zandroid | 001 - Second Start

001 - Second Start

He'd been trying not to think of Scott fucking Hunter since the last time they'd seen each other in Spain. That was supposed to be the end of it. A summer fling that would get too dangerous if they brought it back home. And so Ilya went out most nights to try to rid himself of all of the thoughts and feelings. And he thought he'd done it.

And then they had a game together and it all came rushing back. He fought the urge to do something about it for most of the game, but then he skated past Hunter. A new team for Hunter. Mostly familiar faces for Ilya with a few new. But he was focused on Hunter.

"2418," he said, pitching the number for Hunter's ears alone. And so Hunter couldn't mistake his meaning, he met the man's eyes and licked his lips. And then he skated away before he could see Hunter's reaction.

The worst that could happen would be that Hunter didn't come. Ilya tried not to think about that possibility. He'd come to like Hunter, damn it, despite himself. And even if they couldn't have the days they'd managed during the summer, he'd take what he could get.

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As much as he'd tried to put the summer behind him, Scott couldn't help remembering the time he'd spent with Ilya Rozanov. It had been liberating, having someone understand who he really was and having to hide it due to their profession, and it had just been a good time.

But being back home meant that he couldn't dwell on it, especially as he had been transferred to a new team and had to get used to that. Fortunately New York was home, and it made things a bit more comfortable, but there was still a lot to do.

He wasn't ready for the game against Rozanov's team early on in the season. And while he'd been trying to ignore the memories that seeing the other man brought with him, it seemed Rozanov wasn't about to make it that easy.

And while he didn't have a chance to really say anything about it to him, if he checked him a bit too hard at some point... well, he was just playing the game.

Whatever game that was.

It would have been a terrible idea. There was no way he could go meet Rozanov, not now that he was home where people could really recognize him. He couldn't.

Except he still found himself standing in front of the hotel room anyway, knocking on the door while looking around to make sure there wasn't anyone else nearby.

The dominant expression on Ilya's face as he opened the door was just smug. It was hiding the underlying feeling of just being relieved. Relieved that Hunter was actually here. Relieved that he'd only received bruised ribs from checking than from Hunter trying to do some real damage.

Of course, he might have been waiting for privacy to do that damage. Only time would tell.

"Hunter," he said once the door was closed, smile getting just a touch bigger. There was a reason he was known throughout the NHL as their resident asshole and it was a term he carried with pride.

He wasn't sure what was going to happen now. Hunter had made it clear things were not going to carry over into the season. Neither of them had talked about the next summer. And yet here Ilya was, determined to get another taste.

He hesitated a moment, but eventually stepped inside to avoid the risk of being seen.

So he told himself.

But that smug look on Rozanov's face sent a rush of heat through him, and he hated to admit that not all of it was anger. Once the door closed he pushed the other man up against it.

"What the fuck, Rozanov?" he demanded. "We can't be doing this again!"

Ilya's eyes went a little wide as he was unceremoniously shoved against the wall. His ribs definitely felt that, but as he stared into Hunter's eyes, he couldn't help but remember that first night and the way Hunter had just taken his mouth in a kiss. His eyes darkened a little as he studied Hunter's mouth before looking back up into his angry - and maybe turned on? - eyes.

"Do what, Hunter? Because if you mean sex, you could have called. Sent a text. Or done nothing at all."

Which would have fucking hurt, but it would have sent the message. And he wouldn't have tried again. He might have ignored Hunter's decision once, but even he wasn't asshole enough to do it a second time. And he would have ended the night balls deep in someone, man or woman, trying to forget he'd ever fucked Scott Hunter.

Scott huffed, and the sharp sound seemed to help deflate some of his anger.

"I'm not asshole," he retorted, stepping back from Rozanov. "This kind of thing we have to talk about in person."

That's what he told himself. It was the excuse he gave himself for coming in the first place.

He wasn't sure how much he believed himself.

Ilya, on the other hand, was an asshole. "You can go," he suggested, voice nonchalant even though his eyes were still laser-focused on Hunter. He wasn't going to make either decision, to stay or to go, easy on him.

Besides, he was fairly sure that Hunter was lying to him. Or maybe lying to himself. They'd already had this conversation and while ghosting him would have been an asshole move, calling or even sending a text and saying that he hadn't changed his mind would have been normal.

He stayed where he'd been pushed against the wall, not bothering to hide the fact that he was turned on. He'd known Hunter wouldn't take the invitation well, he just hadn't expected this.

Scott's eyes narrowed as he watched the other man. He was beyond frustrated, but part of that was hating how much he wanted to kiss Rozanov.

"What are you after, Rozanov?" he finally asked. "Is this just about sex? Are you trying to mess with me? What do you want?"

Ilya's nostrils flared a little as that second suggestion hit a little too close to home. He was trying to mess with Hunter, but as a means, not an end. The end was that he actually fucking liked Hunter. And if he didn't know that after Ilya's multiple trips to France and to Spain... He'd been happier this summer than he could remember being in a long time, even when having to deal with his father's continuing decline and his brother's greedy requests.

He closed the gap between them, the dark, hungry look adding a new complexity of anger to it as Ilya's temper rose to meet Hunter's.

He put a hand on Hunter's chest and shoved. "Go fuck yourself," he snarled.

Scott stumble back at the shove, but his own hand snapped out to grab Rozanov's wrist before the distance between them was too much.

"Rozanov," he ground out, his tone firm as he tried to rein his temper back in. Losing his cool wouldn't help either of them, and they'd never get anywhere. "I'm serious. We said we weren't doing this again. So what is this?"

"You said we were not doing this again," Ilya corrected. Hunter had given the order and Ilya was expected to fall in line. It wasn't anywhere near as fun as the orders Ilya had given to Hunter. In fact, the only reason he'd agreed was that it was either that or let on how much of a blow Hunter's rejection had given him.

And here he was, setting himself up for that same hit. It was why he could absolutely not give his real answer for why. Hunter would see the answer for the desperation it was. To say that he thought he needed Hunter? No. He could not.

"And I am very serious. Go. Fuck. Yourself." And he was. Usually those words were said with teasing if they were said to someone he liked or was at least neutral towards. With scorn to those he disliked. He rarely said them in anger. Not many people got to see his anger.

Scott didn't know what he was expecting to hear, or why Rozanov's anger twisted something in his chest. But maybe it was better this way. If the other man hated him, then it would be easier to forget their shared summer.

"Fine," he finally said. His anger deflated, he just felt hollow now, wrung out.

Empty.

Then he gestured to the door that Rozanov was still pressed up against. The only way he'd be able to leave.

"Go ahead and run back to your cold bed, Hunter." He was being cruel now and he knew it. But with the way his hands were shaking, he was pretty sure he was going to start crying any minute now and he didn't want Hunter to see him do it.

His mouth ran on autopilot as his head started a self-blame cycle and he stepped away from the door.

"Forget you ever saw me at club." He struggled to keep the mask on his face. "I will go to new club and find another beautiful person who wants me to fuck them. Easy. I do it all the time."

And he did. But Hunter had been different, damn it. And Ilya had been different with him.

Scott stiffened just a bit, as Rozanov stepping away from the door brought him closer. And this close now he could see the tremor in his hands, and guilt was added to the weight that settled in his stomach.

So rather than reaching for the door, he reached for one of Rozanov's hands instead.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "You can find plenty of people willing to throw themselves at you, to let you fuck them or whatever. So why invite me here? Even though I said I couldn't, you tried anyway. What do you want?"

"Bastard," Ilya said roughly in Russian.

"Am beginning to think what I wanted is lie. Am beginning to think you are lie." Because of course what Ilya wanted was Scott Hunter. The sex was good. Okay, the sex was amazing, but what really had kept him coming back was Hunter himself. Finding out he had an unexpected sense of humor. Watching really bad non-porn porn with him to help cheer Ilya up after a phone call with Sergei. Sleeping with him in Spain. Finally getting to taste Hunter's cooking and cook for him in return.

But then Hunter cut him off at the knees. Telling him he had to stay away. He'd made it for most of the game before he'd decided to give it one last shot. See if he could convince Hunter that he'd made a mistake.

And if Hunter's first reason that Ilya might have wanted to see him was to fuck with him, maybe they'd had two very different summers. Ilya's reputation alone should have made it obvious that he didn't play house with people the way they had those last few nights. A different woman at every city had been him and he never bothered to hide it.

Scott blew out a slow breath through his nose, running a hand down his face.

Dammit, how did this all get so complicated?

"You're not entirely wrong," he finally said after a long, long moment. "Ignoring this part of myself when I'm home? I might as well be a lie."

And maybe being himself with Rozanov was what had scared him. Especially the thought that he couldn't have that when he was here.

"You are not just ignoring yourself," Ilya pointed out and that was the rub. That was what was pissing him off. He was treating Ilya like everyone else he'd ever cared about except his mother. As if he didn't matter.

"My family treats me like shit." The first time he'd ever explicitly said that. There had been that second day, of course, and a few more times when it had been obvious that his relationship with his family was not the best, but he'd never admitted to it. But now he did it to make a comparison. Because it was how Hunter was making him feel and he couldn't do it all over again.

"I can't do that again."

And then Ilya shook free of his hand and yanked him in for a kiss. Because fuck his rules. He could have lived with keeping things quiet. Fuck, people finding out he was sleeping with a man was even more dangerous for him. Ilya could lose the ability to go home again. Or worse, he'd be sent home and have to live with the consequences of Russia's very anti-gay laws.

What he couldn't live with was being treated like he didn't matter.

So he kissed Hunter roughly, knowing it was a goodbye.

Edited 2026-02-14 08:51 (UTC)

There was nothing he could say to that. Because it was true, wasn't it? He'd been so scared of what would happen if the world knew the truth about him that he tried to push away the one person who he'd been able to be himself with.

And hearing the admission about Rozanov's family made it even worse. Because he'd suspected, during their time together. But knowing he'd managed to hurt Rozanov in a similar way...

Maybe Scott deserved to be alone after all.

He shuddered when Rozanov kissed him, the intensity of it overwhelming. And he returned it in kind, because what else could he do? He couldn't make up for what happened, for messing up, but Rozanov deserved to know that it had meant something to him, at least.

That he meant something.

The kiss was almost like he remembered it. But whether it was his feelings tainting it or Hunter's or maybe both, there was something irrepressibly sad about it. He kissed Hunter until it was unbearable and, even then, he only backed away enough to rest his forehead against Hunter's.

"You should go, Scott," he murmured even though his hand was still cupping the back of Scott's neck. He hadn't realized he still had a heart. Definitely hadn't realized it could still be broken. But here he was and it fucking hurt. But he had survived the death of his mother and never living up to his father's expectations and Sergei never wanting anything from his brother but money.

He had survived a broken heart three times already. What was one more?

Scott took several shaky breaths, swallowing the growing lump in his throat as regret and sadness twisted his heart. Especially hearing his first name on Rozanov's lips.

And he didn't argue. He knew he couldn't, even as he didn't move away just yet. Not until Rozanov pulled away entirely.

"I'm sorry, Ilya," he murmured. He wasn't asking for forgiveness, because he knew he didn't deserve it. But an apology was the least Ilya deserved.

And there was the whole problem. He couldn't let go. He didn't want to. It was Scott who was the one who'd decided that he couldn't do this.

"Fuck your sorry," he growled and kissed Scott again. It wasn't even that he couldn't forgive Scott. He didn't want the apology in the first place. Because an apology made it seem as if Scott knew what he'd done was wrong. And if he knew that, he could fix it. But Scott didn't want to fix it. He just wanted to be a sad, miserable, old man.

Because Ilya had told Scott plainly what was wrong. How Scott had made him feel. And if Scott cared, he would have tried to fix it.

The second kiss surprised him, but Scott still leaned into it. And, even though he wasn't sure it would be welcomed, he tugged Ilya closer, a touch more desperate.

He wasn't sure what he was doing or what he wanted anymore. So he just stopped thinking and let himself feel.

God damn it. He was going to kill Scott. Or fuck him. Or both. He leaned into the touch for too long, kissing him with all the anger and hurt he had. Kissing him until both of them were breathless. Until he reached between them and pressed a hand against Scott's cock. But then he tugged away. Staying facing Scott, he backed up until he was at the door. Only then did he turn and do up the security latch. It was symbolic because it wasn't like he could lock Scott inside. But he wanted Scott to know he wasn't fucking around.

He turned back and lifted an eyebrow, all but daring him to come and do something about it. He couldn't have it both ways. Either he held on to Ilya for dear life and stayed. Or he didn't.

A spark of warmth pulsed through him at the hand to his cock, but then Ilya drew away and locked the door. And Scott knew, even before Ilya turned to look at him, that this was his last chance to decide. To choose what he was willing to keep, or to lose.

And he looked at the lock for a long moment, before looking back to Ilya. Then he pressed him against the door and kissed him again.

Ilya's fingers gripped Scott's hair a little too tightly. Scott was still here, but it still felt precarious. As if one wrong move were going to send him running again. He'd known about that instinct since that first night at the club. The kiss was also a little hard, a little wild. If Scott was going to vanish again after this, Ilya was going to take what he could get.

Scott couldn't help a soft moan against Ilya's lips, the fingers tightening in his hair sending a shock through his body. His own kiss, which started a bit gentler, started to rise to meet Ilya's energy, as he pressed him harder against the door to deepen it.

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