Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Hangover, Party, Bachelor Party, Weddings, Self-Reflection, Late Night Conversations

Language:

English

Series:

Part 11 of win conditions

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-07 Words: 16,751 Chapters: 1/1

Summer of Celebration

Summary

Ilya and Shane through several parties, hangovers, critical conversations and one perfect endless midnight.

Notes

This story takes place directly following the Centaurs' cup win.

General timeline of the series now available.

Ilya

"You're a problem," Pike announced. His arm was in a sling and his whole left side was bruised to shit. Right now, Ilya wanted to poke him viciously right in the worst of it. If only he could stand upright long enough to manage.

"You are a rude asshole," Ilya said, his forehead pressed to the cool marble of his kitchen cabinet. "Shut up."

"Too loud," Shane mumbled from the floor.

He had slid down there while they waited for the coffee to finish brewing. Ilya vaguely wanted to help him, but could barely keep himself from throwing up in the sink. How long had it been since he'd been this hangover? Years and years ago, probably. What had he become?

"I'm serious," Pike whined.

"And I will very seriously murder you," Ilya grumbled without lifting his head.

"Please don't, coach," Yolen said, sliding into view with Luca on their heels. "I still have some use for him."

"Why the fuck are you all in my house?" Ilya asked. "Are there more of you?"

"This is everyone. We're here because when I tried to go home, you said you couldn't trust the children not to die in our sleep. Joey said they'd watch out for me and then they walked into a light post, so you said they had to come too and then Pike said you couldn't abduct their partner without him," Luca reminded him gamely, then burped ominously. "Oh, no."

"Sink," Ilya ordered.

"I won't throw up."

"Don't even talk about throwing up," Shane said from Ilya's knees. "My head is glass and if someone makes a throw up noise, it'll shatter."

Ilya dropped his hand down, flailed for a second before finding Shane's head and then gently stroked his hair. Mostly. He might've palmed some of his face, but Shane didn't complain. Anya finished eating her breakfast that Ilya had gallantly still managed to feed her even though the smell of dog food had made him want to die.

"You're a problem," Pike repeating himself like one of his children when they weren't getting enough attention.

"I am the problem? You said Boiziau 'recommended a place'. You did not say it was a land of free shots."

"I don't think that's normal. I think all of Ottawa came in their pants for us in unison and wanted to make sure we were permanently pickled to preserve teh feeling," Pike muttered. "You liked it when it was happening. I think even Wiebe had a few."

Ilya would treasure the memory of Bren listing against Ilya's shoulder as Ilya poured him into an Uber while saying, "I knew it! I knew we'd win! I told you! I know things!" over and over. There was a text on his phone this morning from Dottie confirming that he had made it home. Ryan had been- Wait.

"Where the fuck is Price?" Ilya asked the countertop.

"He went home with Hayes," Yolen said. They were coming around the counter, stepping over Shane's legs, and opening the fridge. "Fabian was with him. I think they took LaPointe too."

"No, he and Bergy rented a room in the hotel across the street from the bar," Luca said, slumping down on the other side of the island so Ilya could see puffs of white blond hair in his peripheral vision. "Bood and Dykstra split up everyone else into buddy groups. They cut you off from taking more of us after you stole me."

"I did not steal you," Ilya said with questionable certainty.

"You really did. You acted like a border collie, circling us and barking until we got in the Uber," Yolen said. "Wow, you guys have a lot of kale."

"Don't fucking touch my vegetables," Shane said.

"Holzy, there's nothing I want less right now," Yolen assured him.

"How can you eat?" Luca moaned.

"Baby, you want me to order something?" Pike offered with wide Disney eyes. Disgusting. "There's that brunch spot that delivers here."

"Oh, yeah, that'd be good. Thanks, Hayd."

Ilya, in the spirit of being something like a host, pried his face off the cold rock and surveyed the room. His head throbbed.

"I will do this," he declared and pat down his pockets. He was still in half the outfit he'd worn in the parade yesterday morning. Not only had he slept with the pants on, but he still had his keys, phone and wallet in them. Nice. Nothing had gotten lost. "You will order one at a time. If anyone talks over each other, you can eat the fucking kale. If food names are making you sick, use the guest bathroom, not my floors. Anya will eat it."

"Oh gross," Luca groaned. "Anya, no."

His poor confused girl gave a little whine as she tried to figure out what she was doing wrong by getting the world's weakest petting from Shane.

"You're okay," Shane told her. "You're a good girl. Best girl. I think I tripped over you last night and I'm really sorry."

"That was me," Yolen said. "It's all good."

"Oh," Shane said, "why were you on our floor?"

"Good question, moy solynshko," Ilya said. "Do you want your egg white omelette?"

"I want a breakfast burrito. Salsa, guac, and sour cream," Shane said. There was a small, but noticeable, collective gasp. "Shut the fuck up. I won a Cup, I can have dairy."

"I want potatoes," Luca declared. "I don't care how they arrive. All forms are good."

Getting the order in took a hot second, but then there was the time until delivery which meant Pike had a window to say again: "You're a problem."

"Fuck off, Pike," Ilya groaned. "I bought you and your tiny lover food, leave me alone."

"Hey," Yolen protested weakly. Their forage into the kitchen ended, they were now leaning heavily against Pike, eyes at half-mast.

"Bachelor party," Pike said.

"No," Ilya said slowly. "Cup parade and celebration. How much tequila did you have?"

"Lost track, and not what I meant," Pike said. "Your bachelor party. Parties. It's a problem."

"We're not doing that," Shane said. He was still on the floor. Ilya was a little worried he might be stuck there. "I think we were clear about that."

"You were clear that you were not having a wedding party," Pike said with an eyeroll. "So I am no one's best man which I'm not bitter about at all."

"You tell 'em, babe," Yolen said with a weak punch to the air.

"But you still can have parties. Or a party. I'm making a party for you, Hollander, get over it."

"Nooo," Shane protested.

"We're going to go to a paintball place that doesn't blast techno music and then dinner at the farm-to-table restaurant you mentioned to me five times last week. Booze optional," Pike declared, then made a face. "Fucking booze never again, actually."

That was actually a very impressive Hollander trap. Ilya didn't do anything as stupid as compliment Pike about it, but he could acknowledge good work when it happened.

"Yeah, okay," Shane decided.

"Cute that you think I needed your consent. Rozanov is the problem."

"Stop saying that," Ilya complained. "I help you win a Cup and now I am a problem?"

"Yes. I had to text fucking Cliff Marleau about you," Pike said. "My phone is Raiders contaminated now."

"How did you get his number?" Ilya asked. How had that conversation gone? He boggled to think.

"I asked him for it at our last game. I figured if Shane can cross the line and find a spouse, I can get a phone number," Pike said.

"Not for a date," Yolen protested.

"Yeah, no," Pike said and rubbed their back for a second. "Not my type."

A thousand potential rejoinders scrolled past Ilya, but Yolen and maybe even Pike were still his players. He would keep his jokes about Pike's 'type' to himself. And to Shane. Later.

"So you are texting Marley to what? Make him do something? He knows we are not doing parties."

"I'm having a party," Shane said, smugly like he'd won something. Which was hilarious considering he hadn't wanted it until five seconds ago. Unfortunately the smugness must've reactivated his headache because he moaned and dropped his forehead to his knees.

Moving slowly and carefully, Ilya got down a glass and filled it with cold water, passing it down to him. "Drink slowly."

"Thank you," Shane muttered.

"Of course, Mr. Party Animal."

"Fuck off," Shane said with a hint of a smile.

"Marleau says you've already planned an insane blowout for his bach," Pike went on, "but he has no idea if you'd want that too. So I said, let's make a list of people or something and then we had a problem."

There was, Ilya could admit, a bit of difficulty with that. Ilya had never lacked for friends or at least, people willing to call him friend. These days he had an abundance of them. Unfortunately, many of them were his players and while he enjoyed their company, mostly, he was absolutely not inviting them to anything like a traditional bachelor party. The Cup celebration was fine. Everyone expected that kind of thing and it would've be strange for him not to be at least peripherally involved. A personal event was different. Considering he was already playing fast and loose with ethical guidelines by marrying one of them, probably best not to push the envelope further. So no players.

Which left Sveta, Wiebe, Ryan, Harris and Marley. Maybe the HABs if Ilya hadn't pissed them off enough recently. Technically Shane, but presumably he wouldn't be invited.

"Yes," Ilya said. "Very bad for you. I do not want a party. Simple solution."

"Marley wants to do something," Pike said. "And we want to do something for you. To be clear 'we' here means like Bood, Hayes, Barrett and Haas. I don't give a shit, but somehow I've been made the point person since I was already organizing Shane's. So get the fuck over it and give us something to work with."

"Why can't we just all go do paintball and dinner?" Shane asked. He had drunk most of the water. He had also, apparently, poured some on his head. It seemed to have done him some good.

"Because that's your party?" Pike pointed out, bemused.

"No, no," Yolen said, eyes closed now. "Hollander has a great point. If you aim Hollander at us, we'll all get shot. If bring Coach and put them on separate teams, they'll spend all their energy shooting at each other."

"Baby, that's so smart," Pike said.

"Literally everyone knows how they work, Pike. You're such a simp."

For a second, Ilya thought his hangover had killed the last of inhibitions and he'd said it. But no, Yolen was glaring at Luca, who had apparently stolen the words out of Ilya's mouth.

"Shut the fuck up," Yolen said. "What's the attitude for?"

"You told me my hair looked like I'd been electrocuted last night," Luca said. "You're so mean after tequila."

"Oh shit. Sorry. Truce?" Yolen wrinkled their nose.

"Truce," Luca allowed.

"What's a simp?" Pike asked bewildered.

"Don't worry about it, babe," Yolen said, kissing his temple.

The coffeemaker beeped.

"I do not need a party," Ilya said again, in case anyone had missed it and then turned his attention to pouring coffee. He handed Shane's down to him. Shane immediately pressed the mug to his forehead and sighed in relief. "This is what happens when you steal my shots."

"You were hogging them," Shane said. "And they tasted really good."

The party debate was raging on without him. Ilya considered his choices and slid down to sit next to Shane on the floor. Shane smiled wanly at him then rested his head on Ilya's shoulder. It was nice down there. Private. They drank their coffee until the delivery guy arrived. As stomachs settled around eggs and guacamole, Shane asked him quietly,

"Do you really not want a party?"

Ilya sighed. "I thought you did not want one, so having one for myself would be strange."

"I kind of don't, but I do want to hang out with the guys and sniper shoot them, then get a nice dinner."

"It will be very fun for you," Ilya agreed.

"So you should have one if you want one," Shane said. "It doesn't have to be a big thing. Or it can be. Whatever."

"I can have strippers?" Ilya asked mildly. "Maybe one of those party buses with a pole?"

Shane pulled his head away from his mug to level Ilya with a glare that had made lesser men piss themselves.

"You can do whatever you want," Shane said, the temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees. "But actions have consequences."

"I do not want strippers," Ilya said fondly. He loved when Shane was scary. "What would I do with them when I have the hottest player in the league taking off his clothes for me every night?"

The warmth returned and Shane rested his head on Ilya's shoulder. "I want you to have fun though."

"I had a lot of fun. Years of parties," Ilya reminded him. "I do not regret them, but I also do not miss them very much."

Shane hummed thoughtfully. Pike, Yolen and Luca had colonized their couch and were attempting to find some TV show Luca was excited about. He was explaining it partially in another language, but no one had bothered to point that out to him yet.

"What if it was for the charity?" Shane asked.

"My party?"

"You're worried about the guys being at some drunken haze with you even though we did that last night."

"Different," Ilya said. "That was very public and it is the Cup. People understand that."

"Okay," Shane said. He was so good about that. Just accepted Ilya's authority on matters he was equally versed on sometimes. Not about hockey, never hockey, but almost anything else Shane was generally willing to be convinced about if Ilya said it with enough conviction. "So maybe just have your bach be something to help the Foundation. It'll be good P.R., everyone can feel like they did something for you and you can have whoever you want there."

Ilya kissed him. Shane grinned against his lips.

"You are very clever. Pike!" Ilya called without looking away from Shane's face. "Shane fixed your problem." 

"Divorce before you even get married? Rough stuff, coach, sorry to hear it," Pike said. "It does simplify things though."

"Shut up," Ilya said mildly. "Charity. We will do a fundraiser." 

"As a party?" Pike asked with a small frown. "Can you do that?" 

"Who will stop us?" Ilya shrugged. "Everyone will be in town for the camps. Meet and greet, maybe." 

"Coach," Yolen said, eyes wide and a troubling smile on their face. "I have such a good idea." 

"Go ahead."

"Car wash." 

"Car wash?" Ilya asked, bemused even as Luca gasped. 

"It would raise so much money!"  Luca said. "And it would be fun." 

"Wait," Pike said. "Is it...us? Washing cars?" 

"Yes!" Yolen said, slapping at Pike's thigh. "Think about it! Hot wet hockey players? We can be dramatic and wear tiny little outfits. It'll be super campy and hot. Charge per car, pure profit for the charity. Coach can be in charge which he'll love and if we crack a few beers afterwards and make some toasts, that's just a reward for a long day's work." 

Shit. That did sound really fun. Ilya kept his face a mask of cold, pinning Yolen with a look. Yolen blinked and shrank a little into Pike's side which was not Ilya's desired outcome. He heaved a sigh, 

"Yes. This. I like it." 

Yolen and Luca cheered. Pike pulled a face.  "This is going to wind up with me looking dumb on Instagram, I can already tell." 

"You'll be hot and wet in a white t-shirt," Yolen said. "You won't look dumb." 

Ilya was being handed so many openings today that he was not manfully not taking. He should be awarded a medal of willpower.  Why had he brought this gang of idiots home?  

"This is going to be so fun!" Luca said. He launched himself off the couch to throw his arms around Ilya like a heavy barnacle. Ilya gave him a pat on the shoulder. Right. Because he liked them very much. His idiots.  

"Why are you all still here?" Ilya asked when Luca pulled away. "Jackie is missing at least two of you." 

"At least?" Pike asked voice cracking. "Luca has a boyfriend." 

"Maybe Sal could be open-minded," Shane said mildly.  "If you're trying to collect the whole set."

"No, we have enough,"  Pike said, glaring at Shane. 

"That's what you said about kids too," Shane said. 

The pillow to the face was a little much, but Shane laughed about it, so Ilya sat back as a throw pillow fight broke out among grown people in his living room. It wasn't even close to the first time anyway.  

It was almost easier to corral the fifteen guys that Marley had deemed 'close enough to come' onto the ridiculous yacht Ilya had rented for the day through Sveta's connections. Ilya had reconsidered his original plan several times, given the givens of drunk men near water, but he had hired on additional staff including several highly skilled lifeguards and intentionally started the party at the unusual hour of 11 am. They would have full light in case someone took a swan dive. The pros of the boat meant no herding people from club to club or someone taking it into their own hands to get women there. 

"I don't want any women," Marley had said when Ilya asked for preferences. "Just some guys, some sun and some booze." 

"Sounds very gay," Ilya deemed. 

"Sounds like a guy that doesn't want some idiot setting me up to piss off my future wife five minutes before my fucking wedding," Marley said solemnly. 

"Why are you inviting assholes who would do that?" Ilya asked. 

"I don't think they would, but you never fucking know, do you?" 

True, unfortunately. So a yacht it was. Ilya stayed only half-drunk and mostly in Marley's vicinity. The former was a choice, the latter was out of his hands as Marley kept reaching to give him a manly half-hug every time Ilya wandered a little further afield.  It reminded him of Anya when she'd been at the dog hotel for more than two days at a time. The thought softened him (and okay, maybe he missed Marley a little. Just a bit.), so he allowed himself to be hauled around like a plush toy.

Rogers, a newer Raider that Marley seemed to approve of beyond 'acceptable', was very interested in classic cars. Ilya talked engines with him and agreeably looked at photos of the Mustang he was restoring. 

"Roz,"  Connors appeared out of thin air. "You brought malort!" 

"Yes," Ilya said with grimace. "You always drink it. So I brought it." 

Connor's mustache twitched and then Ilya had his arms full again. Why was no one afraid of touching him anymore?   Did he have a sign on his forehead that said Huggable Russian?

"I fucking hate Detroit," Connors said mournfully into his ear. "Our captain is a piece of shit. Miss you, man." 

"I would not be your captain in Boston either," Ilya said, trying to catch Marley's eye for help, but Marley was suddenly interested in Rogers' opinions on pistons. Judas.  

"Yeah, I know, past is the past or whatever," Connors said, pulling back and his eyes were a little red, but that was probably from the pot that Ilya had passed discreetly to him as he boarded. 

He had figured the weed would maybe balance out the drunks a little and so far, it was working.  Connors was good at passing a joint around and making sure everyone got a fair share who wanted it and keeping it away from the guys who didn't react well to it.

"Maybe they will trade you again," Ilya floated. 

"Who would have me?" Connors scoffed then shook his head wildly. "Fuuuck. Don't listen to me. Hit the good stuff too hard." 

Connors was an excellent player, agile and affable, but he tended to disappear into a team if the coach didn't know to look for him. He had spent most of his career bouncing between the second and third line, always subbing in for something else that was missing instead of used on his own merits. In the right place, he'd be a good asset as another level-headed veteran to balance out some young talent.

Shit.

"I bring you your terrible liquor and you thank me by whining?" Ilya chided. "Go drink the liquid the devil pisses out until you remember you are good at what you do."

Connors flipped him off, but he did amble off.

"Roz, no," Marley said with a laugh as Ilya got out his phone. "Wait until your sober. Don't drink and coach."

"Fuck off," Ilya said, typing carefully so Bren wouldn't know he was tipsy.

"I'd stop you, but I do kind of feel bad for him," Marley said, banging his knee against Ilya's . "Hell, it'll make it easier to have poker nights when I visit."

"You fucking hate playing poker against me," Ilya reminded him still typing.

"Not if I get to watch other people lose too."

It only occurred to Ilya once he'd pressed send that Marley had already known what he was up to before he'd said a word. That was not a very Marley move. Generally, the man was three steps behind and barely looking at where he was going on a good day. It was one of the things Ilya had liked about him when they first met. Marley didn't ask pointed questions, he just hung out and took what Ilya gave him at face value.

When Ilya looked up, Marley was leaning back against the railing, face turned up to the sun, eyes hidden behind enormous aviator sunglasses because he loved Top Gun like a religion.

"I am not coaching," Ilya said. "I was telling Shane that no one has died yet."

"Okay," Marley said affably. "Let's do shots."

Staggering off the yacht hours later, Ilya was grateful that his body remembered the old routine without any input from his brain:

Get Marley into a car (difficult, the guy was huge and stubborn and wanted to say goodbye to everyone ten thousand times), get Marley out of the car (easier, but still complicated by aforementioned hugeness), get them both into the elevator and through Marley's door without bothering all the neighbors (Ilya had never been good at that part and was only marginally better now), reintroduce Marley to his bed (easy, he fell into it already snoring, but also strange because the bedroom had changed a little with Tess' things on the once empty nightstand and a silky pillowcase on her side of the bed that Marley immediately drew closer and drooled on), then throwing himself on Marley's couch to sleep (exactly the same and still surprisingly comfortable).

The only new addendum was Ilya taking out his phone and sending one very important message.

Ilya: Did not drown. Good night.

Shane: Good night, see you tomorrow.

Ilya fell asleep still clutching his phone. Like a fucking idiot, he had been clutching it in his right hand so he woke up with a cramp of epic proportions. Instead of potentially pissing off the future Mrs. Marley, Ilya ordered in breakfast instead of attempting to cook single-handed.

"Thank fuck," Marley said when he saw the spread Ilya had attained. He sat down at started filling his plate.

"Do not eat my fucking bagel," Ilya hissed protectively when Marley's fingers got a little too close. Then he winced. "I mean-"

Marley blinked then started laughing. "Yeah, okay. I don't want it, motherfucker. You always get lox like fish belongs on cream cheese."

"Where else would fish belong?" Ilya challenged, trying to ignore the heat climbing up the back of his neck.

"Fish doesn't go in milk, it's fucked up, Roz."

Ilya kicked him under the table. Marley kicked back and they almost upset the whole table's worth of food onto the floor. It was asinine and juvenile. Ilya laughed so hard his sides hurt afterwards.

They had mostly managed to get themselves under control when the front door opened. Tess walked in, yellow terry cloth shorts, a Raiders t-shirt and sunglasses that screamed 'hungover'.

"Good morning," she grumbled and threw herself in to the chair next to Marley. He leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"I thought you weren't going to drink," Marley asked her lightly.

"The girls convinced me," she said. "Against my better judgment."

Ilya pulled back a little, watching them with quiet interest as Tess laid out the diabolical plans of her bridesmaids as Marley rubbed her back with the heel of his hand. He slid his plate to her and she started picking at his leftovers without comment. They were easy with each other. This woman that Marley had met without Ilya playing wingman and had managed to land just fine on his own.

"Why does that bother you?" Shane asked later.

They were both naked, joined only at the ankle, Ilya's over lapping Shane's. Their reunion after a few days separation had maybe been a little overly dramatic, especially considering the blistering heat outside. The hotel room air conditioner was doing it's best, chugging along pathetically.

"I was supposed to be there," Ilya said, staring at the ceiling, waving his right hand around. "Another thing that this took, you know? I think I am finally at peace with it, then I find another thing."

"You're here now," Shane reminded him. He rolled onto his slide, propping his head up on his elbow. "I know that doesn't fix it, but it's something. We'll go to the wedding tomorrow. You'll be his best man."

"You think I am being ridiculous."

"Don't put words in my mouth," Shane said. "Grief is complicated. I get that."

"There is nothing to grieve. Everyone is alive," Ilya said stubbornly.

Shane sighed and sat the rest of the way up. He picked up Ilya's right hand and started massaging the palm with his thumbs which always helped and had the pleasant side effect of making Ilya's spine melt.

"Maybe if you'd been there, he wouldn't be marrying her."

The statement stabbed through the air with all the precision Shane used on the ice.

"What do you mean?" Ilya demanded.

"I mean life is fucking complicated. You don't know how two people wind up together," Shane said. "Maybe if you were here things wouldn't have worked out the same. I know it's hard for you to believe, but people fall in love without you around all the time."

The angry retort rose in Ilya's chest and died before making it to his lips.

"Even you," he said instead.

"I think I'm the one every clear exception," Shane said with a huff.

"No, you fell in love with me over two and a half years apart," Ilya said, tipping his head back to look at him. Shane stared at him, a stormcloud gathering on his face. "What?"

"Do you really think that?" Shane asked with the cold intensity.

"I know you have feelings for me before that, but you did not call them love," Ilya said, unwilling to soften that even in this moment.

Shane looked away, his fingers stilling against Ilya's palm though he didn't release his hold.

"Did you?" Shane asked.

"No," Ilya said. "It hurt like love, felt good like love too, but no. The word was not there."

"I fell in love with you when I was 17, I think," Shane said. He still didn't look at Ilya, but he brought Ilya's hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles one-by-one. "Or at least, I felt something. Maybe it was the first time we hooked up. I know I felt something then."

Ilya closed his eyes, ranging back to that night in the little dark hotel room. What had that overconfident idiot been feeling? It had been something more than lust. It had been curiosity and desire and….yes, maybe the first seed of the mighty oak of his feelings for Shane Hollander that towered above everything else in his life and sheltered it from the battering of the world. Integral and enormous.

But only a seed. Not enough to make things easier for them for so long.

"I was terrible to you."

"I was pretty awful to you too," Shane said and then he was sliding down the bed and throwing himself half over Ilya to bury his face against his neck. "Still loved you though."

Ilya rubbed his cheek over Shane's hair. "Yes. Same for me. I think being around Marley makes me feel a little like a nineteen-year-old dumbass again."

"I liked that dumbass," Shane reminded him. "A lot. I just said that. Be nice to him."

"I do not think he deserved it. He was very angry. Cruel sometimes."

"And I loved him. So don't talk about him that way," Shane said firmly. "He was as kind as he could be, I think. All things considered."

They probably should not have had sex again with the rehearsal dinner barreling towards them and a checklist of things Ilya had promised to do, but sometimes one had to make time for the truly important things in life. All of it got done anyway.

Tess and Marley's wedding was more to Ilya's taste than Scott's had been, but still a monument to excess. Vows were exchanged before an enormous glass window overlooking a cliff. Tess' gown was voluminous, Marley's tuxedo well-tailored and yet somehow still straining that the seams to contain him. Their pictures would look very good. The shot that Ilya would wind up asking for to add to his growing mantle was of Marley scooping Tess clean off her feet when she complained about her shoes pinching at the end of the photographs.

The man that had once demanded Ilya finish pulling a loosened tooth of his mouth so he could leap back in the fray of a brawl without losing track of it wasn't gone. Not anymore than the feral teenager that Ilya had been when they met had disappeared. Instead, they had grown around them, layers on layers until only the vague outline of them could still be seen.

In their hotel room again afterwards, Shane had whispered in Ilya's ear, "I've never been with a guy before. Have you?"

Ilya grinned and backed Shane up against the wall. "Let me show you how it's done, kid."

So the summer was off to an auspicious start.

 

Shane

"This is such a problem," Shane groaned. He'd wandered to the far end of the rink's parking lot, kicking idly at a few stray rocks, watching them skitter into a ditch.

"It really isn't," Rose said, her laughter a bell in his ear.

"You don't understand."

"I totally understand," she assured him, still laughing. "I just also think it's hilarious. Babe, you don't even have ovaries and they're exploding."

"I knew he was good with kids," Shane said, scrubbing his face with the hand not pressing his phone to ear. "I've seen him with the Pikes forever and that's never made a difference. It's great! I love that he's good with them, but it's just been…you know. Normal."

"Ah, but hockey is your kryptonite," Rose said. "And you went out of your way to combine the two. You set yourself up for this."

"I didn't know," Shane said miserably. "It's awful. He makes up games, he gets them all to laugh, and comforts the ones that fall and cry about it. There was this one little girl that could barely skate at the start of the week and now she's running circles around the boys because he worked with her like twice. Even the other guys are noticing. Scott asked me if Ilya had younger siblings or something."

"And did you tell him that he's just a natural and it's making you insane?"

"No, we're not friends like that," Shane said. "You're the only person ever hearing this from me."

"Aw, you're sweet," Rose said. "Do you even want kids?"

"I'm fifty-fifty on it. Ilya is too, last time we talked about it. It's not really something I think about much."

"So this isn't like 'oh my god, I need him to put a baby in me' feelings?"

Shane rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone want me pregnant? Ilya would be so much better at it if one of us could do it."

"Okay, who is 'everyone' in this case?" Rose asked around another bout of giggles.

"It's an old joke with Hayden," he admitted. "And Ilya once- never mind."

"Shane, babe. I love you so much," she said. "Please tell me more about Ilya wanting to knock you up."

"It was one time and we had a fight about it," Shane admitted. "He thought he was being funny and he was kind of surprised when I lost it on him. I hate when people talk about me like that."

"Oh," Rose subsided. "Sorry, I really was just teasing."

"I'm not mad at you. I know I take shit like that too seriously," Shane said. He'd walked even further now, reaching the ends of the commercial space. He couldn't go wondering in the scraggly woods that were probably full of broken beer bottles.

"You're allowed to not like being teased about some stuff. I know that's like 95% of your relationship, but you can have boundaries."

"Now you sound like Donna," Shane groused. He forced himself to turn back around, retracing his steps.

"I like your therapist. She sounds smart," Rose said. "For what it's worth, you're one of the most masculine people I've ever met."

"Tell that to the fucking media. Do you know some fucking dick wrote this whole article wondering if I was going to wear a dress to my own damn wedding?"

"Yeah, that tracks," she heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry that fucking sucks."

"I can bench press Ilya these days," he said. "We tested it. I know strength doesn't really have anything to do with it, but still. You know?"

"Of course you did," Rose said. "Bet he loved that."

"He did, mostly, aside from the pouting that I wouldn't let him try it in reverse," Shane said. It hadn't been a real request, but the tinge of sadness around Ilya's eyes had made Shane want to let him try anyway, even though it was a terrible idea. "Anyway, I know it doesn't actually have anything to do with reality. Just racist stupidity."

"I get it. People speculate about me having a baby bump every time I eat too big a meal or slump over a little," she said with a sigh.

"What if we burned down some buildings? Think that would move the narrative?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Shane!" Ilya's voice reached across the parking lot. He was standing at the exit, Hayes and Price chatting behind him. "We're leaving!"

"Coming!" He yelled back, then more quietly to Rose. "Gotta go, we're going to get dinner with some of the other coaches."

"Don't get a hard on if he talks about nurturing young talent," she advised.

"You're mean," Shane informed her.

"I know. You like mean."

"I love mean," he agreed. "Talk to you soon."

At dinner, Ilya leaned in to whisper, "Were you talking to your mistress again?"

"Yeah," Shane said flatly. "She's on my ass about divorcing you again. I keep telling her we're not even married yet, but she won't listen."

"Tell her I am taking the 'until death' part very seriously," Ilya said. "I will kill anyone that tries to take you."

"Okay, calm down," Shane laughed. "Sveta would murder you if you touched a hair on your head and then where would I be?"

"Rose is okay?" Ilya asked.

"She's good. Wanted to see how camps were going. She's headed to Boston on Thursday. She'll come up with Sveta."

Ilya nodded. He didn't say 'I know, Shane, we have talked about this fifteen times already'. Instead, he knocked his knee against Shane's, stole the bread roll that Shane wasn't going to eat anyway. Shane smiled around his next bite of not-that-great chicken. He thought about Ilya squatting down on the ice and regarding a hoard of small children with their sticks.

When Shane had been that size, his coach had been a burly man with a big beard that he'd been a little afraid of and had never been given reason not to be. Shane had listened to him and done everything he said and still somehow, he had always had the impression that he was failing somehow. The man's name was lost to him now. Mom might know, but he didn't really want to remember. Clearly, it hadn't made a difference in Shane's career.

Yet, he had wondered, just for a moment, what it would've been like to be seven or eight and have someone like Ilya as his coach. Someone who laughed and watched how the kids acted, giving them serious talks about how they treated each other and not just on skills.

"You were thinking very hard over dinner," Ilya said, when their bedroom door closed behind them. "Or you were very tired."

"Both," Shane admitted.

"What has you thinking yourself tired?"

"I'm tired from trying to wrangle preteens all day," Shane corrected.

"You did a good job," Ilya said. "None of them died."

"The lowest possible bar."

"Take the win," Ilya advised with a wink. "They like you."

"Not like the kids like you."

Ilya paused in shucking off his shirt. "Is that what is bothering you? They are very happy to be with you too."

"It's not that," Shane said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I liked watching you with them."

The shirt got tossed into Ilya's suitcase and then he sat down beside Shane. "But you are unhappy. This makes you unhappy?"

"What if I never want kids?" Shane asked. "Is that like…I feel like maybe we should've talked about that more."

"Ah," Ilya said. "I don't know if I want them either. We have said this. It is a decision we will make together."

"I don't want to be the reason you don't get to be a father."

The words came out of him before Shane could fully assess them which was always the worst kind of sentence in these situations. He didn't risk glancing at Ilya, staring down at his own hands.

"I like camps. I like the Pike children. I am fucking terrified of being a father," Ilya said. "I don't know if it is something I want. Not like how I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"But-"

"What I would like to see is a little one with your eyes," Ilya cut him off. "I would like to hold that baby some day if that is something you ever want. I would do it. I would be scared every day, but I would do it."

"What are you scared of?" Shane asked bewildered. "You're good with kids. You're patient. A good teacher."

Ilya wrapped his hand around Shane's, holding tight. "If you were a father like David that would be very beautiful."

There was a pause and it took Shane a second to grasp the unspoken second half of that thought.

"Fuck off," Shane said, "you don't have it in you to be that person."

"You know that I do," Ilya said, nearly in a whisper. "You of all people."

"I wasn't a kid, first off," Shane snorted. "And even when you were being a real fucking dick to me, you were mostly trying to tell me to back off and give you space the only way you knew how then. You're past that and you're not going to be like that with a kid anyway."

"I don't know," Ilya muttered. "How can I know?"

"You don't have to," Shane said. "I know. I'll know for you. You couldn't be your father even when you were trying your hardest. You didn't even yell at Anya when she peed on your favorite sneakers."

"She was scared!" Ilya protested. "Why would I yell when I was the one that forgot the vacuum scared her?"

With a small smile, Shane kissed Ilya's temple. "Yeah, Ilyusha. Why would you? You wouldn't. Kind of my point."

"You think you're very smart," Ilya accused even as he turned to kiss Shane properly. "And what if…you know. I am like her. Very much."

That was a harder hill to climb. Shane wrapped an arm around Ilya's shoulders.

"She didn't have another adult around that loved her, I think," Shane said. "We'd figure it out together. We'd get you where you needed to be."

Ilya nodded once like he'd known the answer already, but had to ask again. Maybe that was true. It wasn't something Shane loved to think about. What would it be like to raise a kid when Ilya was having a bad week? A bad month? Hard, maybe. The whole thing seemed hard to Shane though.

Yet….they'd have help. They had money to have all the professional help in the world, certainly. Mom and Dad would pitch in if they let them. The Pikes would help too, paying forward years of Uncle Shane's and now, Uncle Ilya's, support. Yolen was great with kids and if they stuck around, they'd probably assist where they could. Rose and Sveta would dash in and out, happy to play rich fun aunties now and again.

Everyone Shane loved would love those kids. Small people that he and Ilya would share the burden and the joy of, another thing to bicker over and talk about late at night. More voices to fill the house that Ilya had made and Shane basked in. A baby that Ilya wouldn't have to give back at the end of the night and a toddler that would call Shane 'Dad' instead of 'Uncle'. Sticky hands that he could wash and bedtime stories that might become rituals.

A kid that hung between their hands, taking wobbly tries at skating. Not in baby gear or with expectation, but just for fun on a cold winter day on the pond where Shane had taken his first strides on skates.

The image, once impossible for Shane to imagine, snapped into perfect clarity.

"Oh fuck," Shane said.

"What?" Ilya asked, head shooting up from where it had been about to rest on Shane's shoulder.

"I think I want kids."

Ilya blinked and then burst into laughter. "Hollander, did you talk yourself into it?"

"A little," Shane admitted. "Not right now. Not until I'm done playing, maybe. But yeah. Kids. Are you in or are you out, Rozanov?"

"In," Ilya said without hesitation.

"Cool. You're carrying them though. I'm not ruining my figure for you."

The peal of laughter was even louder and Shane grinned. Nothing that followed would have been productive in baby making, but it was a lot of fun.

 

Ilya

"I forgot this version of Ilyusha," Sveta said with a predatory grin. She was perched on the closed toilet seat, eying him up. "He was a lot of fun. Very stupid though."

"You spent a lot of time with him for someone you thought was stupid," Ilya lobbed back, smoothing a little gel into his hair. "What does that say about you?"

"That I have a charitable heart," she said.

Ilya took a step back to take in the whole effect. Working out with Shane had helped gain back some of the muscle mass he'd lost in the years without him, but nothing would rebuild him into what he had been as an active player. Or make him twenty-one again. Still, he thought that cocky little asshole might not be entirely ashamed of what he'd become.

Shane had picked out his earrings this morning, starbursts of gold and silver. The white tank top was slit on the sides to practically his waist and went well with a stolen pair Shane's sluttiest little shorts. It was definitely something Ilya might've worn out on a summer night when he and Sveta were snot-nosed assholes trying to flirt their way into clubs.

The tattoo that he'd debated endlessly than finally gotten last week was vivid against skin, still healing. Shane hadn't seen in yet which had taken some careful doing. It was a permanent reminder that Ilya might be able to put on the costume of before, but he was very much in the after now.

"Okay," Ilya decided. "This is as good as it gets."

"Oh yes, very terrible," Sveta rolled her eyes. "Move. I need to do my eyeliner."

"The gold?" he asked, a little wistfully.

She gave him a small indulgent smile. "Yes, fine. A little much for this kind of party."

"We are a little much," Ilya reminded her.

"We are," she agreed.

It was a peaceful start to the day, watching Sveta draw a thin band of gold over her over her crisp black liner. She wore a black romper with red trim that must've been new. He drove them to the Centaurs' practice rink where a small circus was already in play.

There were a few bleachers set up with an awning, dozens of hoses lined up like contented snakes, soapy buckets of water and chalked in lanes to guide in their customers. Half of the team had arrived, along with most of the camp coaches from other teams (and retirees), most with their partners and kids. The families stocked the bleachers, apparently there to 'cheer everyone on', but Ilya wasn't an idiot. Harris was going to be mining their photos and videos for enough content to keep the Irina Foundation and the Centaurs official social media feeds full for a month at least.

"There he is!" Wyatt said as Ilya approached the madness, Sveta at his elbow. "Get 'em boys!"

Ilya considered running off. He had a lead. Before he could even consider it, Sveta committed treachery, wrapping herself around his arm.

"Let it happen," she advised and then he was being piled on.

When his players retreated, Ilya had gained an oversized silver whistle, some sort of headgear that he was almost certain was a crown, and a huge obnoxious button that said 'Kiss the Groom' on it. There was definitely lipstick on his cheek. The right one. Sveta was on his left.

"This is harassment," he declared. "And you have betrayed me."

"Yes," she said with a grin. "It looks good on you."

He attempted to figure out who had done the deed, but everyone had scattered and there were several suspicious makeup wipes in the huge garbage can.

"I am only trying to save someone's life," Ilya said at a conversational level as he raked his gaze over his players. "Because Shane will kill you."

"Aw, cute," Sveta said as she peeled off from him to join the people in the stands. "We told him, of course."

"You turned my fiance against me?" He turned to the assembled hooligans.

Scott was grinning at him like it was the best day of his life. Ilya flipped him off and Scott just laughed. Great.

"Who's ready to raise some money?" Bren called out, his voice booming over a megaphone that had the Irina Foundation logo on it. Nice touch.

All the car washers had assembled themselves in varying versions of the same outfit as Ilya. Lots of white t-shirts and tank tops, more jorts than he cared to think about, and one obscenely short skirt. Had Yolen stolen it off an actual cheerleader?

Someone had even bullied Bren into a ridiculously tight white t-shirt though his shorts were the loose black basketball ones that he preferred. Next to him, Ryan loomed in a white undershirt and startlingly pink shorts.

"Where did these come from?" Ilya asked as he ambled in closer.

"I asked Fabian to help me find something appropriate," Ryan said, entirely at peace with this apparently. "They're comfortable."

"Okay," Ilya said because what the fuck else did you say to that? In the bleachers, Fabian was wearing an outfit made entirely of loosely assembled scarves which was at total odds with Harris beside him in a brightly patterned short-sleeved button down. Kip was on his other side, in possibly the shortest shorts of the day and definitely the tiniest tank top. Kyle was beside him in t-shirt that posed the question, 'Heterosexual? In this economy?'. He gave Ilya a cheery wave.

The HABs group chat in their entirety had shown up today, throwing themselves into the spirit, and Ilya was not going to feel a way about that. He absolutely was not.

"Here," Bren passed Ilya the megaphone. "Today only, yours to use and abuse. Please remember some of us would like to still have our hearing tomorrow."

"I will forget immediately," Ilya said, taking it reverently.

"Oh god," Ryan said. "Wiebe, I want to put in my notice."

"You already signed this year's contract," Bren reminded him with a shark's grin. "Too late again, Price."

"HELLO CENTAURS, CENTAUR FAMILIES AND FRIENDS, AND ALL YOU OTHER LOSERS!" Ilya boomed into the megaphone. "WELCOME TO THE FIRST AND PROBABLY ONLY IRINA FOUNDATION CAR WASH! PLAYERS TO YOUR STATIONS!"

There was a mad scramble and five minutes later, everything was in delicious, gorgeous chaos. Bood, Wyatt and Scott had been assigned team leads and none of them managed a lick of control over their assigned players. Suds flew, people were sprayed directly in the face with hoses and someone had hoisted Luca up onto the roof an SUV and stranded him there.

"Just jump!" Yolen kept yelling helpfully.

"If I break my ankle, coach will kill me!" Luca yelled back.

The owner of the SUV luckily seemed incredibly pleased for the privilege of having this interaction and was filming it with unholy glee. The line stayed manageable (mostly because Yuna had pointed out that an appointment system with everyone pre-paying would prevent disappointing anyone) and Ilya was in his glory. He barked orders and riled up the crowd to cheer on the different teams despite there being absolutely no contest actually occurring.

He did keep getting randomly kissed when he walked by too many Centaurs until he was pretty sure he was more lipstick kisses than skin.

"Where are you getting this from?" he asked as Wyatt danced away from leaving a particularly obnoxious red one on his forehead. The lipstick was poorly applied and all over his teeth.

"We came prepared," Wyatt laughed, flinging suds at him. "We don't need strippers to leave a mark!"

The players got increasingly soaked. Shirts were tossed aside to wolf-whistles from the crowd and Kip emerged from the bleachers with a bucket full of sunscreen spray bottles.

"What is this?" Ilya asked as Kip approached him first.

"I'm performing a public service," Kip said. "This is only fun if you're not all lobsters."

"I already-" A cold stream hit Ilya's neck. "Kip!"

"You're all getting soaked, anything you applied is long gone," Kip said merrily, dousing Ilya liberally, then proceeding to loop around the parking lot spraying everyone down.

It was very cute the way Scott bent down so Kip could rub lotion onto his face. Ilya found a new button on the megaphone and pressed it right when Kip went in to kiss him. A heinous blaring foghorn issued out of it startling them both.

"Fuck off, Rozanov!" Scott barked.

"HUNTER!" Ilya scolded. "SWEAR JAR! PIKE, SHAKE HIM DOWN!"

To his delighted shock, Pike peeled away way from the sedan he'd been rinsing clean, passing the hose to Dykstra. He approached Scott and stuck out his hand expectantly. Kip started laughing as Scott stared at him bemused.

"What?" Scott asked.

"My kids are in those stands, Hunter. Pay the swear jar or answer to my wife," Pike said.

"Why did you bring your kids to this…" Scott waved his hand at the nearly naked parade of hockey flesh. "Thing."

"This is a family event," Pike said, widening his eyes. "You don't think my kids should be here? You have something against my kids?"

Kip had doubled over now and Scott looked like he regretted ever being born. He reached into his sodden pocket, pulled out his wallet and put a bill in Pike's hand.

"This is a stick up," Scott said. "You're all con artists."

"Thanks for your contribution!" Pike practically bounced away to add the bill to the bucket of tips. It was very stuffed. "Good enough, coach?"

And Ilya, overflowing with the feeling of the day said gravely, "Good work, Pike."

With a gasp, Pike pressed both his hands to his heart and staggered backwards like he'd been struck with an arrow. Fucking idiot. Ilya had to turn around so Pike wouldn't see him grinning.

Which meant he got to catch Fabian in the act of snapping a photo of Ryan bending over to reach under a bumper.

"SALAH, WE CHARGE FOR THAT! HAAS, COLLECT!"

Luca, long since freed from the SUV, zeroed in on Fabian and politely held out his hand. There was some discussion that Ilya couldn't make out and then Luca went to Ryan and whispered something in his ear.

Poor Ryan's face went up in flames, but he did take off his shirt and tuck it into his back pocket. His splotchy blush went down his back too. Luca went back to Fabian and Fabian theatrically handed over a small wad of cash. Nice.

"You didn't charge Cassie for taking a shot of me," Bood said. "Coach, are you being heterophobic right now?"

"Yes," Ilya said without hesitation. "Also Cassie is holding a baby. You want her to put your baby in the tip jar?"

"It'd be a cute picture," Bood said.

"Good point. BARRETT, BRING ME BOOD'S FIRST BORN!"

"Good to see you haven't gone mad with power yet," Bren said mildly. He was still bone dry, but someone had kissed his cheek with purple lipstick. Only one candidate for that.

"I am what you have made me," Ilya said.

"Guess I do good work then," Bren said and clapped him on the shoulder. "Glad you're having fun. Brace yourself, by the way. Someone gave the rookies supersoakers."

"What is a super-"

That was when Holmberg nailed Ilya square in the chest and LaPointe went for his knees. Too bad for them that Ilya had no qualms about chasing them down and using his still excellent reflexes to disarm them both with extreme prejudice. He considered his choices and solemnly handed the guns off to Jade and Ruby in the stands.

"Girls," he said, getting down on one knee to look them in the eyes, "you must kill them all."

"Ilya," Jackie said with a groan.

Ruby pumped up the gun like a solider ready for war. Jade frowned. "Who are we killing?"

"The men who did this to me," he said, pointing to his face.

"I like the kisses," Jade said. "You look cute."

"Thank you," he said. "Do you want to be on reload duty instead?"

"Yes, please."

Ilya got her a bucket, filled it with water and let them both loose. They made for a very effective team, Ruby shooting at already soaking wet grown men with enough dead-eyed vigor that they honestly tried to escape and Jade refilling the spare gun and handing it off to Ruby when she emptied hers.

"I hate you a little bit," Jackie informed him as she recorded the whole thing. Amber reached for him and Jackie handed her off.

"They are a very good team," Ilya said.

Amber was getting bigger, heavier in Ilya's arms. It was hard not to think about Shane's new conviction. It might actually kill Ilya dead to have a baby with Shane's freckles in his arms.

"When they're not trying to tear each other apart," Jackie agreed. "Twins are complicated."

"Siblings are complicated," Ilya amended.

Jackie bumped her shoulder into his arm. He'd never told her about his family. He wasn't sure how much Shane had said to Pike about them. Maybe nothing. Shane was good at keeping things to himself. Probably still too good. Maybe she had only drawn her own conclusions over time.

Today was not the day for it, but Ilya thought he might ask her someday soon if all of it was worth it. He would split a bottle of wine with her and cajole out honesty. Ask for the hard parts. He knew Jackie had her own issues with her own parents, inferred around the edges of things.

Things wound down after a few hours, the cars dwindling and finally disappearing. Volunteers started to coil up hoses and a cooler of beers emerged, passed around to the phalanx of soaked people. A camper chair was produced and Bood pointed Ilya into it.

"We have one car left," Bood declared. "Hayes! Raise the signal!"

Wyatt took out his phone and sent a text. "I wanted a bat signal, but it's way too bright out."

"This feels like a threat," Ilya said. The red lipstick was still vaguely smeared around Wyatt's mouth. "You are the Joker?"

"Maybe the Heath Ledger one. Jared Leto is a fucking monster."

"Okay," Ilya started to get up from the chair. "We are all done here."

"Just let it happen," Bren said, putting a hand on Ilya's shoulder and shoving him back down. "And I'm taking that back now."

"Noooo," Ilya protested as Bren held out his hand for the megaphone. "It could be very useful at practice."

"Give, Roz."

With a theatrical sigh, Ilya handed it over. Why did people always forget he was rich? He was going to order ten of them as soon as he got home. Maybe he'd let Jade and Ruby bedazzle one of them for extra effect.

A black car rolled up and came to a stop very close to Ilya's chair. A very familiar car.

"Who the fuck has my keys?" Ilya demanded, patting down his pockets.

Sveta got out of the car and dangled them from her fingers. "You're very easy to steal from when you're mad with power."

"I do not need my car washed," Ilya said.

The music that had been playing cut off abruptly and Sveta smiled a smile that had never bode well for Ilya before. "You need this kind."

A microphone cut in and the crisp voice of a vaguely familiar announcer came on:

"And now coming to the ice, the hottest set of blades to ever touch our ice!"

"You said no strippers," Ilya hissed at Pike, who had gotten within hearing range. They were all in hearing range. Everyone had clustered around him. Fuck.

"Yep," Pike agreed, rocking back on his heels.

What followed wasn't really one announcer, but several spliced together. "He comes to play every time. A force on the ice. Liked in his own room and hated in others. His numbers are off the charts. This year's MVP! The Russian Menace never lets us down!"

Dykstra and Chouinard turned on two of the remaining hoses, the streams arching into a rainbow. Through the water, a vision of pure sex appeal, tailored to specifically render Ilya into stunned silence appeared:

Shane with a backwards cap, his slutty running shorts, his bleach white crew socks and a top that had started off life as a jersey, before someone had cut off the sleeves and a band around the bottom to make it a cropped tank top. A black and gold jersey.

Letting himself get soaked, Shane deliberately turned his back on Ilya.

Rozanov

81

Okay. So Ilya just had to sit here in front of everyone who he needed to still respect him tomorrow and take this. He didn't know if he was unbearably horny or wanted to cry or both. At least he had incontestable proof that Shane would fuck him through tears if Ilya was persuasive about it.

"Pike," Ilya said roughly. "If you're going to come out, do it in the next sixty seconds because then I am going to murder you."

"If you think this was my idea, you got another think coming," Pike said strangled. "This was all Bood, Hayes and Barrett. I told him to show up in a parka."

Shane walked towards Ilya, his hair slicked back from the water, dripping down a little. He stopped in front of Ilya's chair and for a moment, froze up. Likely the audience finally registering with him. Even dressed like a incubus sent to torment Ilya in particular, even with years of confidence and love under his belt, Shane was still a little bit the boy who didn't know what to do with his hands in awkward moments.

"Hollander," Ilya said, drawing Shane's attention back to him. "You cut up my framed jersey?"

"I bought a new one to cut up," Shane said with consternation. "I had to get it on Ebay. They wanted a fortune for it."

"I am worth a lot," Ilya said with a grin.

"Yeah, I know," Shane said.

He took a breath then leaned down, one hand on each of the chair arms. Very much in Ilya's personal space. This close, Ilya saw that Shane was wearing lipstick too. It was a shade close to his natural lip color.

"I did not ask for the other kisses," Ilya said. "I want this on the record."

"I know. They warned me," Shane smiled at him. "But they left the most important spot to me."

Shane kissed him, water cascading off him and onto Ilya. The tackiness of the lipstick smeared between them then was quickly forgotten. When Shane pulled back, Ilya was certain his own lips were now a few shades pinker.

"We are going home now?" Ilya asked, hoping he didn't sound as plaintive as he felt.

"Nope," Shane said. "I want to dry off so I don't ruin your car's seats and you didn't even finish your drink."

"This is hell," Ilya decided.

Music blasted back over the speakers. Now a few beers in, several people decided dancing was in order, sending up small waves of droplets from the puddles gathered everywhere. Shane grinned at Ilya and tugged him to his feet.

They danced and dried off under the last of the sun's dry heat. It was hot. But maybe it wasn't hell at all.

"Ilyusha," Shane said, low and a little dangerous. "Did someone kiss your fucking ribs?"

"What? No," Ilya said immediately. Then realized what Shane had glimpsed. Well. Now was as good at time as any. "I have a tattoo."

"You have a what?" Shane's voice cracked. "When?"

"Only a few days. I didn't want to show you until it healed."

"Is that why you wouldn't let me shower with you yesterday?" Shane asked.

"No, you did not want to be late and if you showered with me, we would be late," Ilya said, then conceded, "But yes also that a little."

"Show me," Shane demanded.

Obligingly, Ilya turned and raised his arm so Shane could get a better look. The ink rested comfortably a few inches down from his armpit though it hadn't been so comfortable to get it there. Dottie had warned him, but Ilya had wanted it somewhere easy to hide without being able to articulate why.

"Flowers?" Shane asked, his thumb resting just under the base.

It was a bouquet, yellow, red and orange, each flower unique as they could be made when the tattoo itself was only the size of Ilya's palm.

"My favorites," Ilya said. "All twenty-four of them."

He got kissed about it, his hands flattening against Shane's back, the thick vinyl of still meaningful numbers under his palms.

 

Shane

"This is flattering," Rose said, zipping the coverall up. Her goggles were perched on top of her head and she looked like she was audition for a CSI show.

Also pretty cute. Even Shane could recognize that. He snapped a picture and sent it to Sveta. He owed her a debt for several historical shots of Ilya that he had no other way of paying back.

"It's more flattering than being covered in paint," Shane said. "Are you sure you want to play?"

"Yep," she said, reaching for her gun. "I'm a pretty good shot, you know. My mom and I used to borrow my grandfather's rifle when my grandmother was being crazy."

"I didn't know about that," Shane said, a plan sparking in his mind.

"You guys ready?" Bood asked. "I think we've got almost everyone. We're just waiting for-"

"Bonjour, bonjour!" J.J's voice boomed from the door.

"There he is!" Shane said and propelled by a force that was partially excitement and partially anxiety, he made it to the door. "Hey, man!"

"You look like a marshmallow," J.J. informed him and then staggered back as Shane hugged him. After a moment's stutter, he got a hug back. "You started drinking already?"

"No, fuck off," Shane said, slapping his back and skipping back a step. "Got a little nervous when you said your flight was delayed, that's all. It's really good to see you."

J.J. smiled at him and gave him a quick shoulder shake. "Good to see you too. Have we made teams already?"

"No teams," Hayden said, coming up to grab his own piece of J.J., taking his own hug now. "I was voted down."

"Whoever gets Hollander wins," Bood said practically. "So we will make him his own team and maybe one of us will get the drop on him."

"Also," Luca said with a lopsided smile, "it will be a lot more fun."

"What the man said," Bood declared and clapped Luca on the shoulder.

Shane rolled his eyes and to his surprise, J.J. rolled his too. "Hollander can be defeated. You are all just weak."

"Yep," Hayden huffed, "I said that too."

"You know his weaknesses?" Bood asked.

"Yes, but now we can't tell you any of them because we're not on the same team," Hayden mock lamented. "J.J., do you want to make an alliance with me?"

"Why break habit now?" J.J. laughed.

"Fuck," Luca said. "Joey! Ally with me!"

"Hayd?" Joey asked, eyes wide.

Hayden frowned glancing at J.J., "You have to make the call, I'm biased."

"Are you out of your fucking mind? Yes, I want the two demons who make my life a living hell on the ice, but that's it."

Luca and Joey cheered. No one else looked happy.

"Hollander," Bood said urgently.

"Too late," Shane said and started backing away from the rest of the team. "Your fear comes at a price."

"Damn," Wyatt said. "That's stone cold."

Shane met Rose's eyes, on the side cheated away from everyone else, he pointed at her then himself. She kept her face entirely calm and only acknowledged it with a flicker of a thumb's up behind her gun.

She was the best.

They filed into the blacklight arena, florescent splashes of paint everywhere. It was a lot like the one the Metros had used a few times in the off season for team building exercises that were mostly excuses to be dicks to each other. Shane liked the Centaurs a lot, but they were still a bunch of pro athletes with more energy than sense half the time.

As the safety lecture got underway, Shane pressed against Rose's side.

"Do you see the structure in the back left?" he whispered. "Don't answer, just tuck your hair behind your ear if you don't."

Her eyes darted around and then he saw her spot it. Her hand didn't move.

"Good. When they give us the start, I'm going to charge a little, draw their attention. You're going to slip over that way, climb to the top and perch there. It will give you a lot of cover, but it's far enough away from the main action that they won't know where the shots are coming from right away. Take out as many of them as you can. If they start to narrow in you, lay down flat and they'll have a hard time seeing you in the dark."

She took that in, her eyes trained on the lecturing guy at the front without any hint she heard a word. Give the woman an Oscar.

"Don't worry about protecting me," he said. "Team wins if one of us wins."

Her hand did flutter then, but only to wrap her pinky around his.

Hayden and J.J. were great. Shane would always care about them deeply, but god did he fucking love Rose Landry. She was the friend he had dreamed up when he blew out the candles on his lonely ninth birthday before he'd figured out how to fake his way into camaraderie.

Not fake, he reminded himself, Donna's voice in his ears now. It was never fake. It was just a lot of effort. Effort that had even paid off if this room full of people who were happy to have the world's most PG bachelor party for his sake.

Well, there was probably about to be too much swearing and violence for that rating.

"All right. The horn will sound and then you can all get to shooting!"

A cheer went up. Dykstra was already attempting to scooch away, holding his rifle with far too much authority.

"Him first," Shane suggested under his breath. "Hunter of the group."

Rose's eyes briefly tracked Dykstra, then wandered calmly back to the rest of the group. The horn sounded and despite being lit up like a beacon in their white coveralls, Rose simply disappeared. Brilliant.

"Get him!" Someone shouted.

Shane didn't bother with his gun. Instead, he hit the ground running, darting back and forth, only barely utilizing the barriers for cover. It had been maybe twenty seconds when the first 'Fuck! Where did that fucking come from?' rattled out. Could Rose already be in her perch? Possibly. Certainly she hadn't been targeted yet. Shane didn't slow down. He caught glimpses of white coveralls in the dark, but didn't bother taking aim.

In the first wave, it was always better to let the easy targets take each other out. When he was certain that no one had a good eye on him, Shane squatted down low behind one of the smaller blockades. Yoga had a lot of uses. Shane could get himself into spaces that the other guys wouldn't bother with. He waited, listening to his friends be raucous and ridiculous.

It was nice, actually. Pleasant to while away a minute like they were in the locker room on a day he didn't feel much like talking. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. He heard a cry of annoyance from Hayden as he was taken out by Dykstra, cursing the man's name. Poor Hayd. He never made it very far. Probably because he was constitutionally unable to shut up for long enough not to be found immediately.

By pure luck, white clad legs went by Shane. He watched, waited. Took aim.

"Who the fuck?" That was definitely Bood, not a trace of real anger in his voice, only confusion. Shane moved around the barrier slowly, disappearing from view before skirting around to the next bit of blockade.

He got Luca next, mostly because he was distracted by his own gun, staring down at the trigger perplexed. It felt a little mean to shoot him like that. Shane did it anyway.

"Ow," Luca said with a sigh, glancing around. He spotted Shane. Luca narrowed his eyes. "My own center! My liney!"

"You voted against teams," Shane reminded him.

"I was peer pressured," Luca said and put on a pout.

Shane shot him again out of principle. "That works on Ilya, not me. Off the field, Haas."

"He's over here!" Luca yelled. Another paintball hit Luca from much further away. She wasn't a good listener, but Shane appreciated it anyway.

"You're an asshole," Shane said affectionately than took off.

"There!" Someone said and a paintball splattered a few feet to Shane's left.

"We're not doing enough accuracy drills!" Shane declared.

Three more paint balls missed him. Definitely not enough.

In the end, the entire round took five minutes. Rose climbed down from her perch in her clean white coveralls with a bright smile. Shane went to meet her. The last two standing.

"Good work," Shane said. "Glad to win with you partner."

"Oh, Shane," she clucked. "You should know by now: there can be only one."

She shot him point blank in the chest. Yellow paint splattered over his heart.

A slow clap started from the sidelines as Shane took that in. It gained speed. It gained a tempo. A chant.

"Landry! Landry! Landry!"

Rose took a bow. Shane shot her in the ass.

"You're such a sore loser," she declared laughing. "I'm going to tell Sveta exactly where that bruise came from."

"She would do the same," Shane said with perfect conviction.

"Ugh, probably," Rose conceded. "Round two alliance?"

"I haven't had that many concussions, thanks so much."

Hayden looked around at the sorry splattered group with a wry grin. "Well. Anyone want to listen to me now?"

"Not really," Dykstra muttered.

"Fuck off," Barrett said. He didn't raise his voice, but he didn't have to. He so rarely weighed in on anything that everyone's attention snapped to him. "Pike is the only one with half an idea to bring Hollander down and you all keep talking over him."

That silenced everyone. Shane could've hugged him. Hayden lit up like a fucking firework. Even as he outlined a plan to blast Shane to pieces, Shane listened happily. It occurred to him as Hayden started splitting up the teams that everything had actually worked out. Not just today. Everything.

He knew that, of course. Ilya was going to marry him in three days. They had won a cup together. Obviously, things had worked out. Yet, it was these small ripple effects that drove it home. Troy Barrett had just rallied a whole team to pay attention to tactics delivered by Hayden Pike, a sentence that could not have been uttered a year ago.

In his drive to get back to Ilya's side, Shane hadn't taken the time to think about how others things might change and warp around them. It had always seemed like their relationship was a bomb set to go off, blowing up both their lives and sending shrapnel into the world at large.

Instead, maybe it had helped a little. Maybe their tiny piece of the world was a little better off with them standing side by side. The thought kindled in Shane's chest and he vowed to never articulate it to Ilya. It would either go straight to his head or make him cry. Or both.

The only thing that could bank that ember was that Hayden's plan actually worked even though Shane had heard most of it. Apparently, it was very easy to bait Shane when you knew him well. He'd have to work on that.

Dinner was great too, a little rowdy, but it was food Shane liked and people he was comfortable with. So comfortable, he may have lost track of how often he was refilling his wine glass.

The rest of the night got a little blurry, but he knew where it ended. With Rose dumping him unceremoniously into Ilya's waiting arms.

"Moyo solynshko," Ilya said with a laugh in his voice, "what did they do to you?"

"They beat me at paintball. They cheated," Shane complained. "Make them all do bag skates forever."

"Mm, I will think about it," Ilya said with a warm laugh that Shane felt through his entire body. "Come to bed."

He was manhandled out of his clothes and went down easy when Ilya shoved him at his pillow.

"Ilyusha?"

"Yes?"

"I think it was never parties that I hated. Just the people I was with, maybe."

"I know, Shane," Ilya said, very gently.

"I think I'm a social person if it's the right way."

"You have many friends," Ilya agreed. "You are well-liked."

Shane groped across the covers to find Ilya's hand and take it in his. "I'm glad we have one more party this summer. The best one."

"Me too," Ilya said, his lips soft on Shane's forehead. "Me too."

 

Ilya

Nerves crept into Ilya slowly. The morning had started out peacefully enough. He and Shane had showered together, shaved together, eaten breakfast together. Before they had to part, Shane had called him into the bedroom and eagerly presented him with a small box.

"I promised," Shane said.

Ilya opened the box. The earrings inside were blindingly bright. They were far more simple than most of the pairs Shane had given him. Only two square cut diamond studs. Fucking huge ones.

"Shane," he said, staring down at them hungrily, "put them on me?"

The tender ritual moved quickly with months of practice. Shane touched Ilya with firm knowledge, sliding home the posts, the rocking back to admire them.

"Almost as bright as you," Shane said with a small smile.

"Ah, who has been feeding you such nice little romantic thoughts?" Ilya teased, chasing after him for a kiss. "Where is my 'ditto' man, hm?"

"Shut up! I was flustered!"

That was when the doorbell rang for the first time, Anya barking wildly, that things started to get shaky. It was as if the whole world arrived at once. David and Yuna first, then Rose and Sveta woke up and emerged from their perfumed cave. Workers followed, bringing tables and chairs out to the backyard.

Ilya answered questions, pointed a finger around when needed, ate the food that Yuna set in his hands and greeted the earlier guests who had trickled in to 'help'. The day, long awaited and not a source of concern up until this point, wrapped slow tentacles of dread around Ilya's bones.

What was he doing? Why was he doing it? He wanted this, but why hadn't he pushed for the original plan? They should've just gone to a nice polite federal building and had some civil servants stamp some papers. Who needed witnesses to all this?

"Time to get dressed," Sveta declared, snagging him by the wrist and pulling him away to the guest room.

He had laid his suit out there last night without much thought, giving over their bedroom to Shane, so he could have everything be familiar in an unfamiliar day. It had been the sensible, loving thing to do. Ilya should've been selfish. He wouldn't have minded some familiar things either.

"Did you forget how it goes?" Sveta asked, lounging on the bed. "You have to take off your pants first."

He flipped her off and did start stripping down. It was nothing she hadn't seen before after all. The suit was new because that had felt correct even though they both owned many. After much debate, they had decided to shop independently and pick their own with Rose and Sveta ensuring they wouldn't clash with each other.

Ilya had considered black for all of a minute. Shane had made his feelings about Ilya trying to disappear all too clear. Instead, he had found a gray so light it was nearly a shade of blue and a creamy shirt. The tie hung limp around his neck as he adjusted his cuffs.

There was a knock.

"Come in," he said.

Marley lumbered in and behind him, Bren. Marley slumped against a wall and Bren took the other side of the bed.

"What?" Ilya asked, a little irritated by the invasion as he attempted to get everything to lay right.

"We're in the way out there," Bren said with a shrug. "This seemed like a more useful place to be."

"Doing what?" Ilya said, his snarl barely contained.

"Annoying the shit out of you," Marley said airly. "Hi, Svetlana."

"Hello, Marley," she said. "I saw your wedding photos, very nice. Very classy."

"Thanks. That was all Tess. She's still at the hotel, but I'd like to introduce you two at the reception."

"Of course, I'd love to meet her."

Great, that was all very nice. Ilya ground his teeth together.

"Hold still," Bren said, suddenly in Ilya's personal space, and Ilya froze. He wasn't in the habit of following directions, but Bren almost never gave them to him, so he took it as an urgent message.

"Is there a bug on me?" Ilya guessed.

"I was going to do your tie," Bren said. "Okay?"

Ilya had assumed he'd have to ask Sveta to do it and she'd do a beautiful job, of course, even if she was already doing enough to make today run smoothly. The offer sent him even further off kilter.

"Okay," Ilya said, hoping he didn't sound as taken out at the knees as he felt.

Bren concentrated, muttering a little under his breath as he worked. Vaguely, Ilya was aware that Marley and Sveta were talking about something, but he couldn't have said what it was for all the money in the world.

"I know this is probably overkill, but this is the one I used on my wedding day," Bren said. "If you hate it, we can do a Windsor."

"Why do you know different knots?" Ilya asked.

"Why not? We had to wear suits all the time, doing the same thing got boring. I wasn't going to be a fashion plate like some guys, but I did know some rope tying from scouts and it transfers over as a skill."

Right. Sure. That made perfect sense. Ilya watched as Bren's face went stormy than cleared all at once as he pat the knot into place. Like he was securing it to Ilya's heart.

"There. Take a look."

Ilya glanced over in the mirror to find the blue silk bound up in four corners. It was bulky and flashy. A statement.

"True Love knot," Bren declared, clearly very pleased with himself. "What do you think?"

"I like it," Ilya decided. "It stays."

"I think," Sveta said, "that you two married men should give Ilya some advice."

"He is baby married," Ilya protested, waving at Marley. "Married for ten seconds!"

"Ten seconds longer than you," Marley said with a laugh.

"Oh, yes, very important amount of time," Ilya grumbled. "Fine. What is your advice?"

Marley went quiet. Thoughtful. It was very disconcerting.

"Hold his hand," Marley said at last. "Whenever, wherever. It's a good way to feel like you're together even when you can't talk or something. Connection. It makes you feel connected."

They all sat with that for a second. Sveta reached out and gave Marley's arm a small pat. "That is very sweet."

"It's just true," Marley mumbled, going a little pink.

"Bren?" Sveta said.

Bren sat back down on the bed, considering that. "If you're having a fight and it's not resolving, get a glass of water, a snack, and figure out if one or both of you needs to go to sleep."

"Like a child?" Ilya demanded.

"Like someone who's gotten too aggravated to think straight," Bren said with a shrug. "I know people say 'don't go to bed angry', but that's the great thing about marriage. You have tomorrow to work it out too."

"Huh," Marley said. "You know, my brother-in-law just told me to apologize every morning when you wake up to cover everything you might fuck up that day."

"Yeah, I've heard that one too," Bren snorted. "Ignore him."

"Usually do."

Ilya thought he was already pretty good at shoving calories at Shane when he started acting cranky, but he could see the logic in maybe not keeping each other up until 1 AM to settle debates. Usually those ended in a more entertaining alternative to sleep though.

But they'd have the rest of their lives to argue. To rip into each other until the only option was…no. No. They didn't do that to each other anymore. They wouldn't fall back into old habits.

Ilya was even and calm. He was totally fine. There was another knock. Ilya didn't startle. Visibly. Fuck. He might die.

"Delivery!" David called cheerfully through the door.

"From where?" Ilya groaned. "Everything is already here. If Shane knows something he wasn't waiting for showed up, he will scream, maybe."

"He won't," Sveta chided as she opened the door. "He is too busy to scream today."

"Who is?" David asked, stepping inside with a smallish white box. "Looking good, Ilya."

"Thank you," Ilya said. "You too."

"This old thing?" David laughed. "Thanks, kid. Sorry I'm late to the party."

"I did not issue invitations," Ilya said. "Shane is okay?"

"He's great. Yuna distracted him with Foundation business, so he's forgetting to be nervous," David said merrily. "He did remember to send this along though."

David brandished a white box at him.

"What else could he give me today?" Ilya asked bemused. He took the box though and opened it.

After very little discussion, they had nixed flowers almost entirely from the wedding because they'd already be outside. It seemed enough to have lights and electric candles. So there was no florist to order something extra from. Maybe Shane could have gotten something anyway, but somehow, Ilya was certain that this tiger lily with it's stem wrapped so precisely in what was almost certainly stick tape had come from the plant next to the Pike's front door.

"He wanted you to have a boutonniere," David said gently. "He's got a matching one for himself. You want me to pin it on?"

"I- yes. Please."

The pin was wickedly long, but David had good hands. He pinned it the first time, securing the speckled orange blossom so at odds with the blue suit.

"We were asking the married men for advice," Sveta said. "Do you have some, David?"

"Advice?" David paused and then to Ilya's surprise, he laid a hand over the stem of the flower, pressing it a little closer to Ilya's chest. "I think Ilya and Shane have more advice for me on that than the other way around. The way they love each other…I don't know. It humbles me."

Ilya stared at him and David gave him the same smile that Shane gave when he wasn't sure he'd done the right thing. His hand was warm on Ilya's chest and then he gave it another soft pat before dropping it.

"Thank you," Ilya whispered.

"It's just true, son. Yuna and me didn't always have it easy, but no one climbed the mountain like you two. I hope everything from here on goes easier on you boys."

Ilya nodded wordlessly because he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't make today sad with tears.

A phone alarm went off.

"That's our time," Sveta said. "Everyone out."

She pulled Ilya along in her wake again, shepherding them out of the house and into the backyard. The left side. David headed off to the right to meet back up with Yuna and Shane still out of Ilya's sight. Music started, summoning guests to rows of white folding chairs. No live musicians, only a few of the things Shane had started to favor played over a good set of speakers. There was little ornamentation beyond the chairs themselves and the lights. There were a little less than fifty people in attendance.

Shane and Ilya had ruthlessly weeded down the list until they knew everyone was someone they really wanted to be there, except for J.J.'s plus one. Apparently he'd asked Shane 'while I was distracted' and he thought it would be rude to ask follow up questions.

Caterers were setting up the buffet inside to lure people in while the ceremony chairs were set up around folding tables with minimal linens. The whole affair was closer to a fancy backyard summer party than a wedding.

Except their was an officiant waiting patiently and the small crowd growing quiet.

"Breathe, Ilyusha," Sveta said and took his arm. She was a vision in forest green, her hair in a lovely updo. In another life, they had taken this walk with her in white and made each other miserable in the hope of satisfying fathers who would never be sated.

In this one, Ilya had assumed he and Shane wouldn't bother with walking down the aisle at all. Why bother? No one had to give them away when like hoarded treasures. Ilya couldn't see the appeal. Until in a quiet dark night in spring, Sveta had said to him:

"It was a very long walk for you both to get here. Let me keep you company the last few steps."

How could Ilya say no to that? Today, he was so relieved he hadn't. He didn't have to stand alone as David and Yuna guided Shane around the house. Shane looked fantastic, burnished copper in the setting sun. His suit was sky blue. Of course it was. They were shades away from each other, in harmony and complementary. Yuna and David both looked happy, pleased to be here.

Ilya pressed his hand to the hollow of his neck, thwarted from finding the familiar tiny piece of gold by shirt and tie.

"She would have been very happy," Sveta said so quietly that Ilya almost lost the words. "And so proud."

"You can't know that," Ilya said, not daring to look away as the Hollanders both gave Shane hard hugs.

"I can't," Sveta agreed, her hold on his arm tightening fractionally. "But I believe it anyway."

Ilya closed his eyes and nodded once. They set off. Ilya lost track of the crowd almost immediately. All he could see was Shane, waiting patiently for him. When they reached the tiny table that stood in for an arch or whatever other nonsense people had, Sveta pulled away. He turned to kiss her cheek, then let her go. She went to sit next to Rose, their shoulders brushing.

Ilya gave all his attention to Shane. The waning sun had alighted on his face and picked out every freckle.

 

Shane

The way Shane remembered their wedding was in a series of beautiful snapshots.

 

Holding hands with Ilya as the officiant took them through the briefest possible ceremony. Their vows were textbook, recited carefully and without hearing a word of them. Instead, Shane was lost around Ilya's lips, watching them form the words that tied their lives together formally.

 

 

Sliding home thin bands of gold they had settled on to augment their engagement rings, matching circlets that felt like nothing and everything all at once.

 

 

The cheers of their friends and family as they kissed, more chastely than they had bothered with in some time.

 

 

The swell of music and dancing under the pretty solar lights they'd set up just for tonight. Ilya led them and Shane was content to follow along.

Ruby and Jade imitating Rose and Sveta as they danced too, a tiny duo in the wake of the elegant couple.

They had firmly decided against any other dance floor traditions, but Shane did dance with his mother because he wasn't going to deny her that. There was no DJ to announce things, only a quiet moment between the two of them. When he reflexively sought out Ilya in the crowd to make sure he was all right in the moment, he had inhaled sharply. Dottie Wiebe was taking Ilya's hand, her purple hair a beacon in the dark. They moved together in a bit of a stumbling sway, her head thrown back in laughter.

"Everything all right?" Mom asked.

"So good," Shane said, refocusing on her. "Love you, Mom."

"I love you too," she said, eyes wide. "My boy."

 

 

 

"So," Hayden said, passing Shane a glass of champagne. "That happened. You happy?"

"Yeah, man."

"Good," Hayden said with all the satisfaction in the world. "J.J.! Do we get to meet your plus one or what, man?"

J.J. grabbed his own flute of champagne. "You already did."

"When?" Hayden frowned. "I didn't see anyone I didn't know yet. Did you?"

"Nope," Shane said. "But I did notice someone I know I didn't invite."

"Who?" Hayden demanded.

J.J.'s gaze was steady on Shane's face. Expectant. Shane shook his head. "It's your moment if you want it."

"Merci," J.J. said, something Shane hadn't even noticed had gone hard in his face softened. "He got lost by the food."

J.J. darted off and Hayden hissed at Shane urgently, "He!"

"Yeah," Shane said with a calm he didn't feel.

"That's three for three," Hayden said in awe. "Three closeted idiots. What the fuck?"

"Are we surprised that you are an idiot again?" Ilya asked, his arm fall over Shane's shoulders, bringing him in close.

"We're meeting J.J.'s plus one," Shane explained, leaning into his husband's side. Husband. Shane knew he was smiling too wide again. His face hurt from it tonight.

"Ah, I was wondering a little," Ilya admitted. "But I keep getting distracted by a handsome man with too many rings."

"You have the same amount," Shane reminded him.

"Yes, but I have bigger fingers."

"Our fingers are the same size!'

Hayden made a punched out noise as J.J. returned with Carter Vaughn in tow. They weren't touching. They didn't need to.

"Congrats guys," Carter said, eyes darting between them. "It was a really beautiful wedding."

"Thanks," Shane said, when Ilya didn't manage to get a word out. He held out his hand, "And thank you for coming."

"Wouldn't be anywhere else," Carter said, shaking his hand in bemusement, then eyes going wide when Shane didn't let go right away.

"Be good to him," Shane said sharply. J.J. opened his mouth to protest. "Shut up. You do this on my wedding night, you get what you get. I like you Vaughn. I want to keep liking you."

"Holy fuck," Carter said with a quiet laugh. "You got it, Holzy."

"Great," Shane let go and leaned back against Ilya.

"Wow," Hayden said. "That is- okay. Awesome. Thanks for telling us."

"They did not actually say anything," Ilya said, his amusement a texture in the air around Shane. "Maybe these two attractive men are very good friends."

"Yeah," Carter said, taking J.J.'s hand in his. And then in very familiarly accented French, "Or maybe I love him enough that one day we'll do this in reverse."

"What did he say?" Ilya demanded.

"That I need several more drinks," Hayden determined. "And a full story. Please."

 

 

 

 

"Eat," Marley said and shoved a plate of food in Shane's hands. "We forgot to eat at our wedding and we wound up with a bucket of KFC at 2am in our hotel room. Don't be us."

Shane took the plate. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome. Where's your stupid fucking husband?"

"By the bar," Shane said.

"Great, don't worry, Holzy, I'll make sure he eats too."

It was the first time someone else had casually referred to Ilya as Shane's husband. It was perfect.

 

 

 

 

Bood, Hayes, Dykstra and Chouinard cornered Shane near the fence. They all looked very serious and Shane briefly wondered if something terrible was about to happen.

"Where's Pike?" Bood asked Dykstra.

"Shit, lost him on the dance floor. Hold on."

A second later, Hayden was with them, blinking a little owlishly. Then he took in the serious faces and schooled his face into seriousness too.

"Okay, Holzy," Bood said gravely. "You're in."

"I'm in what?" Shane asked.

"The married group chat," Dykstra said. "We started in a few seasons ago. It's critical."

"Critical for what?" Shane asked. "You're fucking with me right?"

"Nope," Hayes said. "We just added you."

His phone was in the house, the one night he couldn't imagine using it for anything.

"Okay," he said slowly. "And what is the group for?"

"Complaining about the non-marrieds, mostly," Hayden said, then was roundly shushed.

"It is a solemn gathering of bonded men," Bood said, giving Hayden a quelling look. "We talk about our wives- uh, spouses now- and children sometimes."

"And how to get away from the single players when they want to go clubbing," Dykstra said. "I am too old for that shit. We plan dinners and things when we're on the road."

"I thought those were spontaneous!" Shane said. "You invited me to those before anyway."

"You were basically married," Bood conceded. "But now you're in the chat. It's a letter of the law thing."

"Welcome," Hayes said. "We brought cigars. Seemed like a married guy thing to do."

"I don't really smoke," Shane said apologetically. "I don't even know where Ilya's ashtray is. He keeps pretending he doesn't have one and he's pitching the butts into the neighbors year, but I know he isn't."

"He's got it under the windowsill of his office," Sveta said, appearing at Shane's side. "I heard there are cigars. Give."

"Oh! I love cigars," Rose said. "Me too?"

Shane got away before the air became unbreathable, but he did manage a 'Thanks' as he eased out of the group and back towards the slightly more sane party.

 

 

 

They cut no cake, threw no flowers or garters. But Ilya did pick up the eclairs they had ordered and coax one to Shane's lips. Sweet cream flowed in to Shane's mouth and he swallowed every drop.

 

 

 

Fireflies emerged. Arthur sat in the grass and watched them with wide eyes until Dad squatted down next to him. He looked a good grandfather in that moment, calm and listening as Arthur tried to explain why they were so pretty.

 

 

 

 

A cluster of women gathered at a table, several drinks in. Mom, Sveta, Tess and Jackie, all of them talking hockey with the vehemence of GMs at the trading table. When Rose came to check on Sveta, she was tugged into the fray and it all got twice as loud. Shane was positive he saw numbers being exchanged and went to go find Ilya because he knew his husband would carry on about the end of the world.

 

 

 

 

 

There was just…Ilya.

Fuck, is there Ilya. Ilya dancing, Ilya laughing, Ilya somehow smoking a cigar even though he was nowhere near the group distributing them. It looked sexy as fuck which was deeply annoying. Ilya with his diamond earrings, his rings, all the things that Shane marked him with to say mine, mine, mine. Ilya holding his hand. Ilya kissing him a thousand times through the night like he couldn't believe he got to do it again every time.

 

 

 

 

 

The kids getting carried out by Jackie, Hayden and Yolen, every one of them asleep. Mom and Dad hugging Ilya and then him good night, getting promises to meet for lunch as soon as they decide they can spare an hour away from the cottage (probably not until the end of their two precious weeks together). J.J. giving a Shane a hug that was rough and honest that Shane tried his best to return. Scott's followup handshake like a benediction while Kip beamed at all of them from behind him.

Ilya, Ryan and Bren still talking all the way down the driveway, their voices lingering the air as Shane did a sweep of the backyard to make sure no one has passed out under a table and would be a weird surprise in the morning.

 

 

 

 

 

Then the two of them alone in their bedroom in a startlingly quiet house. Rose and Sveta had gotten a hotel room, taking Anya with them as a final gift. It was only the two of them. They undressed each other, kissed languidly.

And fell asleep.

"Shit," Shane said in the morning, blinking against the bright light. "I can't believe we missed out on our wedding night."

"I have not looked at the time," Ilya said with a wolfish grin and covered Shane's body with own body. "Who knows? It could still be midnight."

It stayed midnight in the bold light of day for a very long time.