimitry gives him a condescending smile. “I know you’re concerned about Ilya so feel free to look around, but he’s not here. You sent him home, didn't you? Look, come inside.”

“I can see plenty from here,” Cliff snips, eyes scanning the inside of his office, “His stuff is still in the locker room so I know he’s in the building.”

Dimitry cocks his head and opens the door wider. He gestures to the inside of his office, “Well, would you like to wait for him in my office? We can wait for him to appear together.”

“No,” Cliff replies shortly. He resists the urge to punch Dimitry in his smug face. He knows where Ilya is. He’s fucking hiding him somewhere. The terrifying thought hits him. He hates the idea that Ilya is being held hostage somewhere, maybe tied up and waiting for Dimitry to abuse him.

He turns on his heel. He’s not leaving without his best friend.

Cliff checks the entire fucking arena. The stands, medical, the away team locker rooms and showers, the women's bathrooms, the janitorial closets, even the fucking gift shop. He called and texted Ilya but those went straight to his phone, which sat in his cubby. He’s somewhere in the fucking building, he knows it.

He makes his way back to the locker rooms hoping for a miracle. And he’s fucking given one.

“Ilya!” Cliff bolts seeing the familiar head of blonde hair stepping into the locker rooms. He looks green and his movements are jerky.

“Marle-” Ilya suddenly keels forward and vomits into the nearest trash can. His body heaves with exertion, the contents of his stomach splashing down. Part of him is grateful not to have Dimirty’s cum inside him, but the other part is terrified that Cliff will see it.

“Oh shit,” Cliff rushes forward and places a hand on Ilya’s back to rub and soothe him. His heart jolts when Ilya flinches and then throws up again. “Fuck, you’re really sick.”

Ilya heaves again, this time only bile coming up.

“I was looking everywhere for you,” Cliff continues, rubbing Ilya’s back gently.

Ilya spits and brings his head up. “Went to go lie down in empty room. Didn’t want to be disturbed.”

The lie is obvious. Cliff knew because he did check everywhere. He lets it go for now. “Right, look man, you don’t look like you’re in any condition to drive. We can go back to my-”

“Home,” Ilya begs weakly, “Please just, home.”

Cliff nods, not wanting to press or strain Ilya anymore. “Okay, home. Let me get my bags.” He doesn’t bother with a shower, but throws on a little deodorant at least before grabbing Ilya’s bags too.

-

Ilya vomits in the car, thankfully managing to open the door before throwing up into the street instead of inside. Although, Cliff wouldn’t’ve cared if he had. How many times was that now?

Cliff doesn’t say a word and just grabs Ilya’s bag, carrying it inside and setting it down  by the door.

“Hey,” He says gently, “I can stick around and help you out.”

Ilya shakes his head, “No. You go home. I just want to sleep.”

“Well, I’ll come check on you tomorrow, okay? We don’t have practice for the next couple days anyway.”

“Sure, yes.” Ilya agrees.

Cliff sticks around long enough to make sure Ilya gets showered and into bed. He’s out within a few minutes, snoring softly. Only then does he leave.

He starts to head home, passing by the arena on the way. He couldn’t… right? Cliff pulls into the parking lot and notices that Dimitry’s car is still there. Not wanting to be noticed, he parks away from him in a darker spot of the parking lot.

Outgoing Call… Scott Hunter

“Marlow?” Scott answers almost immediately. “Is everything okay?”

“Um, no.” Cliff says, “I’m about to do something really stupid or really smart. So I need you to bail me out of jail if anything happens.”

“Oh god,” Scott groans, “Marlow are you serious?”

“What’s happening?" He can hear Kip’s worried voice in the background.

Cliff swallows, “Yeah. I’m parked outside the Bears arena right now. I’m going to break into Dimitry’s office.”

“What the fuck!?” Scott explodes.

“Hear me out!” Cliff argues, “Something happened to Ilya today and I wasn’t there. But now he’s fucking sick, and I know that fucker had something to do with it. I don’t care how many laws I’m breaking right now. I’m done waiting around for him to kill my best friend.”

“Marlow, Marlow, listen to me,” Scott sounds like he’s grabbing keys. “Kip and I are driving to Boston right now. We can talk about this, find evidence a different more legal way-”

“Sorry,” Cliff shakes his head, “I’m not waiting. You know where I live, you have the door code, I’ll see you there unless I get arrested.”

“Cliff fuc-” He hangs up and gets out of the car.

It takes him no time at all to enter the arena, avoid all the janitorial staff, and reach Dimitry’s very empty and dark office. The door is locked, but Cliff knows exactly how to get it.

He takes his credit card from his wallet and slips it into the door crack. After a bit of expert shimmying, the handle turns granting him access. Cliff imagines how appalled Scott would be that he knows how to do this but… hey, everyone’s got to have some kind of past.

Cliff slips inside and shuts the door behind him, locking it. He doesn’t need anyone to be walking into whatever crime he’s committing. The office itself is rather boring, containing all the usual hockey things. Calendars on the walls, file cabinets, whatever. There’s even a stupid little closet for jackets and spare gear.

He zeros in on the desk. If Dimitry is hiding anything, it’s got to be in there. Cliff rounds the desk and automatically spies the locked bottom drawer. Bingo. He kneels and gives it a quick tug. No dice. Doesn't matter. Cliff doesn’t make it a habit to carry around lock picks but he does know what to do in a pinch.

Cliff grabs a couple paper clips from the desk and bends them to the shapes he needs. Having a cousin who frequently got arrested for breaking and entering was really coming in handy. Well, until he got arrested last year for aggravated assault.

“Thank you Vinny,” Cliff grins as the lock pops open. He shoves the makeshift lock picks into his pocket and opens the drawer.

Cliff’s heart stops and grows cold. There’s a fucking used black butt plug sitting at the bottom of the draw, a small bottle of lube, boxers that Cliff highly suspects belongs to Ilya, and a flashdrive. Murderous rage fills him. But this is evidence. Solid fucking evidence.

Cliff takes pictures just in case. He reaches for the flashdrive, knowing it’s the most important thing.

And then door rattles and Dimitry’s voice echoes just outside.

FUCK.

Chapter Text

Cliff shuts the drawer as fast and as quietly as he can. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He needs a place to hide. He can’t go under the desk, he’s too big and it’s too obvious. The closet!

He runs to the closet and slips inside. It’s too fucking cramped as he presses himself into the coats trying to stay quiet and hidden. Hopefully, Dimitry doesn’t open the fucking door or peer into the slats.

Just as the office door opens, Cliff manages to click the closet door shut.

“-Tol'ko seychas vozvrashchayus'.” Dimitry says into the phone. He waits for the other person to respond and then laughs.

Cliff has an idea. He pulls out his phone, turns the brightness down and opens the voice recording app. Maybe he can catch Dimitry saying some incriminating shit about himself.

Cliff watches as he heads to his deck and kicks out the chair sitting in it. “Eto, bezuslovno, khoroshaya rabota. YA ne dumal, chto mne pridotsya...”

Dimitry pauses and frowns. “Aga-aga.”

He leans down and reaches for the cabinet. Cliff is glad he didn’t touch anything yet. All Dimitry needs to do is finish this conversation and fucking leave.

“Khm,” Dimitry mumbles and pulls the drawer open. “YA dumal, ya eto zaper.”

Cliff’s heart stops. Fuck. He’s going to get caught. But luckily Dimitry doesn’t notice.

“Dumayesh', mne stoit?” He laughs again and pulls out the butt plug. “On by rydal, kak poslednyaya suchka.”

Dimitry starts to pack the contents of the draw into his bag. Fuck, he needed that!

“Nu, togda skazhi mne, gde eto vzyat'.”

He scoffs and shuts the drawer, kicking the chair back into place. “On takoy, blyat', tupoy. Kazhdyy raz na eto vedotsya.”

Cliff holds his breath while Dimitry stands and walks to the door. “Rot u nego khorosh, no zadnitsa - yeshcho luchshe.”

He stops in front of the closet, his hand on the knob. Cliff shuts his eyes, trying to will himself to vanish into the wall.

But the other person on the line says something and Dimitry’s eyes darken into anger. “Net, net. Ne ya zdes', blyad', pidor. YA prosto stavlyu odnogo na mesto. Tak vizzhat, kogda ikh trakhayut, tol'ko pidory. Tebe etogo ne ponyat' - ty slishkom ssyklo, chtoby proyavit' muzhika i postavit' ikh na mesto.”

Dimitry lets go of the closet doorknob and shakes his head. “Da! YA zaberu eto segodnya vecherom.”

The office door opens, shuts and locks. “Khorosho, da. Uvidimsya v Moskve.”

And he’s gone.

Cliff lets out a breath of relief. Thank fuck he wasn’t discovered. He stops the recording and shoves it into his pocket. Fucking Dimitry took the evidence, but at least he has a picture. That’s something at least.

-

He stayed in the closet for another hour making sure that Dimitry was actually gone before leaving. He made sure to double check that the drawer was actually empty (disappointingly it was). But finally home, Cliff anxiously waits for Scott and Kip.

His front door opens just as Cliff finishes placing an online order for pizzas.

“Marlow?” Scott calls into the house, “Please tell me you’re here.”

“Kitchen!” Cliff calls back and waves them inside. Kip and Scott kick their shoes off.

“Thank fuck you’re not in jail right now,” Scott groans. “Do you know how-”

“We’re right,” Cliff cuts him off. “I fucking saw it. I have a picture of his fucked up collection, I recorded his conversation.”

“Woah, slow down.” Scott pushes them towards the couch. “Marlow, we’re with you on this. Okay? Kip and I talked, we’re with you. Whatever you did, whatever you saw or heard, we’ll back you. We love Ilya too.”

Cliff sucks in a deep breath and nods. “Okay. Okay, good.”

“Now,” Scott instructs, “Start over. What happened after you hung up?”

“I snuck into Dimitry’s office,” Cliff starts, omitting the part where he broke in. “And I searched his desk. He had this locked drawer so I opened it.”

“He had a key lying around?” Kip asks.

Cliff hesitates, “Not exactly. I… know a little trick on how to open locks.”

There’s a moment of silence before Scott waves for him to continue, “Go on.”

“He had…” Cliff feels queasy so he hands his phone to Scott. “I took a picture.”

Scott takes the phone and Cliff watches the blood drain from his face. “Fucking hell.” Kip leans over and his expression morphs into horror.

“I think those are his boxers,” Cliff croaks, “They’re the type he wears.”

“And the flashdrive?” Scott asks.

Cliff shakes his head, “Dimitry came back and I had to hide.”

“What!?”

“He didn’t see me and he emptied the drawer so I couldn’t take anything. But he was talking to someone in Russian. If you open my voice memos, I recorded the whole thing.”

Scott hands Cliff his phone so he can bring up the recording and asks, “Kip can you translate?”

“I can try,” Kip agrees, “But I’m not fluent. It might take some time too if I can’t understand the recording.”

“I’m just hoping it’s useful,” Cliff replies, turning his volume all the way up.

“Maybe,” Scott sighs. “Play it?”

He does and the recording comes through. It’s on the softer side, and a little muffled because of where Cliff was hiding but the conversation is there. And it’s clear enough that Kip gets some of the words.

“I don’t know everything,” Kip says, “Do you have paper and a pen? It’ll help if I write it down.”

“Sure.” Cliff leaves the phone and returns with paper and a pen for Kip.

Kip presses play on the recording, “-Tol'ko seychas vozvrashchayus'.”

He frowns and then slowly translates. “I think it means, ‘-just getting back in now.’ which makes sense given that this is when he walked in.”

Cliff and Scott nod along.

“Uh…” Kip plays the next chunk and listens.

“Eto, bezuslovno, khoroshaya rabota. YA ne dumal, chto mne pridotsya… Aga-aga.”

“Okay, so this one is ‘It’s a good job that’s for sure. I didn’t think I was going to…’ and then I guess someone else was talking there so he stopped. And the next part after that he’s just saying ‘yeah, yeah.’”

Cliff grumbles a little, “So far not very useful.”

“There’s still more,” Kip smiles softly but a little worriedly.

“Khm, YA dumal, ya eto zaper.”

“Ah,” Kip nods, “I’m guessing this is when he noticed you broke into his drawer?”

“Why?” Cliff asks, “What did he say?”

“He’s saying ‘Huh, I thought I locked that.’”

The recording continues and Kip looks a little upset. “I really hope he’s not talking about Ilya here.” His eyebrows are scrunched together. “He’s saying, ‘You think I should? He’d cry like a little bitch.’”

Cliff and Scott suck in deep breaths.

“I think he’s planning something,” Kip swallows and translates the next section. “‘Well, tell me where to get it then.’”

“Get what?” Cliff presses, “Does he say?”

“Um…” Kip presses play again and listens. “He doesn't say but… he’s…”

“Kip?” Scott asks.

“He’s calling Ilya stupid. He’s saying, ‘He’s so fucking stupid. He falls for it every time.’”

“Every time?” Cliff is fucking queasy. “What is he doing?”

Kip hands are curled into tight fists as they listen to the next portion. “He-” his voice cracks a little and Scott reaches over to put a comforting hand on his thigh. “His mouth is good, but his ass is better.”

“Fuck!” Cliff screams.

“It gets worse,” Kip rubs his eyes to keep tears from falling. “That long part where he just goes on? He’s saying…” He takes a deep breath and repeats with his eyes closed, “No, no. I’m not the fucking faggot here. I’m just putting one in his place. Only faggots cry like that when they’re getting fucked. You wouldn’t know you’re too much of a pussy to man up and put them down.’”

Cliff stands. He needs to fucking punch something, he needs to break someone. Dimitry. He’s going to fucking kill him. He doesn’t give a fuck if he ends up with life in prison. He’s going to die. That motherfucker is going to die for daring to lay a hand on his best friend.

Kip listens to the rest of the conversation and translates, “Yes! I’ll pick it up tonight. Okay, yeah. I’ll see you in Moscow.”

“So he’s going to pick up something tonight,” Scott’s no better than Kip and Cliff. “So we know Ilya is safe for now.”

“I’m not giving him the fucking chance,” Cliff growls, “I’m killing him when I see him at practice.”

“Ilya wouldn’t like that,” Scott manages to say somehow knowing that Cliff is plotting a legitimate murder. “He needs you. Where is he now?”

“Home,” Cliff replies and sits back on the couch, “I drove him back earlier. He’s sick, so he’s sleeping it off. I told him I’d check in on him tomorrow.”

“Good,” Scott nods. “We’ll go with you. Someone should be with him at all times.”

“He doesn’t know that we know,” Cliff says. And then his mind flickers to Hollander. Does Shane know? No way, he would’ve already been here by now. Which means Ilya has been keeping it from his boyfriend.

“I think we need to tell him that we know,” Kip says firmly.

“I agree,” Scott says, “We’ll tell him tomorrow.”

-

Ilya woke up around midnight because he's too fucking warm and his head is throbbing. He flips on the lights, grateful that he at least had the good sense to shower. His jaw is stiff and his ass is aching. Not in the nice way like when Shane fingered him, in the wrong way that makes him feel queasy. He runs to the bathroom to vomit again.

Ilya isn't so much vomiting because he's actually sick. He just can't stop himself. He's sick because of what he’d done. What he’d allowed to happen to him. But his body just couldn’t handle it anymore. Was it going to be this bad every time? Fuck, if that was true he would be dead before the end of the month. He wouldn't make it to the end.

And now Dimitry had Shane's number. 

He needed to fix this. Ilya couldn’t guarantee that he wasn’t going to fuck up again. Dimitry would find something to be mad about and he’d send the pictures to Shane.

Ilya couldn't lose Shane. Shane was the light at the end of his tunnel. He was the reason he could- the reason he was trying to survive this shit at all. Ilya knew needed to get ahead of this. He needed to admit to Shane that he was... he was what?

He was cheating on Shane. He was letting another man fuck him, so that counted. And hopefully his boyfriend would forgive him.

“Please take me back, don't break up with me. Please, please, please don't leave me.” He silently begs the universe. He just needs to explain why. He needs to explain that all he needs to do is stick it out for another two months and it'll be okay. He'll spend the rest of his groveling at Shane's feet for forgiveness.

Shane would know what to do, right? He'd comfort Ilya and say that it was just two more months. Then he'd be home free. Ilya would get the pictures back and everything would be fine. It'll go back to the way it should be. He'll leave and go to Ottawa, becoming a proud Centaur. He'll only be two hours away from Shane all the time.

Unless Shane wouldn’t understand. Unless he didn’t forgive Ilya for fucking up their relationship. He might call Ilya dirty and used. Why would Shane want someone with this much baggage? He wouldn’t. But Ilya knows he can hide it. He can be normal. He can bury this deep down and strive to be the boyfriend and partner that Shane deserves. Shane doesn’t deserve someone as damaged as him.

Ilya takes a deep breath and sinks to the bathroom floor, leaning against the wall. The cold tile seeps into his skin though the sweats.

Shane wouldn't be that cruel would he? He’d see that Ilya was hurting, right? He would see through him because he’s Shane. And Shane loves him… he has to.

It's the only thing that keeps Ilya from losing his nerve as he video calls his boyfriend.

It’s midnight and Shane is in California for the Sharks game which means it’s 9pm, so realistically, Shane should be awake. He hopes. Fuck, he hopes Shane is awake. Even if he doesn’t work up the nerve to tell his boyfriend what he’s been doing, it would be heaven to hear his voice.

Ilya makes a plan. He needs to do this casually, like it’s no big deal. Because if he panics, Shane will panic and that’s not good. He has a game tomorrow. He needs to be in the right headspace.

Outgoing Video Call… Jane

The plan falls apart immediately.

“Shane,” Ilya sobs the second his boyfriend answers.

“Ilya!?” Shane’s face fills the phone. He’s sitting in a stairwell with headphones. “Ilya what’s wrong!? What happened!? Are you okay? Are you safe? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry!” Ilya can’t even hold the phone up properly.

“Ilya,” Shane’s voice is so panicked, “Ilya, baby. Please tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”

“I lied,” he can’t hold it in anymore. “I lied, it’s him.”

“It’s him? Who’s-” Shane’s sucks in a sharp gasp. “Your coach?”

Ilya holds up the phone so he can see Shane’s face. His expression is twisted with fury. “Please don’t be mad at me,” He pleads.

“I’m not mad at you,” Shane’s face softens but there’s agony in his eyes, “What happened?”

And he spills the truth like a fucking broken faucet.

“He has pictures of me,” Ilya can barely see through the tears, “He threatened to show them to the press and today he-” A choked sob works its way out of his throat. He can’t stop now, but Shane needs to know. “He took my phone and saw our texts. He took your number and said he was going to send you the pictures. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“He has been…” The words can’t come out, only more sobs. “I didn’t want it, Shane. I promise I didn’t want him. I don’t- I just want you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

“No,” Shane is crying now too, “Ilya no. Don’t apologize. I love you, I love you so much. I believe you. Fuck, I wish I could hug you right now. I’m getting a ticket right now. I’m coming to Boston.”

“Your game-”

“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care about the game. I care about you.” Shane gets up from the stairwell and rushes back to the hotel room. Ilya is sobbing over the phone unable to properly speak anymore and Shane feels so fucking helpless. “I promise, everything will be okay. I’m coming to you. I love you so much, I promise I’ll be right there with you. No matter what.” He pushes open the hotel room door, not caring that it bangs.

Hayden jumps from the bed and opens his mouth to speak but sees Shane’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you get me a plane ticket to Boston? Next flight out. It’s an emergency.”

Hayden has his phone out immediately, “Is Ilya okay?”

Shane shakes his head already grabbing his stuff and shoving it into his bag. “Ilya, can you go stay with someone tonight? Or have someone stay with you? I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I will ask Marley if he is free. I think he knows something, or suspects. He has done a good job of not leaving me alone with coach.”

“Good,” Shane breathes, “That’s good. Go to his house and stay there until I’m there. Or have him come to you. I’m not hanging up on you okay? We’ll stay on the phone together.”

Ilya shakes his head. The exhaustion is too much for him to handle. “Is okay. I want to lie down now. Sleep and forget for a while. I will text Marley now.”

“Tell me when he’s there please.”

“I will. Goodnight Shane. I love you.”

“I love you, Ilya. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

The call ends with Shane’s heart pounding out of control. He needs to plan. He needs his mom. She’ll be able to get to Boston faster than he can.

“Buddy,” Hayden nods at Shane, “I texted you the flight info, it leaves in four hours. I also got you an uber, it’ll be downstairs in fifteen minutes. And I’ll tell coach you had to go, let me sort out the mess here.”

“Thanks, Hayd. You’re the best.” Shane grabs his bag, gives a quick hug to Hayden and leaves. Opening his phone, he calls Yuna. It immediately goes to voicemail so he tries his Dad but he doesn’t answer either. It’s also past midnight and they were likely asleep but he had been hoping they’d be awake.

Shane

Mom please call me!!

Its an emergency!!

It’s ilya

Please go to boston as soon as possible

Im flying there too

Ilya lays down after hanging up with Shane and the tears come fresh again. He’s so fucking scared but after telling Shane he feels like things might be okay. Shane didn’t hate him. He didn’t yell at him or call him a slut. He believed Ilya. Shane told him that he loved him.

Ilya opens his messages with Cliff. The exhaustion pulls at him, but he needs to text Cliff before he drifts and it’s too late.

Ilya

Marley i need help

Please come stay with me

Im scared to be alone

Is bad

You were right

Ilya’s eyes shut and sleep pulls him under before he can hit send.

Chapter Text

Excitement fuels Dimitry as he drives to Ilya’s house. Ever since Marlow had started hanging around the Bears’ captain, it’s been a fucking pain in Dimitry’s ass. He fucking hates Cliff Marlow. It would be easy to make a call and make Marlow disappear, but that would be too obvious. He’d tried to get Ilya alone, but that stupid fucking guard dog was in the way.

Now, he has a plan. If he can’t have Ilya at the rink, he’ll just have to go to his home. (It was an easy admin search to find the address too. So careless of them.) Marlow can’t be everywhere and Dimitry is sick of him. Ilya is his toy to play with and break. It’s what he’s meant for. And Marlow has been playing with his toy for far too long. And now, since they have a couple days off from practice, Ilya will be all alone. He’ll fucking make sure of it.

After all, they have lost time to make up for it. Dimitry will have him for hours this time. And he’s not going to let Ilya have a moment of peace. Ilya needs to be punished for his transgressions. This time, he’s going to break him. He needs to instill fear and distrust; break his relationship with Marlow. And he has the perfect plan for it.

Dimitry knows he can’t actually send pictures to Marlow without facing consequences. He suspects that if he did, the enforcer would snap his neck and Dimirty likes his neck. Instead, he changes the contact name for his friend, Sergey, to Cliff Marlow.

Dimirty

I'm going to send you pictures of the faggot

Sergey

Fuck yes okay

Dimirty

I need you to reply in english when i do

Sergey

fuck 

Why?

Dimirty

I’m going to fucking break him

Sergey

What do you want me to say?

Dimitry

I don’t care

Call him a fag

Tell me to fuck him up more

Whatever

Sergey

HA okay

Send more than one

I want to see blood

Dimitry

You’ll get blood

Make sure you’re alone when you open it

Don’t want Alexei to see

Sergey

Why would he care about his fag brother?

Dimitry

He’d implicate us to save his own skin

Sergey

Like he isn’t the one who bailed us out before

🙄

Dimitry

Whatever

Just reply in english

Sergey

Fine

Okay

After passing a diner and picking up food to-go, he finally parks in front of Ilya’s house. He grins, time to put his plan into action.

Cracking open the lid on the soup he ordered, Dimitry reaches into his pocket and produces a small package of pills. Sergey had orchestrated a little deal for him and Dimitry was very eager to try it out on Ilya. They’d promised him it would last in Ilya’s system for only 24hours so if there was a random drug screening, it would be free and clear. The one thing he couldn’t do was fuck with Ilya’s hockey. That was even more dangerous than what he was currently doing.

Making sure to mix it in thoroughly, Dimirty closes the lid and rearranges the bag of food. He places the “to-go” sticker back on (appearances were important) and walks up to the door and rings the bell.

Ilya jolts awake to the sound of the doorbell. A wash of relief floods through him when he realizes that it must be Cliff. It’s only been an hour since he’d fallen asleep so it’s still dark. But, feeling safer already, he rushes to the door. Through the window, he sees Cliff’s silhouette carrying a bag of food. The rest of him is shrouded in darkness because Ilya had forgotten to turn on the porch lights. Whatever, it’s not like he cared anyway.

A fleeting thought occurred to him that Cliff had the code to the front door, so why didn’t he use it? But then again, he looked like he was carrying a large bag of food so it made sense he’d need help with the door. But then… Why not put them down?

Ignoring the doubts, Ilya opens the door.

His face transforms into horror.

Dimitry steps inside, forcing himself past Ilya’s body. “You shouldn’t just open the door like that,” He scolds, already heading inside and inspecting the place. “I could’ve been anyone.”

“What are you doing here?” Ilya demands shutting the door and hurrying after him. His heart is pounding hard. Fuck, it’s not Cliff. He’s not here yet.

Dimitty holds up the bag or food and places it on the counter. “Well, my star player is sick. What kind of coach would I be if I didn’t care for him?”

Ilya narrows his eyes. “You only care about fucking me. What is this?”

He watches Dimitry pull the quality control stickers off the bag, ripping them carelessly. “You’ve earned your peace.” He replies, “This is just an apology.” He slides the food towards Ilya and opens his own takeout container.

Dimitry sighs seeing Ilya’s hesitation and anger. “If you fucking eat, I’ll go. Okay? Don’t be such a fucking bitch. You're so sensitive.” He starts opening drawers in the kitchen until he finds utensils and grabs a set for both of them.

Ilya reaches for his phone, ready to ask Cliff where the fuck is he!? But then Dimitry slams his hand down on the countertop that makes him flinch hard. The jolt was so startling because it reminded him of his father and he immediately found himself sitting in a barstool on pure instinct.

“Fucking eat,” Dimitry orders, “Or I maybe I’ll change my mind and fuck you until you bleed out your pussy instead. So what would you rather do, huh? Eat or get fucked?”

“Eat,” Ilya found the words sour as they came out softly. He grabs the soup Dimitry had handed him and a spoon.

The soup itself was basic, a little too salty, and had an acrid aftertaste. But he forces himself to finish it. Each bite seems to calm Dimitry down until it seems like everything is going to be fine. The minutes ticks away and Ilya feels his anxiety growing. Where the fuck is Cliff?

“Bathroom?” Dimitry asks and Ilya points.

He watches the man get up and disappear behind a wall before he whips out his phone and opens his messages to Cliff.

FUCK.

He never sent it.

A hand reaches out and snatches his phone.

Ilya jumps from his seat and reaches to grab it but- he falls forward, barely managing to catch himself. 

What the fuck!?

He lands onto the tile. Why the fuck did his legs just give out like that? Ilya tries to move his arms, his strength dissipating.

Dimitry crouches next to him holding the phone in disappointment. “What did I fucking tell you about opening your mouth?” He holds up Ilya’s phone for him to see and deletes the unsent text. “No one is coming to save you.”

Ilya’s heart sinks. He’s fucking trapped. His body won’t listen to him, he can’t fucking move. “What did you do to me?” He growls, no longer bothering to hide his animosity.

Dimitry tosses Ilya’s phone to the side, hearing the screen shatter as it clatters and slides somewhere on the floor. He weaves his fingers through Ilya’s hair and yanks his head upwards.

“It’s a brand new drug,” Dimirty explains, moving Ilya’s head from side to side like he’s a rag doll. “Keeps your mind completely alert but drains strength from the rest of your body. You can move, don’t worry. It just keeps you from fighting me.”

“Fuck you,” Ilya spits at him.

Dimitry laughs and yanks hard making Ilya hiss. “No one is coming for you, Rozanov. You are mine.” He crashes their lips together, forcing his tongue into Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya bites as hard as he can. Or rather, as hard as his body will let him. Dimitry laughs and pulls away. “Did you just try to bite me?”

“Fuck. You.” Ilya repeats.

Dimitry smiles broadly and lets go of Ilya. His head thumps against the floor. “Stay here, I have gifts for you.” He gets up and walks away, humming delightedly to himself.

Ilya groans and tries to force his arms and legs to fucking work. He’s never felt so fucking weak in his life as he staggers to his feet. It’s like walking on numb legs. They won’t go forward, but he needs to get to his phone. He can see where it landed and if he can get to it, he can call for help.

“How adorable,” Dimitry’s voice echoes in Ilya’s house. The sound of the door locking is even louder. “You think you can escape from me?”

Ilya’s legs are fucking shaking and he wants to scream. How dare his fucking body betray him like this? “Stay the fuck away from me,” Ilya snaps. He tries to force his legs to move again but all they do is buckle and he hits the floor again.

“Sure,” Dimitry shrugs nonchalantly. Ilya notices he’s carrying a rather large bag that looks fucking heavy. He doesn't even want to imagine what kind of fucked up shit he has in there. “I’ll leave you alone if you can stop me.”

He grabs Ilya and flips him onto his back. “Go on,” he teases, “Stop me from taking your clothes off.”

And Ilya does fucking try. He tries so damn hard. Dimitry pulls at his shirt and Ilya tries to bat his hands away only succeeding in smacking him with limp hands. He grows in frustration as Dimitry laughs and manhandles him, flinging his body carelessly.

The cold tile hits his back and his shirt is thrown to the side.

“I thought you were fighting me?” Dimitry taunts running his hands up and down Ilya’s chest.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Ilya tries to shove him again but his arms won’t obey.

Dimitry leans forward and takes one of Ilya’s nipples into his mouth. He bites down making him yelp.

“You can’t, can you? Because you’re a little whore who wants this. It’s why you’re not fighting as hard. You secretly want this to happen, don’t you?”

“Fuck off!” Ilya refuses to give in to the mind games. Because Shane believed him. Because unlike what Dimitry thinks, there is someone coming to save him.

The smirk only grows and he releases Ilya’s nipple in favor of sliding down his sweatpants. “Are you sure about that? Because I think I’m going to prove that you’re a whore who is only good for spreading his legs and taking it like a bitch.”

His sweats join his shirt somewhere on the floor. “I don’t want you to fucking touch me. You fucking rapist!” Ilya spits it in Dimitry’s face because that’s what he is. He’s a fucking rapist.

“Yes, I am.” Dimitry doesn’t seem bothered at all. “Which makes you my victim, doesn’t it?”

Victim. The words slaps Ilya in the face.

“I’m not-” Ilya tries to say, but… he is. Because fucking of course he is. He’s a fucking victim. Which means he’s fucking weak. He’s too weak to fight back so it happened to him.

“Aw you see,” Dimitry slides Ilya’s boxers down and tosses them aside. “I told you. You’re letting this happen to you. You let me touch you.” He starts stroking Ilya’s cock, grinning as he unwillingly gets hard. “If you didn’t want it, you wouldn’t be getting turned on.” Dimitry lets go of Ilya’s dick and kisses him almost as sweetly as a lover would. 

“I’m going to go prepare the bedroom for us. Stay here.” He picks up the bag, grabs Ilya’s phone from the floor, and disappears down the hall.

Ilya screams in frustration as the drug gets stronger, sapping away his strength. He knows that soon, he won’t be able to do anything except lie there and let Dimitry do whatever he wants.

“We have all that lost time to make up for, Ilyusha.” He calls from the bedroom.

“Fuck!” Ilya screams so loud it rings in his ears. It’s met with harsh laughter and joyful humming.

Ilya doesn’t want to be here anymore. Maybe if he can just crawl to the front door, he can make it onto the street. Maybe some passerby will see him and stop and save him. His phone is out of his reach but maybe this can work. Whatever Dimitry is doing, it’ll probably take awhile.

He strains to flip himself over and stares down at his door. It feels like it’s miles long, but he has to try. He can’t just let this happen. He can’t prove Dimirty right. He’s not weak, he’s not some victim.

Ilya makes it to the door, out of breath and limps shaking. Fuck, he’s got to stand. He’s got to-

“Wow,” Dimirty walks the length of the hallways stopping just behind Ilya. “Poor thing. You couldn’t even escape properly. And now you’re all sweaty. Don’t worry, I’m going to take good care of you.”

“Fuck you,” Ilya tries to spit but his mouth is heavy, his tongue feels like lead.

“Ah,” Dimitry pushes Ilya with foot, rolling him over. “It’s fully kicked in. No more talking for you, slut. Just delicious noises.”

He grabs Ilya and lifts him, tossing him over his shoulder. Ilya can only make a sound of protest as Dimitry’s hand rubs his cheeks, occasionally smacking them.

He’s carried to the bedroom and Ilya stares in horror at the transformation. His sheets have been ripped off and there are now under-the-bed restraints ready for use. On his nightstand, Ilya sees a variety of sex toys that he’s never wanted to use on himself or see used on other people.

Dimitry throws him on the bed and sheds his own clothes. He’s already hard, his dick leaking. “We won’t need the restraints yet. And since you won’t need your mouth for anything but sucking…” He picks up a spider gag from the nightstand and holds it up for Ilya to see. “Easy access for a whore like you.”

Ilya whimpers in protest, trying to will his body into moving. His breath starts to quicken. He absolutely does not want that thing in his mouth. It was too large, and looked like it would cut into his face.

But Dimitry only gets harder watching him struggle to protest. He grabs Ilya’s jaw forcing the fucking contraption inside, buckling it tight behind his head. Ilya was right. The fucking thing is too large and it cuts into his face. He can feel the corners of his mouth splitting and the straps get caught in his curls.

Dimitry spits into his open mouth and shoves his tongue inside. “I can’t wait to spend quality time with you. But I still need to punish you for that text.” He pulls back and grabs a set of nipple clamps, adjusting them to their tightest setting.

Ilya cries into the gag, feeling the sharp pinch. 

“Was that too rough?” Dimirty mocks. “Dirty whore. You’re lucky I’m being gentle.”

“This is gentle?” Ilya despairs silently. He knows Dimitry can get worse and has no doubts that it will.

Dimitry forces Ilya’s legs apart and lines himself up. “Think you can take me dry?”

Ilya tries to shake his head, letting out pathetic sounds of protest.

“No?” Dimitry smirks, “Alright, I’ll be nice. I don’t want to stain these sheets just yet.” 

He grabs the lube, slicks himself up and slides into Ilya in one rough motion.

Ilya makes an undignified sound as air is punched out of him. His body conforms to Dimitry’s cock, taking him in and still loose from earlier that day. He sobs as his limbs just flop uselessly.

“So fucking good,” Dimitry grunts, sweating over Ilya’s prone body. He pounds into him hard, shoving his fingers into Ilya’s mouth to play with his tongue. He doesn’t even bother touching Ilya’s cock, not caring that he’s not even hard.

And all Ilya can do is lie there and wait for it to be over. He doesn’t even have a clock to see how much time is passing. He's not even sure if that would be better or worse. His body rocks in time with Dimitry’s hard thrusts and the bed shakes, slamming into the wall. He sobs with the agony of being so helpless and weak. Ilya wishes he could shut his mind down and leave his body. Please, just let him dissociate from this experience and let him come back when it’s over. When he’s finally safe in Shane’s arms.

But he can’t. He’s too fucking grounded in his damn body. Each trust feels like more and more of a betrayal. Ilya knows he’s drugged but he can’t stop hating himself for it. He’s trusted the damn food, he’d seen the stupid to-go sticker and assumed it was safe. He was an idiot. He’d let himself get drugged and now he was paying the price.

Ilya feels Dimirty starting to speed up. His thrusts were getting more erratic and he was literally, disgustingly, drooling into Ilya’s open mouth. He wished he could vomit again, but also didn’t want to because he knew he’d choke on it. And this was decidedly not how he wanted to die. He wanted to die old and wrinkly and at the same time as Shane so he’d never have to know a breath without him.

Then, finally, finally, Dimitry spills his seed deep inside Ilya. He breathes into Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya can smell the food. It makes him sick.

“You’re so fucking good at taking me,” Dimitry groans and sucks hickies into Ilya’s neck. He pulls his soft cock out and watches cum spill out. He grabs his phone and takes more pictures. “If you’re good for me,” Dimirty says, maneuvering himself over Ilya’s face to force his dick down Ilya’s throat, “I’ll even delete these pictures before I leave.”

Ilya doesn’t respond, too focused on trying to breathe and not fucking choke. And for the second time Dimitry comes and Ilya is forced to swallow if he wants to breathe again.

Dimirty pulls back off of Ilya and smiles. “It’s getting late, isn’t it. We should get some rest. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Hope sparks in him. Tomorrow will bring Shane and a sure fire rescue. And hopefully Dimitry is stupid enough to leave him untied. He’ll just need to stay awake long enough to get feeling back in his limbs and get the fuck away.

But he has no such luck.

Ilya feels his heart sinking as Dimitry grabs his arms and legs, securing them with the restraints. “Aw,” He grins seeing the frustrated expression on Ilya’s face, “Did you really think I’d forget? Just for that, I think you deserve a little punishment.”

Dimitry gets off the bed and opens his bag. Ilya holds his breath, terrified of what sort of torture device he must’ve brought. It’s nothing medieval, but fucking close enough. It’s a massive butt plug, one that is significantly girthier than Dimiry’s cock.

Ilya’s breath picks up and he attempts to struggle, only managing to wiggle slightly. Dimitry lubes the plug, teasing the tip against Ilya’s hole. “You’re going to be nice and lose for me tomorrow morning,” He grins. He pushes it all the way inside, the end sitting snug against his hole.

Ilya lets out a loud cry whimpering with the stretch. He’s struggling to breathe and Dimitry decides to make it worse. He pulls a length of restraints and wraps it around Ilya’s neck. Not tight enough to strangle him, but enough that when he pulls it taught and ties it to the frame, Ilya has to keep his neck up or it’ll restrict his airflow.

Then, like this is simply his bedtime routine, Dimitry turns out the lights and climbs into bed with Ilya. He wraps his arm possessively around Ilya’s body and kisses his open mouth.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, “See you in the morning.”

Chapter Text

Cliff couldn’t fucking sleep. All he can do is think about Ilya and the suffering he must’ve endured. He keeps tossing and turning, unable to get the sinking feeling out of his chest that something is wrong.

It’s 5am when Cliff decides he can’t fucking take it anymore. He can’t take lying down in his bed, he needs to do something, fucking anything.

He dresses himself and heads to the kitchen for coffee. Shockingly, Scott is already awake filling the coffee maker with grounds.

“You too?” Scott asks.

“Yeah,” Cliff sighs, “I can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t feel right knowing that I could’ve done something and didn’t.”

“You did the best that you could,” Scott says, starting the coffee machine. “You couldn’t’ve known.”

“But I did,” Cliff argues back. “I knew something was wrong.”

“We’re here now,” Scott points out, “We’ll check in on him today and let him know that we’re on his side. We’re not letting that bastard get away with this.”

Cliff sighs. Realistically, he knows that Scott is right, but it doesn’t make him feel any less guilty. “I just… I feel like we need to be there, right now.”

“Well,” Scott says, “How about as soon as the first breakfast place opens we get something to eat for Ilya and go?”

A small wave of relief washes over Cliff and he nods, “Yeah. Let’s do that.” He hesitates and then, “I think I need to call Hollander.”

Scott frowns, “Why?”

Cliff swallows, he needs to tell someone but he doesn’t want to out Shane. But… Scott can be trusted, can’t he? He takes the chance, “Um… Ilya’s person, his… it’s Hollander.”

Scott blinks and then, “That makes sense.”

“Wait, what?” Cliff does a double take.“It… does?”

“Yeah,” Scott answers sheepishly, “I had a really strong feeling that they were together for a while now.”

“How long is a while?”

“Since their rookie year, I’m pretty sure.”

“Since their rookie year!? You’ve know for that long!?”

Scott shrugs, “Not really. But I had a suspicion. Never said anything though, obviously. You have his number? If you don’t, I do.”

“Yeah,” Cliff opens his phone, “I have it.”

Scott nods his approval and Cliff dials.

Outgoing Call… Jane Hollander

Sending to Voicemail…

“Fuck,” Cliff grumbles, and tries again.

Outgoing Call… Jane Hollander

Sending to Voicemail…

Cliff

Hollander

CALL ME

It’s about Ilya

It’s a little cryptic and more than enough to send Shane spiraling, but Cliff doesn’t care. This is absolutely something to spiral over.

“Oh,” Kip walks into the kitchen looking sleep deprived with his curls out of place. “I guess none of us slept.”

“I’ll sleep when I know Roz is okay.” Cliff sighs and motions to the coffee pot, “Want a cup?”

Kip nods, “Yeah. I could use one.”

“There’s a breakfast bakery that opens at 7:30,” Scott informs looking up from his phone. “It’s almost six, so I vote that we start getting ready, and in the car so when the place opens we’ll grab stuff and head to Ilya’s. He might not be awake yet, but I’m sure he’d appreciate breakfast.”

For the first time, there’s a little bit of relief in Cliff. He’s glad that he connected with Scott and Kip, it was good to know that Ilya had friends who cared and could help Cliff not to attempt murder.

-

Ilya doesn’t sleep. He can’t sleep. The plug keeps him tense and his limbs still won’t obey him. His neck is stiff, his body ache is unbearable. He can’t even stop the pained whimpers that escape his lips. His mouth is so fucking dry yet somehow he can’t stop drooling.

Dimitry wakes at the first crack of light streaming through the curtains. He shifts and stretches, smiling up at Ilya like he’s not his victim.

“What a wonderful sight to wake up to,” Dimitry kisses Ilya’s mouth, his hand trailing down to stroke Ilya’s cock.

Ilya groans and squeezes his eyes shut trying to block out the sensations. Unwillingly, his dick gets hard and he moans under Dimitry’s ministrations.

"That's it,” Dimirty encourages, “Come for me, slut. I know you want to.”

He tries so hard not to cry but the tears leak out anyway. Ilya lets out a muffled cry as his orgasm takes him. Shame grips his soul. He’s so fucking exhausted. Ilya feels himself slipping and there’s a shred of him that’s grateful for it.

“Slip away,” He pleads with himself, “Please just make it stop.”

Unfortunately, Dimitry notices. “Oh no you don’t.” He snatches his phone from the nightstand and brings up his phone. “See this?” He says, “This is your fucking punishment.”

Ilya watches in horror as Dimitry selects the pictures of Ilya from last night and opens a new message to Cliff. “He wouldn’t, would he?” Ilya makes sounds of protest pleading with Dimitry not to do it.

And then he does.

Ilya’s heart stops beating.

Dimitry Has Sent (4) Images

Marlow

What the fuck is this?

Dimitry

Your captain is a whore who likes getting fucked in the ass by his coach

Marlow

Holy fuck

What a slut

I bet he secretly wants to get fucked by everyone in the locker rooms

I bet he fucking likes getting raped

Dimitry

Want to try him?

Cliff

Fuck no

I don’t want that faggot anywhere near me

I hope he dies

Ilya feels tears welling in his eyes as he watches the responses come in. Cliff wouldn’t say that. He wouldn’t. He’s… he’s Ilya’s best friend. He’s never said anything like that before. He would never. Cliff is his brother. His true brother. Not Alexei.

But maybe… maybe Cliff has just been hiding his true feelings.

He hates Ilya.

He wasn’t protecting him, he was keeping Ilya away from everyone else.

Protecting everyone else from him.

Ilya feels himself breaking.

Everything goes cold.

He feels Dimitry removing the plug, replacing it with his cock.

But it doesn’t matter.

Ilya prays to a god he doesn’t believe in.

He prays that everything will be over soon.

He’d like to go home to his Mama now.

-

They end up waiting in the car outside of a little bakery until 7:30am when it opens. Kip goes in with their breakfast orders and returns twenty minutes later with steaming coffees and hot and fresh pastries.

It takes all of Cliff’s self control not to speed through the early morning traffic. He just can’t stop the nagging feeling that something is wrong. He wants to be wrong. He wants to get to Ilya’s house and find him fast asleep in the bed he left him in. He wants Ilya to wake up grumpy that there are three too many people in his house.

“Maybe I should buy a gun,” Cliff voices, gripping the wheel. “This is America. We can get guns no problem.”

“Okay,” Scott says, reaching over and placing a firm hand on Cliff’s shoulder. “Let’s not do that. Right now, our priority is Ilya. We can let the justice system handle Dimitry.” There’s a long silence and then Scott sighs, “I know what I just said.”

“It’ll be okay,” Kip doesn’t sound any more convincing than Scott does. “We’re all just anxious and worried about Ilya. He’ll be fine, he’ll be okay.”

The words do absolutely nothing for any of them.

Incoming Call… Jane Hollander

“Oh fuck! It’s Hollander!” Cliff presses the button on his car to answer. “Hollander!”

“Marlow!?” Shane sounds panicked, “How is Ilya!? Is he still sleeping, is everything okay!? I just saw your call! My flight got delayed by an hour and I snuck into the plane’s bathroom to call you, please tell Ilya that I’ll be there soon!”

“Woah, Hollander.” Scott cut him off before he could go further.

“Hunter!?”

“Yeah, Kip too,” Scott answers. “We’re on our way to Ilya’s right now.”

“Now!?” Shane shrieks, “Just now!?”

“Yeah we-,” Cliff has a sinking feeling.

“Why!?” Shane is on the verge of a panic attack, “You were supposed to be there last night! Ilya texted you that he needed you!”

“He did!?” Cliff practically throws his phone at Scott. “Check! He didn’t- Hollander, I swear he didn’t text me last night.”

“He’s right,” Scott confirms, “Shane, Ilya never texted Marlow or any of us.”

“Fuck the speed limit,” Cliff growls and presses a little harder on the gas pedal.

“FUCK!” Shane whacks something hard. “Please, please hurry. I’m scared that something will happen. He sounded- fuck, do you-”

“We know,” Kip calls from the backseat, “Shane, we figured it out. Don’t worry. We’re handling it. We’re on our way to Ilya’s right now, and if anything happens we will let you know. Scott will come get you from the airport and we will all be there for Ilya, okay? You just focus on getting through that flight. Now, take a deep breath. You can’t do anything in the air right now. Send Scott your flight information. I promise, the second you are off that plane, he will be there waiting for you.”

Shane takes several deep shaking breaths, “Okay. Okay. Just keep me updated please. Ilya isn’t answering his phone and I got scared.”

“It’s still early,” Kip does his best to comfort, “He’s probably still asleep.”

“You’re right,” Shane doesn’t sound convinced or calm, but the words come out anyway. “Okay. Thank you.”

“See you soon, kid.” Scott replies, ending the call.

“Five minutes,” Cliff announces and swerves to avoid hitting a car.

There’s another car parked in front of Ilya’s house. Not just any car, Cliff immediately recognizes it.

“That’s his fucking car!” Cliff explodes and bolts to the front door. “Fuck! Fuck, he’s here!”

Pastries and coffees abandoned, Scott is right on Cliff’s heels. He watches Cliff punch in the code, nearly breaking the door down.

“Ilya!” Cliff roars. He hates that his immediate first thought is to check the bedroom. But his instincts are spot on. 

The door is shut but Cliff wastes no time in kicking it down, splintering the wood. His heart stops cold and rage boils his blood.

Dimitry apparently hadn’t noticed when he’d burst through the front door because his head swivels to see Cliff and his face transforms into horror. Dimitry is buried deep in Ilya and his hands are around his throat, squeezing so hard that Cliff can see Ilya’s face is turning purple.

“Mother fucker!” Cliff wrenches Dimitry away from Ilya. He goes flying, slamming into the wall with incredible force. 

Scott is rushing to Ilya’s side. He coughs, struggling to take in air through heaving gasps. His mouth has been pried open with something that Scott would consider a torture device. His eyes are open and wild, but staring at nothing and everything at the same time. When Scott reaches to remove the gag, Ilya weakly flinches and whimpers.

“You’re okay now,” Scott tells him as gently as possible. He carefully undoes the buckle and gently untangles it from Ilya's hair. He wants to gather up Ilya in his arms and hold him until nothing hurts anymore. “Ilya, it’s Scott. It’s me, you’re safe now. You’re okay.”

Kip materializes at his other side whispering words of comfort in Russian. “Ilya, it’s Kip. We’re here. Me and Scott, and Cliff. We have you, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m getting a blanket to cover you, okay?”

“I’m going to untie you now.” Scott pulls at the restraints being as careful as possible. His gut churns seeing Ilya’s wrists. They’re raw and bleeding, and tied entirely way too tight. He releases Ilya’s hands while Kip grabs a blanket from the floor and drapes it over Ilya to protect a bit of his dignity.

Scott expects Ilya to curl up into himself as soon as he’s freed, but he doesn’t. Instead, his arms just go limp and more tears leak from his eyes.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Kip announces and pulls out his phone. When he hangs up, he finally sees Cliff beating the absolute fuck out of Dimitry. Cliff is going to kill him. His fists don’t stop. Blood sprays across the walls and carpet.

“Cliff!” Kip screams, “Cliff stop, you’re going to kill him!”

But Cliff isn’t hearing.

“Stop!” Kip throws caution to the wind and launches himself at Cliff, grabbing onto his arm. “Ilya!” He yells, “Ilya needs you!”

“Cliff!” Scott shouts in his captain's voice. It works and Cliff turns. He’s holding Dimitry by the collar with blood dripping from his face, already unconscious. He lands one more punch before dropping the man. “Help us. We already called an ambulance. Ride with him, and we will get Shane.”

He turns back to Ilya who just looks blank. “Ilya,” Scott can’t help himself, gently taking Ilya’s hand. He sees the flinch and Ilya’s head lulls to the side to see him. “Hey, kid. We’re here.”

“Mama?” Ilya mumbles in Russian, "Everything hurts. Please make it stop. Take me with you.”

Kip has tears running down his cheeks, “Help is coming. Just hang on. You’ll see Shane too.”

“Shane?” Ilya whispers, keeping his eyes on Scott. There’s a subtle clarity now, “Hunter?”

“Hey,” Scott smiles softly, “There you are.” Ilya’s eyes are abnormally dilated and a river of tears keeps flowing.

Cliff wants to run to Ilya and throw himself at his best friend’s feet. He wants to beg for his forgiveness; for his inability to protect Ilya when he should have. But instead, he stands back because he’s covered in Dimirty’s blood, might face real jail time for aggravated assault, and because the guilt is too much to bear.

He failed.

“Marley?” Ilya whispers.

Cliff jumps and falls to Ilya’s side. “Rozy, Ilya.”

“I promise I didn’t want to,” Ilya chin wobbles, “I’m not a slut. I promise I didn’t like it.”

Cliff shakes his head, “No, fuck no. Of course you didn’t want this. I know you didn’t.”

“He texted you…” Every breath Ilya takes sounds like he’s breathing through a straw and it makes Cliff's heart want to crumble.

“I don’t-” He looks at Scott helplessly. “I wouldn’t- Ilya, brother. I love you so fucking much. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you. I fucked up so badly. I-”

The rest of the words don’t come because Ilya’s eyes flutter shut.

Chapter Text

Despite Kip telling him to breathe, that is absolutely what Shane isn’t doing. He got scolded by the flight attendant for using his phone to make a call and spent the rest of the plane ride wishing it was over. He feels maybe a little bit bad he left most of his shit behind with Hayden, but his best friend didn’t mind saying he’d bring it back to Montreal for him.

His coach however, had been less than pleased. Shane ended up silencing his notifications after Hayden texted to say to ignore Theriault. His mother had called immediately after waking up and said that she and David were getting on a flight to Boston.

Then, he’d gotten the calls from Cliff. And Shane spiraled. Ilya hadn’t sent the text to Cliff like he said he would. Which meant something happened to him. Best case, he’s fallen asleep before he could, worst case… worst case was that something terrible happened.

Shane had been spamming Ilya’s phone with texts and calls but nothing was going through. At some point it had all gone to voicemail which meant his phone had probably died.  And that had made everything worse. Because what if Ilya needed help but he couldn’t call anyone because Shane had stupidly panicked and called his phone so much that it died.

Part of him doesn’t even care that he’s left Ilya with 74 Missed calls and 109 Unread texts. It looks really fucking bad, but he’d rather panic than do nothing.

The second he lands in Boston, Shane has to force himself not to shove people out of the way just to get to curbside pickup.

Incoming Call… Scott Hunter

“Scott!” Shane is nearly out of breath. “Are you here? I can’t get ahold of Ilya-”

“Shane, Shane!” Scott’s voice is a little too loud in his ear, “Turn around. I’m the blue car behind you.”

He spins around seeing Scott waving at him from a small blue sedan. In an instant, Shane is throwing himself and his stuff in the car, nearly catching Scott in the head as he swings the bag into the backseat.

“How is-”

“We’re heading to Boston General,” Scott starts and Shane has a full blown panic attack.

“I should’ve gotten a private jet! I should’ve known something was wrong,” Shane can’t breathe. His chest is too tight, “I should’ve-”

“Hollander!” Scott breaks out his captain voice again, “I need you to listen to me, right now. I can’t, and I won’t stop this car because I know it will make things worse. I know that you would like to be with Ilya right now but you can’t do that if you’re having a panic attack. So I am going to need you to breathe with me, okay?” He reaches over and places a hand on Shane’s chest. “Breathe, okay?”

Shane grabs Scott’s wrist using his presence to keep himself grounded. He knows Scott is right. He needs to stay at least somewhat calm for Ilya. He listens to Scott counting, telling him to breathe in… and out…

“What happened?” Shane finally asks. “I couldn’t get ahold of Ilya.” He doesn’t let go of Scott’s wrist and Scott doesn’t indicate that he needs or wants his hand back.

“I need to ask first,” Scott starts, “How much do you know? Or what do you know? Because Marlow, Kip and I had to do some sleuthing to figure it out.”

“Ilya called me last night,” Shane keeps his eyes focused on the road. “He told me that their new coach was… he’s been blackmailing Ilya with pictures of him, I think as a kid? And probably some more recent ones. But he’s been doing it so that-” Shane’s voice cracks. “So that he can rap- so that Ilya is forced to have sex with him.”

Scott lets out a breath of uneasy air, “Okay, so we’re on mostly on the same page. Marlow, Kip and I arrived at Ilya’s house after we talked to you. We found him in Ilya’s house.”

Shane lets out a loud sob, and Scott moves to properly hold Shane’s hand. “Was he-?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirms softly, “We stopped him. We got him, kid. Marlow beat the shit out of him and he’s been taken to a different hospital. Police are guarding him. There are also detectives at Ilya’s house collecting evidence.”

“And Ilya?”

“They won’t tell us details because we’re not next of kin. But the paramedics think he might’ve been dosed with something. You’re his emergency contact so we told them you were coming. You’ll be able to talk to them.”

Shane nods. “I fucking wish I had been there. Why didn’t I realize that something was wrong!? I talk to him everyday. We text, we facetime. I should’ve known!”

“Don’t do that,” Scott squeezes his hand, “Don’t fucking blame yourself Shane. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

“But you and Kip and Marlow-”

“Marlow was there to see the dynamic first hand,” Scott argues back, “He saw Ilya when he was vulnerable and in the most immediate danger. You were there when Ilya felt safe.”

“And you and Kip?”

“I reached out after the game last month. Two weeks before, Ilya sent some very concerning text messages. And when Kip tried to ask for more details, he ghosted us and then bailed on our plans to hang out at The Kingfisher. So I asked Vaughn to ask Marlow for his number. We connected after that and Marlow told me all about his suspicions.”

“Fuck,” Shane whispered. “And no one told me because no one knows about us.”

“I’m really sorry, kid.” Scott uses his thumb to gently rub Shane’s hand. “If I’d know, I would’ve told you immediately.”

“Wait,” Shane realized, “Cliff knows. He knows Ilya and I are together! Why didn’t he say anything!?”

“We didn’t have evidence,” Scott admits grimly, “It was all speculation. The most we could do was make sure that Ilya was never alone. And Marlow did a pretty good job of that.”

“Not good enough,” Shane thinks unfairly. “I need to call my mom. She and my dad are flying in. I texted them last night because I thought they might be here before I got here.”

“How about I drop you off at the hospital, and if you give me your parents numbers I can pick them up. Leave your stuff in the car too. We’re all staying at Marlow’s house.”

“We are?” Shane asks weakly.

“Yeah, he’s got more than enough room and it would be nice if we were all together. It’s better than staying in a hotel.”

“Okay.”

Kip is waiting for Shane outside the hospital doors. He has to hand it to Scott, the man knows how to coordinate.

“Hey,” Kip wraps Shane in a tight hug, “Let’s go inside. You can talk to the doctors. Ilya isn’t awake yet, but we’re allowed in his room. Cliff is staying with him. I should also mention that Cliff is covered in blood, but it’s not Ilya’s.”

Shane just nods and follows Kip through the hospital. Everything smells too sterile, the noises are too fucking loud. He can hear the damn buzzing of the lights and every step feels like his feet are made of lead. But finally they’re at Ilya’s door. And Shane’s feet move of their own accord. His vision gets too blurry but it doesn’t matter because he’s only a few feet from the bed.

Ilya looks so fucking small. He’s hooked up to different machines that beep and tubes that connect to his arms. There are bandages on his wrists and his neck. His eyes look fucking hollow and his hair is greasy with sweat.

Cliff sits by Ilya’s side holding his hand, but quickly moves to allow Shane to take his place. His hands are clean and washed but his clothes are stained in blood. A lot more blood than Shane had imagined. It sends a little spark of satisfaction through him.

“Did you kill him?” Shane asks, taking Ilya’s hand and pressing it to his cheek. “The fucker who did this?”

“No,” Cliff swallows hard, “I almost did though.”

“Thank you,” Shane says and then starts crying. He can’t stop. Each sob is accompanied by a hiccup. Kip comes over and hugs Shane, wrapping his arms around him.

“He’s going to be okay,” Kip whispers. “He’s got you now. He’s safe.”

They stay like that for a while until the tears abate. Cliff and Kip find seats in the room, lending silent support. Shane never lets go of Ilya, holding his hand, stroking his hair and whispering how much he loves him. He hopes that Ilya can hear him. That he knows, he’s safe now.

There’s a light knock on the door and the group looks up. There are two women, a doctor and another woman in light pink scrubs.

“Hi, are you Mr. Hollander?” The doctor asks Shane.

He nods, “Yeah.”

“I’m Dr. Manalo, and this is Nurse Batista, she’s a SANE Nurse. You’re listed as Mr. Rozanov’s emergency contact and next of kin.” Dr. Manalo looks to Kip and Cliff, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to fill you in on his current condition. Would you like your friends to stay or leave?”

Shane nods, “They can stay.”

“Okay,” Dr. Manalo starts to list Ilya’s injuries, each one fracturing another part of Shane’s soul. “-and there was evidence of an unknown substance found in his bloodwork. We’ve sent it off to the labs for testing, so we should have the results soon. Mr. Rozanov is responding well to treatment and physically, he’ll make a full recovery. We do recommend getting in contact with a therapist who is specializes in helping victims of sexual assault. I’ve got some contacts whenever he is ready.”

Shane takes in all the information. Physically, she said Ilya will be fine but mentally… fuck. He doesn't know what to say.

Nurse Batista steps in, “Mr. Hollander. Since you are listed as Mr. Rozanov’s next of kin, there is something very important I need to ask you. As Dr. Manalo said earlier, I’m a SANE nurse which means I’m a sexual assault nurse examiner. Because Mr. Rozanov is currently unconscious and cannot give consent to an exam, or collect evidence-”

“No.” Shane stops her before she can finish. “Absolutely not.”

“I understand," She continues, “but in the case of preserva-”

“I don’t care.” Shane knows he’s being ruder than he should, but he doesn’t care. “Ilya wouldn’t want that. Not while he’s unconscious. That’s so fucking violating. I don’t care if it’s important for evidence of whatever. You can get it some other time. Ilya gets to make that decision and only him.” He bites back a fuck off because he knows the nurse is just trying to do her job.

“Understood,” She smiles at him gently unbothered by his rudeness, “I’ll come back when Mr. Rozanov is awake.”

The women leave the room and Shane sinks back into the chair. “Was that wrong?” He asks quietly.

“No,” Cliff answers gruffly, “You did the right thing Hollander. Ilya wouldn’t want anything to happen while he’s out like this.”

Kip feels his phone vibrating. “It’s Scott,” he says.

“Just take it in here,” Shane begs, not wanting anyone to leave. He doesn't want anyone to be away from Ilya, not when they were protecting him. He adds a soft, “Please?”

Kip nods, “Of course.” He answers the phone, deciding not to put in on speaker. He didn’t want to overwhelm Shane with whatever Scott might have to say or inform about what was going on. “Hey, Scott.”

“Hey, are you with everyone?” He sounds like he’s driving.

“Yeah, we’re in Ilya’s room. He hasn’t woken up yet but the doctor came by to fill us in.”

“What did the doctor say?” A woman’s voice, who Kip assumes is Yuna Hollander asks and then clarifies before he could ask, “This is Yuna Hollander.”

“Hi Mrs. Hollander,” Kip greets politely and watches Shane’s head jerk upright.

“Mom?”

“Uh, one sec.” Kip pulls the phone away from his head, “Shane she’s asking what the doctor said, do you want her on speaker or do you want me to stop out?”

Shane hesitates before answering tearfully, “Step out. I don’t… want to hear it again.”

Kip nods, “Okay. I’ll be back soon.” He steps out leaving Shane and Marlow with Ilya.

It’s dark outside when Ilya wakes up. It’s so quiet. His mouth is dry and he desperately needs water. He feels heavy and sore all over, but he’s not in pain. There’s the piercing stench of disinfectant and the air is sharp with cold. His arms and thankfully not tied to anything, but his shoulders are aching. Ilya’s hand is warm, and he nearly cries with relief when he’s able to turn his head.

He’s in the hospital. Shane is holding his hand, slumped over and asleep. Looking around, he sees Cliff in a chair positioned directly in front of the door, facing it. He’s not sure if he’s asleep or awake. And sleeping in another chair by the window is Scott Hunter.

“Marley?” Ilya’s voice cracks with disuse.

The reaction is instantaneous. Cliff, who was very much awake, jolts from his chair. He rushes to Ilya’s side, tears already forming but not falling.

“Ilya, fuck.” He whispers trying not to wake anyone. Cliff reaches out slowly as if he can’t believe Ilya is awake and alive. In a strange moment of overwhelming emotion Ilya is shocked when Cliff brushes curls away from Ilya’s face and cups his cheek.

“I’m so sorry. I tried so hard to protect you and I failed.” Tears fall and Ilya freezes.

“What?”

“I-” Cliff shakes his head, “I should’ve stopped him sooner. I should’ve said something to management or… or anything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I failed you.”

“You-” Ilya swallows hard, “Why are you saying these things now? Why are you touching me?”

Cliff withdraws his hand like he’s been burned. “I’m sorry I-”

“You said I was a slut.” Ilya watches him visibly recoil in horror. “You said I wanted to get fucked by everyone on the locker rooms. You said I liked getting raped. You said-” Ilya’s voice chokes and he can’t stop the tears, “You said that you hoped I would die.”

“No,” Cliff’s whisper is hard and he’s crying too now. “Ilya I would never. I would never say any of those things!”

“I saw it,” Ilya insists, holding his sleeping boyfriend’s hand like a lifeline, “I saw him texting you. He showed me. You said those things when he sent you the picture of me.”

“He’s fucking liar,” Cliff is practically on his knees, “Ilya, I love you. I love you so damn much, I would fucking never say any of those things. You are not a slut, you’re my favorite fucking person in this whole damn shitty world. You’re my best fucking friend. I’ll show you my phone, I’ll do anything- Ilya. Ilya.”

Cliff is pleading now. He’s so desperate that it breaks something inside Ilya. The logical part of him that knows when Cliff is telling the truth.

“He lied?” Ilya parrots back feeling the comfort in it. “You don’t think those things of me?”

Cliff shakes his head, “Fuck no. Ilya I love you. Okay? You know me, everything about me. Fuck, I’m not even homophobic. My sister is lesbian, don’t forget that.”

Ilya can’t help but grimace as he remembers, “Yes. And you are into men also.”

“That too,” Cliff chokes even though he’s still not sure on that one. But hey, he committed so…

They laugh and Cliff feels the overwhelming need to hug Ilya. “Can I hug you?”

Ilya nods and Cliff does his best to hug his best friend without jostling him too much. He places a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“Ilya!” Shane wakes up seeing them and the tears. His eyes automatically well up and Cliff pulls away. Shane takes his place hugging Ilya.

“Shane,” Ilya breathes his name like a prayer. “You are here.”

“I’m here.”

And then Ilya can’t hold it in. He cries like he did when his mother died. Full of grief and anger and emotions too overwhelming to be kept inside. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe now.” Shane keeps his arms around Ilya, rocking him gently.

His cries are loud enough that it wakes Scott but he doesn’t care. All the anguish he’s been bottling up comes to the surface now. The tears come in fat globs that take over his whole body. It makes his mouth salty but the air he takes in feels like heaven. He’s not alone anymore.

Ilya has his people. Shane is here and he’s holding him. He’s whispering words of love and reminding Ilya that he’s going to be okay. And Cliff is here. His best friend who keeps apologizing for not being able to protect him. The man who loves him the way Alexei could never. And Scott is here. The man that Ilya felt brave enough to be himself around. The man who saw the truth and gave him a different kind of family..

When the tears subside, Ilya doesn’t let Shane go. He holds him so close to the point where he shuffles in the small bed to make sure Shane can fit too.

“I didn’t send the text,” Ilya finally breaks the silence, looking at Shane with mournful eyes. “I think I fell asleep before I sent it. I didn’t- I didn’t tell Marley I was scared to be alone.”

“He showed up anyway,” Shane says. His arms are still wrapped around Ilya, but they’re sitting so they can see face to face. “He called me, he woke up early. He said he knew something was wrong so he listened to his gut and he went to you. They all did.” Shane nods at Scott who has joined Cliff, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You saw me?” Ilya asks quietly, “I don’t remember a lot.”

“Yeah,” Scott doesn’t sugar coat it which Ilya appreciates, “He was on top of you but Marlow beat the shit out of him. It was a lot of blood.”

“He’s in a different hospital,” Cliff supplies, “Not here. You won’t see him. And the cops are there too so he’s not going anywhere.”

“Will you go to jail?” Ilya feels a little nauseous.

“Uh, I’ll probably face charges,” Cliff admits, “But… realistically I don’t know if they’ll stick based on circumstances. Or at least that’s what Yuna says.”

“Yuna? She’s here?”

Shane nods, “She and Dad flew down. Mom's already making sure the media doesn't catch wind of this. She's also been in contact with the police, lawyers, and making sure that we've got an iron-clad case. Plus she promised that Marlow won't face any kind of legal repercussions since it was done in your defense. She wants to be here but the hospital didn’t let more than the three of us stay so they’re back at Marlow’s place with Kip.”

“Kip?” Ilya’s mouth wobbles. Everyone who loves him is here in some capacity.

Scott smiles and places a warm hand on Ilya’s leg. “You’ll see them tomorrow during visiting hours.”

Ilya nods. He takes a deep breath to address the other elephant in the room. “What happened to me?”

“Do you mean medically?” Shane clarifies.

“Yes.”

Shane squeezes him lightly, “It’s…”

“I just want to know what he drugged me with,” Ilya whispers. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t fight back.”

“They sent it in for testing,” Scott jumps in, “I don’t remember the name but it’s a paralytic. You had a fairly high dose and it’s very illegal. But the doctor said it’ll work its way out of your system in the next few hours. So you’ll still feel pretty out of it for a while. But you’ll be back at full strength soon. Same goes for the rest of your injuries. Physically, you’ll be okay. No surgeries. They did suggest a therapist.”

Ilya nods, grateful for the small mercy. Dimitry hadn’t gotten to the point where he was going to make Ilya bleed. “I don’t need one of those,” Ilya sighs, “I have done this before. I will do it again.”

Everyone looks horrified, especially Shane. “Ilya, no. You don’t need to do this alone. You should see someone.”

“No,” Ilya shakes his head, “I do not want to. I have survived this before. I don’t need someone to look at me with pity and treat me like I’m some kind of victim. I won’t. I know this is not my fault. I am not stupid.”

Scott and Cliff look like they’re about to protest but Shane stops them. “Okay.” Ilya feels himself relax.

“No therapist,” Shane presses a light kiss to Ilya’s shoulder. “But promise that you’ll consider it at some point? Not now, only if, or when you’re ready.”

Ilya doesn’t want to agree but he doesn’t feel like arguing. “Okay. Maybe.” He sighs deeply.

“Ilya,” Shane says softly, “There’s also something else. There was a nurse that came by. She’s a SANE nurse. She wanted to do an examination on you to… collect evidence-”

“No.” Ilya tightens his grip on Shane.

“I told her that,” Shane stops the panic before it starts. “I told her she wasn’t allowed to touch you. Not while you were unconscious.”

“Thank you,” Ilya whispers. He leans his head against Shane’s. Sleep and exhaustion are starting to pull at him again.

“Sleep,” Shane nuzzles him softly, “I’m here. We’re here and we’re not leaving.”

“Stay,” Ilya begs quietly, “Please don’t let me wake up alone.”

“Like your boy said Roz,” Cliff gets up and drags his chair to Ilya’s side. “We’re not leaving.”

-

The next morning brought about another doctor’s visit, and much more excitingly, the company of Kip, Yuna, and David.

“What happened to the pictures?” Ilya asks once Yuna and David leave to pick up lunch for everyone.

“I assume they’re with the police as evidence,” Scott says.

Ilya feels a pit opening up. “I don’t want to press charges.”

“What the fuck?” Cliff blurts out before he could control his mouth.

“Ilya, why?” Shane asks desperately. “He needs to pay for what he did.”

“If it goes to court,” Ilya answers miserably, “Even if it is a private trial it will get picked up by the press. Leaks will happen, pictures will go out. I will be on display for everyone to see me. I don’t want… I don’t want to be seen like that. And I am a man, yes? I know what they say. Men can’t be raped. We are not victims. Even if I was not a man, no one ever believes the women. Even if my pictures are out there, people will say these things. They will say I wanted it, that it is my punishment for being bi. I know how these things go. Dimitry will get deported to Russia. Nothing happens.”

“Like fucking hell that’s going to happen,” Cliff growls, “He’s never getting out of prison. I’ll fucking make sure of it. He’ll fucking die there.”

Ilya’s sad and tired eyes look to his best friend, “You can’t guarantee that Marley.”

“What if I could?”

“How?” Ilya asks. “It’s not possible.”

“I can make it happen,” Cliff insists, “I have a cousin in pris-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Marlow.” Scott suddenly cuts in shooting Cliff a warning look.

Cliff stops then lets out a huff, “Sorry. I just… I need some air. I’ll see if Yuna and David need help carrying food back up here.” They watch as he leaves.

Scott turns back to Ilya. “Would you do it if there were others?”

Ilya freezes, “Others?”

“Kids,” Kip supplies, “like you.”

“There are others?” Ilya’s voice breaks and he feels Shane rubbing his back.

“We did research into him,” Scott remains as calm as possible, “We found a lot of evidence and first hand accounts that Dimitry’s been assaulting kids since-”

“Since I was a kid,” Ilya concludes.

“Yeah,” Scott confirms. “We were only able to find a few testimonies but we think there are more. Kip did a lot of the heavy lifting since all the articles were in Russian.”

“He has connections with police,” Ilya states, “Doesn’t he? This is why he is able to get away with it?”

“We think so, yeah.” Kip admits.

Ilya leans his head back. “I told my father after the first time he had sex with me.” Shane stiffens and the room goes quiet. “Dimitry told me to keep my mouth shut because it was the best chance I had to play hockey. But I told my father anyway and he told me not to worry about it. I thought that Dimitry would disappear, but that didn’t happen. My father just made sure to bury his crimes to protect our family from scandal.” Ilya sighs heavily, “This is why I know nothing will happen. My father is dead, but there is still connections to the police. I do not know who covers for him now.”

“Fuck,” Shane whispers with unshed tears in his eyes.

“We’re not in Russia now,” Scott tries to press, “He’ll face the American justice system, not the Russian one.”

Ilya laughs bitterly, “Does not matter. He will reach out to Russian police, his contact will bail him out. I will not be surprised when this happens.”

Kip furrows his brow, “I’m not asking you to change your mind, even though I really think you should. If you won’t do it for yourself, can you try for them? There’s-”

He takes a deep breath and looks Ilya in the eyes. There’s a profound sadness to it that plucks a chord in Ilya’s chest. “The first testimony I found and read from one of Dimitry’s victims was a suicide note. The kid was fifteen and… I can’t stop thinking about how no one stood up for him. And now he’s gone.” 

Ilya freezes. “This boy, he killed himself?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me read it,” Ilya holds out his hand. Shane digs his phone out first searching until he finds the post. He hands the phone to Ilya.

Shane, Scott, and Kip watch as Ilya reads silently. His face twists in agony, in recognition. When he’s done, there are tears falling.

“I am sacred,” Ilya admits softly.

“I know,” Shane hugs him, taking the phone back. “But we have you. We have your back no matter what you decide.”

“I will talk,” Ilya agrees, “I do not want to, but I will.”

Chapter Text

The Bears won their game against the Admirals 2-1. Despite the low goal count for either team, the game was electric. Ilya was on fucking fire, having played better than he had in a long time. At first he’d been nervous about playing a game against the Admirals out of fear that Scott would treat him differently. He was proven extremely wrong when Scott won the first faceoff and then checked him into the boards so hard Marlow almost fought him. But Ilya had just laughed.

“You and Kip are still coming for the Bye week, yes?” Ilya asks, shaking hands with Scott after the game. “Jane is boring and wants to plan the budget.”

Scott laughs, “We’ll be there.”

“Good,” Ilya grins and they skate their separate ways.

His body felt right again, his mind was… coping. He had his ups and downs, and found a therapist who spoke Russian. Ilya hadn’t told anyone this, and he was content to keep that to himself for now. Galina made him acknowledge that the reason he was hiding it was because he didn’t want to seem weak for needing her. And while she encouraged him to at least tell Shane, she wasn’t unnecessarily pressing him to do so. Recovery, as she put it, would happen on his time. And Ilya was fine with that.

The past six months were… overwhelming. He skipped out on practice for a week to recover and came back to a new guest coach. Someone more well known and vetted. But by that point, word had gotten out that Dimitry Petrov was in prison for sexual assault. And it didn’t take much of a deduction within the Bears locker room to figure out that it was Ilya. It never left the locker rooms, the public had no idea. They assumed it was a woman and Ilya was fine with that.

He’d expected to walk back into the locker room with watchful eyes and his teammates acting uncomfortable around him. Instead, they welcomed him back. They’d wished they’d seen the signs and had been better teammates.

“Roz!”

Ilya was accosted by his teammates, welcoming his return. But there was an air of something different. They knew something. Of course they did. Ilya would be stupid to believe they wouldn’t at least know something. Cliff had informed him that Dimitry’s arrest was the only thing they could talk about.

He noticed Cliff stiffen, his eyes darting among the players, clearly ready to jump to Ilya’s defense.

“You want to say something to me,” Ilya announced loudly, “Say it!”

“Are you okay?” St-Simon broke the tension. “We heard rumors about Coach and what he did.”

“No,” Ilya answered honestly, but confidently. He needed to be strong or he’d crumble under the weight of their stares and expectations. “Rumors are true.”

There was a ripple of murmurs in the locker room and Ilya watched Cliff’s hand form a fist.

Ilya took a deep breath to steady himself. “Is true. Coach was blackmailing me with pictures that he took of me when I was a kid. I didn’t want them to go out so I-” He can’t say “let it happen” because that’s not language he should be using. “-He took advantage of my fears and he raped me.” The word rape still left a sour taste in his mouth. He hated using it, but not using it felt like it would downplay what happened to him.

Ilya stopped talking. His words sat in the painfully silent locker room. All eyes were on him. He was waiting for the drop, for everyone to call him a fag. To order him to get out, give up his captaincy.

“We have your back, Cap.” Cliff said loudly, making sure that everyone heard him.

Then, Hammersmith stood up suddenly looking nervous. “I was ten years old when my step-dad raped me.” All eyes went to him and Ilya felt his tension ease. “You’re not alone in this.”

“My sister was roofied,” Carmichael said standing up too, “I’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” St-Simon and Connors stood. “You’re still our captain, Roz.”

A few of the other players spoke up about having donated to charities that helped survivors, shared stories about loved ones on social media, and spoke up for other victims. Ilya knew at least some of it was performative, but they didn’t treat him differently. He was still their captain who could strike fear into their opposition.

Ilya had talked to the police, given his statement, pushed through the secondary feelings of violation of the SANE nurse conducting her examination, and let the justice system do what it does best.

Fail the people it’s supposed to protect.

Most of the time, Ilya was smug about being right. Being right about what happened to Dimitry… that was a different kind of feeling. Complicated. Wrong.

The trial was taking forever, and thankfully it was a private trial and so far there had been no press leaks. No pictures, even though everyday Ilya felt like he was holding his breath when he scrolled his feeds for the news.

But then there had been the news.

Dimirty was being scheduled to be transported back to Russia. Something had happened and the case had been dropped. And Ilya knew Dimirty was going to be a free man once again. He’d spiraled after that and scheduled an emergency session with Galina. Ilya had pushed it out of his mind in favor of focusing on hockey and his life. And then… there came the report. Right before the game against the Admirals, one of the detectives had called Ilya to let him know that Dimitry Petrov had died. He had been murdered in prison, shived during a riot by a fellow inmate. And Ilya was overcome with relief. It wasn’t the kind of justice he’d been expecting, but it was a kind of freedom.

Throughout all of it, Cliff was glued to his side. Not in an annoying overbearing way, but it felt comforting to know he was there. More often than not Cliff would live at Ilya’s house when Shane wasn’t flying in and out of Montreal. He felt strangely safe with Cliff’s presence. And on certain days off, Scott and/or Kip would come up to stay with him.

But this was a game day where all of Ilya’s favorite people were in the same place. Shane had come to the Bears game in disguise with Kip, and promised he’d be waiting at home for him. He promised that if the Bears won, he'd wear Ilya’s jersey. Just Ilya’s jersey and that was enough motivation for Ilya to score the final and winning goal. And after some incredible sex and a goodnight’s sleep, Cliff, Scott, and Kip would come over to spend the day with them. Also, to help Ilya pack up some of his stuff to get ready for his move to Ottawa.

“Hey,” Scott intercepts Cliff outside the Bears’ locker rooms after the game. “I need to talk to you.”

“Sure,” Cliff nods, “Uh one sec.” He pokes his head back into the locker room, “Roz!”

Ilya looks up from his phone; he’d been texting Shane about the game. “Yeah?”

“I’ll be back in a few so don’t fucking leave me behind I don’t want to get an uber again.” He points at Ilya’s phone. “No ditching me to go hook up with Jane.”

Ilya groans good naturedly, “Marley! Do not make me leave my Jane hanging!”

“Wait!” St-Simon jumps in, “Jane is here!?”

“Yes,” Ilya says without elaborating further than, “She came to watch the game.” The locker room explodes in everyone clambering to demand answers about Ilya’s mysterious “girlfriend”.

Cliff smiles and shuts the door walking down the hallway with Scott. “What’s up man?”

“Something’s been bugging me,” Scott leans against the wall, lowering his voice continuously peeking around the corners to avoid being overheard.

“About?”

“Dimitry’s death,” Scott states. He locks eyes with Cliff. “He didn’t die until after we found out the case had been dropped. And he was murdered in prison.” The implication hung in the air.

Cliff remains silent, keeping eye contact with Scott. And then, “You think it was me.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it matter?”

Scott titles his head slightly. He’s genuinely not sure whether or not Cliff had a hand in Dimitry’s demise. “No,” he finally decides, “I guess it doesn’t.”

“My cousin got released last month,” Cliff supplies.

Scott nods, “See you tomorrow?”

Cliff smiles, “See you tomorrow.”

-

Ilya finds Shane waiting for him in his jersey. His pale muscular legs stand out against the black of his jersey.

“Fuck, Shane,” He whispers, “You look good in my colors.”

Shane grins, “You won, so here I am. Just like I promised.

“Yes, I did win,” Ilya closes the distance between them and kisses Shane. If Ilya had to rank the good things in his life, kissing Shane easily takes the number two spot right after Shane himself. “Are you wearing underwear?” Ilya asks, slotting a knee between Shane’s legs which earns him a moan.

“Y-yeah,” Shane gasps. “I didn’t know if you wanted to have sex or not and I felt kind of weird just walking around without anything on underneath.”

Ilya hums, “So thoughtful but unnecessary.”

“Really?” Shane grins into their kiss, "Unnecessary?"

“Yeah,” Ilya keeps kissing but drags his hands down to slide up the jersey. He finds the edge of Shane’s boxers and pushes them down.

Shane laughs softly stepping out of them, before quickly bending down to fold them. Ilya grins, gently guiding Shane to the couch watching him fall backwards. His legs spread, the jersey hiking up just enough to expose his hard cock. Ilya feels his mouth watering and he drops to his knees excited to suck off his boyfriend.

And then a fucking memory ruins it.

He remembers being on his knees in front of Dimitry, waiting to be choked on his cock until cum is forced down his throat. He’ll feel the sharp pull of rough hands in his curls and the ache in his knees afterwards.

“Ilya!?” Shane panics seeing Ilya freeze and jerk away from Shane like he’s been burned. “Ilya!?”

“Fuck,” Ilya chokes on air blinking back into the present. Shane is kneeling on the floor with him, a hand on his shoulder and unshed tears in his eyes. “S-Shane?”

“I’m here, baby.” Shane grounds him, rubbing his arms, “You’re safe. You’re with me.”

Ilya takes a deep shuddering breath and chokes out, “Couch.”

“Yeah, okay.” Shane doesn't let go, guiding him back to the couch.

“I hate him,” Ilya grips the couch so hard his knuckles are white. “I hate him so fucking much!”

“Talk to me?” Shane begs softly, “What happened?”

“I am angry!” Ilya rubs his eyes furiously to stop any tears that might want to come up. “I want to have sex with you, but stupid fucking Dimitry stole that! I can’t be on my knees even though I love sucking your dick, I want you to ride me because I love to see your face, but I don’t like being on my back because that’s what he liked, I want to touch you so much but I’m sacred that-”  His voice cracks in anger, “I don’t want to see him in myself. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ilya, you could never hurt me.” Shane is firm, cupping Ilya’s cheek and gently turning to face him. “I trust you completely. I love you, I know you will never hurt me.”

“But what if?” Ilya completely cracks. “I want to have sex so much, but I am scared that this will happen every time. And you don’t deserve that. I’m not worth it.”

“Don’t you fucking dare say that,” Shane wipes Ilya’s tears with his thumbs, “Don’t you fucking think for one damn second that you’re not worth it. You are. You are everything to me, Ilya. Everything. I don’t give a fuck if we never have sex. I fell in love with you. With your soul, with who you are as a person. You’re not just a body or someone who can fuck me. You’re my life, Ilya. You’re my everything. So don’t you fucking dare tell me that my everything isn’t worth it.”

“Fuck,” Ilya sobs and pulls Shane into his lap, holding him tightly. He cries into the jersey feeling Shane’s arms wrap protectively around him.

He pulls back to look up at Shane’s pink face, and fiercely loyal eyes. “Ya tak sil'no tebya lyublyu.”

“I love you too,” Shane whispers. He kisses Ilya’s forehead and then meets his lips softly.

Ilya deepens the kiss and presses his lips against Shane’s just to breathe the air from his lungs. “Shane,” Ilya swallows hard, holding his boyfriend’s waist. “I-”

“Ilya?” Shane’s voice drops to something softer and sweeter. “We don’t have to, you know that right?”

“I know,” Ilya pulls Shane in close and hugs him. Shane is so warm and sweet and Ilya feels like he doesn’t deserve him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Shane stays in his lap, rubbing his back gently. “I love you so much.”

Ilya breathes in Shane, grounding himself. “I want… I still want to have sex but…”

Shane doesn’t say anything, only pulling back to see his face. He keeps his arms over Ilya’s shoulders.

“I want you to ride me,” Ilya confesses quietly. Tears threaten to break free. “I don’t want to be on my back. I want… I don’t want memories of him inside me anymore. I need you but I… I want… I want to feel like I’m in control.”

“Okay,” Shane nods, “Okay. Anything. Can we keep hugging for a while first?”

Ilya doesn’t hesitate, he pulls Shane to him and contentedly keeps hugging him. Eventually, their breathing evens out together and Ilya feels the temptuous pull of Shane’s naked half. Gradually, their little kisses become deeper ones until Shane is squirming in his lap.

“Pants,” Ilya mumbles into Shane’s mouth.

Neither wants to stop kissing so they fumble together until Ilya is left naked on the couch.

“Is this okay?” Shane asks, looking down at him.

Ilya nods, “Very okay.” Shane grips the edge of the jersey but Ilya stops him, “No, you look hot. Don’t take it off.” He slides his fingers up and under to thumb Shane’s sensitive nipples. He’s awarded a stuttered breath and soft moan.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane breathes and goes in for another kiss. He digs into the couch cushions knowing there will be a small bottle of lube. With one hand he flips the cap open. “Touch me,” he begs Ilya, “Open me up.”

Ilya holds out his hand letting Shane dispense an obscene amount of lube because he’s too busy kissing Ilya’s neck to pay attention. “Shane,” Ilya laughs, "I'll slip out, it's too much.”

Shane hums his mild acknowledgement, “Can’t have too much. Want to hear you in me.”

“Fuck,” Ilya croaks feeling his dick twitch. Shane bends forward granting better access to his wanton hole. He circles the rim before slowly sinking his fingers inside Shane.

Shane groans loudly into Ilya’s neck pushing himself back against Ilya’s fingers. “Shit you feel so good,” he moans.

Ilya kisses Shane’s neck, licking the soft skin and nipping lightly. It had been so fucking long since they did anything like this. Ilya had been too afraid to do anything more than heavy makeout sessions, dry humping each other until they came in their pants, or mutual handjobs.

So this, this felt brand new again.

Ilya is careful in opening up Shane. He’s attentive to every sound and movement. “Are you good?” He keeps asking, “Are you okay?” He knows it’s repetitive and they don’t usually check like that anymore but Ilya wants to. He need to hear Shane telling him that everything is fine.

“I’m so good,” Shane moans back, “Keep going. Please, Ilya. You’re so good!”

Ilya slips in a third finger, pleased with the reactions he’s coaxing from Shane. “Tell me how you are feeling,” Ilya asks breathlessly.

“Fucking amazing,” Shane throws his head back and gasps when Ilya angles his fingers in just the right way to make his head spin in pleasure. “You’re so good, Ilya. I feel- AH! More, please more! I need you,” Shane begs, “It’s not enough, I need you. Please, I need you to fuck me now.”

Ilya slips his fingers out and grabs his cock lining it up with Shane’s hole. “Ready?” he asks.

Shane nods eagerly, “Yes. Fuck, yes I’m so ready.”

They share a simultaneous inhale as Ilya’s hands find purchase on Shane’s waist sinking him down on Ilya’s cock. He goes tortuously slow, feeling every inch being swallowed by Shane. It’s blindingly good and steals his breath. Shane is so warm and tight, his ass taking him in so perfectly.

“Move,” Shane begs, “I want you.”

Ilya thrusts up while Shane pushes down. “Fuck!” Ilya cries out as Shane makes a debauched noise. Ilya angles himself and pulls Shane down on him. He hits Shane’s prostate perfectly, making him cry out in pleasure.

“There,” Shane whimpers, grinding down. “Fuck, right there!”

They moan in sync with each other, moving in harmony, the perfect push and pull of bodies. They fit like they were meant only for each other’s arms. In this moment, Ilya feels like they’re becoming one being. A living breathing personification of love capable of nothing more than the bond they share.

“You are so beautiful, Hollander.” Ilya’s surprised at how wrecked he sounds, “You’re perfect. I love you.”

“I love you,” Shane echoes back with so much adoration, Ilya’s tears well up. Which made Shane snap into focus. “Ilya!?”

“I’m okay,” Ilya smiles at him, “I’m okay. Say it again, please?”

Shane’s expression melts, “I love you Ilya Rozanov.”

They share the same air as they trade kisses. Their sweaty skin glides together, the same ebb and flow of motion.

“Again,” Ilya’s voice cracks, “Please.”

 “I love you,” Shane pushes every ounce of his love into it. “I love you.”

“Again?”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

They speed up, Ilya’s thrusts getting harder, and Shane’s hips move faster. They get lost in pants and whimpers and filthy moans. Their release comes at a shared breath of “I love you”.

-

The next afternoon brought fluffy clouds and the ideal weather for an outdoor barbecue. Cliff came over with beers and the New Yorkers brought some pastries from a nearby Italian bakery. Shane And Scott took great joy in using Ilya’s barbecue grill to make burgers and ribs. Kip went on about the significance of feasting in art while Cliff and Ilya occasionally made commentary.

Eventually, the sun set and they found themselves seated in amicable silence watching the firepit. Shane sat snuggled up against Ilya while Cliff lounged in the armchair. Scott had an arm over Kip’s shoulder who leaned against him.

“I thought about it,” Ilya breaks the silence. His heart is pounding but needs to talk to them. They’re his friends, the people he loves and who love him back. “I think… I’m not happy about the case being private.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asks.

“I mean, I am happy about the things I did not have to do. Like be in front of a jury or have to explain to the press or talk to more cops. I am happy that the pictures are gone forever.”

“That makes sense,” Kip agrees.

Ilya shrugs, “I am happy he is dead, yes? Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I don’t care. I am free of him and so is everyone else he has ever hurt or planned to hurt. But…” Ilya swallows. “I am wondering where the justice is.”

“The justice is that he’s fucking dead,” Cliff points out.

“I hate to say it,” Scott admits, “But Marlow is right. You warned us this would happen and it did. He was going to get out and go back to hurting other people. He might’ve even come after you or Shane, or any of us for speaking out against him. The justice in this is that he was murdered in prison. It was the best case for a worst case scenario.”

Ilya nods, “Yes. He’s dead but it wasn’t anywhere. No one else knows.”

No one says anything clearly seeing that Ilya has more to say.

“I was thinking,” Ilya says slowly, deliberately. “I want to drop a statement. I want to say that he is dead, and that he cannot hurt anyone anymore.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Cliff agrees. “We can all-”

“No.” Ilya quickly stops him, “I mean yes, but not yet.”

“Ilya what are you talking about?” Shane asks gently, taking his hand.

Ilya inhales, “I want to tell my story so that the others, whoever they are, will know that he is dead and they can feel free too. I am big hockey name, the media will pick it up, so it will reach ears that need to hear.”

Shane squeezes his hand, “I’m with you. We can all drop support statements too.”

“That’s right,” Cliff raises his beer glass, “No matter what you do, we’ve got your back.”

Ilya’s eyes brim with tears as he hugs Shane. He’s so fucking scared, but he’s deciding to be brave. Not just for himself, but for the others too. And he knows that somewhere in Russia or in other parts of the world, there are kids like him who will finally know peace.