mshalpertcullen



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    They talk now, about everything and nothing at all.

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    07 Jul 2026

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    After leaving behind his last job, Ilya threw himself into a new profession: making and selling all things one can pickle. His week revolved around the Sunday farmer's market. Everything seemed simple and predictable until a new vendor arrived late in the season.

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    07 Jul 2026

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    “Well, I guess you got what you wanted from me already,” Hollander continued. “Whatever. Fuck you.”

    “Wait, no, Hollander.” Ilya turned, throwing an arm into Hollander’s path. “That’s not—”

    “No, it’s fine. Stupid of me to expect anything else.” Hollander shook his head, gaze downcast, the barest hint of angry pink tinging his freckled cheeks. “Thanks for making it good, at least.”

    It. His first time.

    Ilya was the worst sort of asshole.

    ---

    In Sochi, Shane isn’t shy about calling out Ilya for ghosting after getting what he wanted. Once they’re safely away from Russia, Ilya forces himself to be honest with Shane about what that first time meant.

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    05 Jul 2026

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    Shane hasn’t been new on a team since his rookie season. He hasn’t had to walk into a locker room full of guys he doesn’t know since he was nineteen. That first year in Montreal had been one of the most exhausting of his life, and the hockey had been the least of it.

    Boston’s locker room will be easier than Montreal's, Shane thinks. Hopes.

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    05 Jul 2026

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    The first time they’d done this, in Ilya’s bed, Shane had been mystified at Rozanov’s insistence that he not enter the nest without Shane’s permission. Now, Shane feels something akin to smugness flexing its claws in his chest. A primal satisfaction at the rightness that he is the one with the power - at present, if not for much longer - alpha just outside the nest and at his mercy.

    Like Shane will only yield for someone who has earned it. He can draw out Ilya’s suffering just a little longer, make him earn it.

    Shane rakes his gaze over the delicious chest and bicep muscles bunching above the edge of the nest. “Waiting for something, Rozanov?”

    “Are you going to let me into your nest, omega?” His pronunciation of the endearment is more Russian than English, accent thickening around the syllables.

    “Depends. You gonna give me your knot?”

    “Hm, does not sound like begging yet to me.”

    Some months after Shane recovers from rejection sickness in Ilya's bed, they share their heat/rut together at the cottage, both clinging to the delusion it's still casual.

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    03 Jul 2026