Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

post The Long Game, post outing, Ottawa Centaurs, Let Shane Hollander Crash Out, bitchy shane, Autistic Shane Hollander, Social Media Challenges, Fluffy Ending, Shane's pre hook up suit and tie, yes Shane still doesn't like Troy

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of Let Shane Hollander Crash Out

Collections:

HollaNov fanfics I Love

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-28 Words: 5,720 Chapters: 2/2

Suit & Tie

Summary

Shane is not having an easy time doing press now that he plays for the Centaurs. He asks Ilya to help, resulting in a bet. Ilya's reward if he breaks? A secret.

Notes

Another one of my: this was supposed to be a 100% fluffy tumblr prompt fill, but Shane got pissed off again. I am not steering this ship.

This is a tumblr prompt fill for laurenbknewyouweretrouble. The first version is my take on it, the second is closer to what was prompted.

Link to the post:
https://www.tumblr.com/laurenbknewyouweretrouble/813148839124008960/eta-queen-calanthe-has-written-this-into-a-real?source=share

Chapter 1

They had a bet going.

The team knew about it. Knew exactly what the stakes were. They only knew half the reason it started though.

Press for Shane and Ilya since Shane signed to Ottawa had been hard. Management did their best to shield them, Weibe went out of his way to intervene, but they couldn't control every reporter and they couldn't indefinitely shut down press.

Everyone was surprised Shane lost his shit first. Mild mannered, polite, media polished Shane Hollander freaking out at a reporter was not on anybody's bingo card. Well. Except Ilya. After their meeting with Crowell, Shane's temper was a thin thread ready to snap. Ilya was probably the only person not getting the brunt of it. In fact, Shane had been an absolute sweetheart to him only since the beginning of the summer. Farah and Yuna were saints for putting up with them, but Ilya couldn't deny that pissed off Shane defending them and their relationship was a huge turn on. So he'd been waiting for this, fully anticipating a glorious meltdown for the ages on live television.

Shane was fine when people questioned his performance after a game. He was fine when they questioned the team. When they questioned the Centaurs' ability to click and make themselves contenders with a new star player on the roster screwing with their dynamics. He was even fine when reporters asked dumb questions about his and Ilya's relationship. Mostly. Sometimes he just ignored the question or shut it down, but usually he gave some rehearsed one liner and let it slide.

Shane was fine doing press until reporters critiqued Ilya specifically. Sane reporters got the gist quick and avoided any negative commentary in that direction. Some just wanted a reaction, a sound bite. And it got Shane nailed with a hefty fine.

"Hollander, it seems like there was a lot of miscommunication out on the ice for the Centaurs today. Given your previous leadership role, got any concerns about how it's going here?"

Shane's face dropped flat.

"Excuse me?"

Harris' fingers clenched into Troy's arm so tight that he yelped and people around them snickered. The reporter kept digging, though.

"You led a very successful team as captain for seven seasons—"

"So did Rozanov."

"I have to imagine you have opinions about his ability to lead this team."

The room went silent for a moment as Shane glared.

"What the fuck are you even talking about?"

"I—"

"No. Shut up. No. Fuck you. Who the fuck is this guy? Seriously, Harris. Are you kidding me? Coach Weibe knows what he's doing, he has it exactly right as it is. The Centaurs are contenders because of Ilya. Not me. He built the platform and the team stepped up. I am a bonus. Fuck you. No. We are done here."

The team watched, stunned, as Shane got up and went for the showers without another word. (Ilya, himself, was so incredibly hard he was dizzy, and only Bood and Troy physically holding back kept him from going to blow his husband in their communal shower.)

Shane got fined and reprimanded. Crowell called to threaten and Weibe told him to get fucked, they were adjusting. All in all, it wasn't terrible. Shane was frustrated and angry, arguing with management about doing pressers, insisting that Bood and Wyatt, who also had an A that season, were much better choices. Unfortunately media representatives kept requesting Shane, and occasionally would decline interviews all together if he wasn't present. The Communications department insisted that Shane had to be available for press, it was in his contract.

Nobody asked Ilya for his opinion. Which was pretty funny considering they'd gone to Shane to get Ilya's locker room behavior under control, and get him to calm down with the territorial social media aggression, twice already. (Doubly hilarious because Shane didn't see the problem and refused to help.) He thought maybe Weibe and Harris were waiting for him to chime in, but he would rather eat glass than tell Shane what to do. For real, in the real world, not in the semi-privacy of the places they had sex. Yelling at Shane? No. Telling him to relax and let it go? Wasted breath. But nobody asked him, so by the time Shane did, he was practically vibrating out of his skin begging Ilya for a solution.

"You want my advice about handling press? Me?"

"No, not…I know what I should say. I always know. But I just…"

"What, moya lyubov?"

"Ilyushenka, I need you to tell me what to do," he said in low, stilted Russian.

Ilya melted. Of course he did. But he wasn't a 19 year old dumbass anymore. He wasn't that terrified, desperate idiot cornering the love of his life in a disgusting bathroom just to make sure he could still get a taste. Even if he'd iced the man out for six months out of self-preservation. Even if resetting those godawful boundaries of casual, unattached sex sent him into another depressive spiral that only Shane had saved him from with one nonchalant text weeks later. Shane was asking for motivation, a challenge, a purpose to all this bullshit they were constantly told to endure. Ilya could do that.

He crossed their now-shared kitchen with the confidence of a grown man who had spent nearly a decade dropkicking Shane Hollander's brain out of his body to get him to relax and just exist quietly. Shane intercepted him with hands to his waist, and Ilya gripped his chin and tipped his head back. His husband went pliant immediately, eyelids drooping, mouth going slack. Ilya kissed him, sharp and mean, thrusting his tongue past his teeth, taking what he wanted. Shane's hands clutched his sweatshirt.

"You'll let me handle it?"

"Yes."

"You'll do what I say?"

"Yes."

"And accept consequences?"

Shane smirked, lips slick from their kiss.

"Da, Ilyushenka."

Terms were simple. Shane had to be his perfect, media polished, golden boy self with the press until holiday break, or he would have to do social media videos with the team. Which Shane absolutely hated. Content of Ilya's choosing. Ilya already had a running list of ideas, several of which would be particularly humiliating for Shane. They didn't tell the team what Shane would get if he won. That was just for Shane.

The team was very excited about it all anyway. Harris too. It turned into side bets and game day challenges. A running list of predictions on their whiteboard. They thought it would be funny to watch Shane bite his tongue and really go full Media Trained Shane Hollander in their locker room. And they were right, for the most part. Shane was funny. People didn't catch it often, but they weren't paying attention like Ilya was. They didn't understand his shorthand, his brow lifts, his smiles. So to keep calm and carry on, his Shane gave snarky, polished answers about everything. Even made a game of it, working in words or phrases Ilya had used in his previous answers or inside jokes they had about opposing team. He was going to win that bet, pride demanded it. He could not break and be subjected to Ilya's nonsensical whims for the entire internet to witness.

Ilya knew better.

He and Troy were standing down the hall watching Shane give his fifth seamless intermission interview. He grinned when Shane managed to work in the word audacity. Ilya had learned it from the Word of the Day calendar David had gifted him for no reason at all. He'd said it at least twenty times that week, pissing everyone off spectacularly. The team, presumably watching Shane from the locker room, erupted in muffled laughter that seeped through the door.

Troy huffed. "I don't know, man, I think he's got this in the bag."

"Sure."

Ilya stifled a grin, keeping his eyes on Shane even as Troy examined him.

"What do you know?"

"Nothing."

"You're making that face like you know something."

He did know something. He knew Shane was feeling extra on edge because Ilya was coming off a bad brain week. Sports anchors and podcasters had been picking at him, his focus, his gameplay all week. Shane did not agree with their assessments generally and was irritated by the chatter personally. Despite being on the same team, people still leaned into the rivalry angle and pitted them against each other. As always, their stats were too close and it came down to personality differences. If reporters weren't on their best behavior tonight, Shane was going to lose it.

"You're very weird today, Troy, are you and Harris in a slump?"

"Fuck off Roz."

"Well this sounds about right," Shane drawled as he walked up. "Making more bets against me?"

"I would never bet against you, moya lyubov," he said tossing an arm around his shoulders to go in the locker room.

"How many audacities did you get in there, Hollz?"

"Three," he put on a thin, strained smile, looking at Troy. "Bood owes us smoked salmon."

"My man!"

That earned him a shove into the lockers from Ilya. Shane was not Troy's biggest fan and the three of them knew it, but sometimes he overcompensated and made Shane uncomfortable. Ilya didn't let that slide often. They hadn't talked about it, and Shane would probably never own up to it, so Ilya positioned himself in the middle. They'd figure it out, but at Shane's pace, not Troy's.

"Motherfucker—settle down Roz."

"Never. Get your own man!"

"I have my own man!"

He felt Shane's hand under his sweater, tugging at the edges of his pads, urging him to a bench. Galina thought it was probably adrenaline spikes causing dysregulation and the hyper-aggression toward people around Shane. Her theory was that he had been trying to protect Shane for such a long time that losing control when they were outed triggered some of his childhood post-traumatic stress.

Their teammates were used to it. The San Jose defenseman who kept calling Shane pikachu, butterface, and eventually a word Ilya wouldn't repeat even in his own head, was not. And lost some teeth for it. The only thing that really helped him regulate and settle was being able to touch Shane.

Originally, Shane had insisted on professional distance, no PDA, no touching at the rink. One fight, which had both of them crying like fucking babies, and that evaporated. Now, he led Ilya to the bench in front of their lockers, straddled it, and let Ilya cuddle into him from behind. He wrapped his arms around Shane's waist and dropped his forehead to his shoulder pad while Shane talked strategy with Luca and Tanner. (And with Tanner it was definitely more of a lecture: "I have played hockey before, Hollander, Jesus." "Are you sure? Because what the fuck was that pass in our third shift then?")

The first time they'd sat this way, a call-up had pulled a face.

"Are they always like that?"

Shane's silence in response nearly had Ilya pulling away, except Shane had tightened his grip on Ilya's arms.

"You should probably focus on not turning the puck over every time it touches your fucking stick instead of what my husband's doing, and maybe they'd actually pay you to be here full time."

The absolutely bitchy glare on Shane's face had the guy stuttering out an apology and their teammates turning in different directions to avoid being caught in the crossfire. They were still a little afraid of Shane after all.

The second cuddle, the locker room cams had caught it, and the internet exploded. A PR nightmare for Harris and his team. Most people said it was "cute," but there was a strong contingent for "unprofessional" and all the usual slurs.

Shane had ripped into management. Brought in Farah and their lawyer and pitched such a fucking fit that a clause was added that he and Ilya couldn't be filmed on stadium property without their consent. He was such a diva about it that it led to League-wide policy change. There had to be a designated "no cameras" area in every locker room at all times. They turned the cameras off when the players changed and showered, of course, but this was 24/7. Again, the internet screamed, accusing them of all kinds of weird, sexual shit. Grooming younger players, even. And it was the only time Shane put out another statement.

We are here to play hockey, not perform to cameras. No one has the right to watch us all the time, and every player has the right to privacy and quiet. If you take issue with not being able to see every player in the locker room during our down time, you should probably ask yourself some tough questions.

Shane received a lot of support for the change and his statement. Most guys didn't care about being filmed, but plenty felt uncomfortable with it and didn't have the leverage Shane did. Some people still said Shane just wanted to suck dick without getting caught on camera. Ilya noticed they usually played for terrible teams.

So now, with their stalls permanently in the No Cameras area, and Ilya got to cuddle with Shane as much as he liked. It really was the quickest way for him to decompress and reset. The team didn't pay any attention to it, never had, and would approach them like normal. It was the most comfortable Ilya had ever been around a group of people.

Weibe dipped in for his intermission pep talk. Keep it up, doing great, motivation, inspiration, yadda yadda. Harris poked in, head on a swivel.

"Shane, you and Roz good for press after?"

Shane's brows shot up and he angled to look at Ilya who shrugged.

"Both of us?"

"That's what they're asking for." Shane opened his mouth and Harris interrupted. "No Anderson, I swear."

"Fine."

The guys chuckled, shooting each other grins.

"Looking forward to seeing you dance, Hollz!"

"Fuck off Boyle."

"Whatcha thinking Rozy?" Chou followed as they geared up to get back on the ice. "Tate McRae or Taylor Swift?"

That got a good laugh that had Shane cussing at them all, telling them to focus on winning the game first. Ilya just smacked a kiss to Shane's helmet and tapped fists with everyone as they left, Bood waiting next to him as always.

"It's gonna be a shit show, huh?"

"Yes. Very bad probably."

"Damn. Fun while it lasted." They tapped fists and walked out together. "You really gonna make him dance for TikTok?"

"Fuck no," he intoned. "I can't even get him to dance in our very private house, I am not sharing that with you losers."

"So what, then?"

Ilya smirked. "Secrets."

"Secrets?"

"Secrets."

"You're a lunatic, Roz."

The presser was, indeed, a shit show.

"There's been talk that the Centaurs will be switching up lines, permanently bumping Rozanov down to second. Is that causing tension between the two of you here or at home?"

Shane glared and Ilya reflexively covered his mouth to subdue his laugh.

"At home? Are you serious right now?"

"He's been off his game for awhile, it's a normal strategy—"

"Fuck off! First of all, everybody switches lines. All the time, it's for flow of play, everyone knows that. One or two doesn't matter, we're still kicking everyone's ass. Second, if my husband is off his game for a week or two, the league should be fucking grateful for the 60 second break and try talking about literally anybody else for once. Fuck you. Goddamn it!"

He was already walking away as more reporters called out after him. Ilya lingered for a moment, just to see if he could get himself under control. Someone asked him a question; he had to wave them off and leave, he was too worked up and laughing to be appropriate. He jogged to catch up to his irate husband.

The entire locker room was cheering and applauding as they came in, much to Shane's chagrin.

"Really good stuff, man, superb."

"My niece sent me some good trends, already showed Harris—"

"Who had double or nothing on the swear trick?"

"That's not fucking fair, he says everything in threes!"

"We got fuck, ass, and goddamn, that's a Hollywood Swear Trick. Pay up Bergie!"

Shane was shaking his head at the rowdiness.

"I fucking hate all of you," he groused, pulling his shirt off. The whole team immediately protested, half insisting they'd been rooting for him the whole time, the others claiming it was the funniest shit ever.

Shane was ripping his gear off and tossing it a little too roughly. Ilya caught an elbow pad mid air and put it neatly in his locker like he preferred it.

"You broke our rules, sweetheart."

Shane swung a glare at him, understanding the Russian perfectly well. Ilya said it often enough in bed.

"I know."

Ilya smirked and winked at him.

*
Technically speaking, Harris wasn't supposed to be running social media anymore. He was the Communications Director, this was way below his paygrade. But Troy thought it would help level out Ilya if a higher up was present. Well…maybe, maybe not, but it was fun having Harris around for filming anyway.

It was all Ilya's idea: pair up teammates who knew each other really well and basically play 20 questions. If the person got the answer, their partner had to share something about it that they didn't already know.

They had Chou and Dykstra, Wyatt and Bood, Holmberg and Lapointe, then Ilya and Shane. The first two pairs didn't guess. Lapointe got his answer after two questions and Holmberg told him about a longstanding prank he'd been playing on him. Holmberg got his in 10 questions and found out Lapointe had his rookie trading card. Then it was Ilya and Shane's turn, which is why they were all here.

"Okay, so I have to think of a secret?" Shane asked sitting down. "What kind of secret do you want?"

"Mmm, something you would never tell me. About our relationship."

"Our relationship?"

"Whole time."

"Well that's easier then. A secret just from you or everybody?"

"Me."

"Hmmm."

They watched the two men stared each other down, both of them grinning while Shane assessed. Ilya beamed when he nodded.

"Okay me first."

Shane barked a laugh. "Is it a person?"

"No."

"A place?"

"Yes."

"Did I like it there?"

"You liked…some of it."

Shane's eyes narrowed. "So there were multiple locations at this place?"

"Yes."

"And we were in all of them together?"

"That's five questions. And yes. Eventually."

"Mmm. All-Stars."

"Yes but what year?"

"That matters?" Ilya's face lit up. "Not a question!" Shane snapped. "If we were everywhere together then it was 2017." Ilya chuckled, but Shane twisted his lips. "There was a lot going on at that All-Stars."

"Yes there was."

"All-Stars is the event, so it was a place at All-Stars where you would have a secret…" His brows pinched together, frowning as he thought about it. "Before the game?"

"Yes."

"The bar."

Ilya grinned at him.

"I was excited," Shane admitted.

"I wasn't." Shane bit his lip. "I thought you were going to tell me you were engaged."

Shane's eyes went wide. "What?"

"You thought he was engaged to Rose Landry?" Bood demanded. "Hollzy did you propose to Rose Landry?!"

"No!"

He shrugged. "It's true I did think that."

"We'd only been dating for like a month!"

"Two. And you move fast!"

"Considering what I know about their relationship," Troy muttered to Harris, "that is an objectively insane thing to say."

Harris gasped and smacked his arm. "What do you know?"

Ilya and Shane were still going.

"…it doesn't matter!"

"She spent three days on the phone with me rehearsing what I was gonna say to you! She recommended the stylist to help me woo you! Her words!"

"Whoa, Rose Landry knew about Roz before you were outed?" Lapointe protested and was ignored.

"I didn't know! There were a million people online saying you were going to get married, and you weren't talking to me—!"

"Do not-!"

"I only said—"

"No! No way, we are finishing this later." He put his hands to his face scrubbing. "You are ridiculous, oh my god."

Ilya looked at the camera. "I was very insecure. And in love. Sue me."

"Shut up," Shane drawled. "We are never talking about any of that ever again. Jesus christ."

"Okay but it's your turn now."

Shane was still leaning back with a hand over his eyes.

"I need a minute to forget how dumb we were."

"Not enough time in the world, moya lyubov, let's go."

He sighed and sat up, pointedly ignoring everyone else in the room and focusing on Ilya. He had that same look he got when they faced off on the ice; very serious but a smile in his eyes that only Ilya could see. He remembered the first time it turned into a real smile, when he'd nearly thrown away everything they had to save himself. Dumb was right.

"Is it Anya?"

"No."

"Boo. Wrong, you should always be thinking of Anya. Is it a thing?"

"Yes."

His brows winged up. "My thing or your thing?"

"Technically mine but not the thing you're talking about."

The dildos. Ilya was thinking about Shane's dildo and the one Ilya had made as a replica of his dick when they were long distance. He was kind of hoping Shane had added another toy to the collection.

"So—"

"Boring, yeah. Get a new line. And this isn't boring, I promise."

"Hmm." He crossed his arms and settled in. "Do you eat it?"

"No."

"Use it?"

"Nope."

"So it's something of yours that you wear—" Shane opened his mouth. "That wasn't a question, don't cheat!" Everybody snickered.

"You only wear black and blue."

"Excuse me, I only wear black? Your whole closet is black!"

Ilya kept going like he hadn't spoken, "Everything's branded or rented. Is it for special occasions?"

"Yes."

"What the fuck is not boring about your one suit?"

The room exploded in laughter. Shane chuckled, smile wide as he licked his lips. Ilya was completely confused though.

"Double or nothing if you can guess where I wore it. You can have all 20 questions back, too."

"This is before Boston?" Ilya sat forward, locked in now.

Shane snorted. "Yes."

"So, early. Not a question!" He rubbed his mouth. "Was it a game or event?"

"This a yes/no game, you cheat."

"So, event. Vegas?"

"No, that was a tux."

"Event. Early. You wore your suit…" There was something about the smirk on Shane's face, it was too confident, too certain. Ilya narrowed his eyes. "Did I see you in the suit?"

Shane actually giggled and shook his head. "Not that suit."

"What?"

Shane was full on blushing now, which was making Ilya unreasonably horny. Maybe they needed to play games like this more often…without the audience. Maybe a camera. Cameras?

"The first time?" Ilya asked.

"Yes but which one?" Shane raised his brows. Trying to play tricks.

"Toronto?" he guessed incredulously. Shane nodded. "Toronto? What the fuck do I not know about Toronto?"

"So many things."

"Did he guess it, Shane?"

"Yeah. He did."

Shane sat forward and dragged a hand over his mouth, smiling and embarrassed already. Ilya wanted to bite him.

"So…after we wrapped? And I was waiting?" Ilya's brows winged up impatiently. "I put on my suit and tie first."

Ilya's jaw dropped as he made level eye contact with his husband.

"I was very…nervous."

"Oh my god."

"I changed immediately."

Ilya bent over his legs, his whole body shaking as he laughed himself off the chair and onto the floor. His whole face and neck were red, and he had actual tears on his cheeks.

"Okay," Shane sighed, folding his arms but still smiling. Through his heaving laughs, Ilya raised a hand in his direction.

"I love you so much," he managed around the guffaws, barely able to breathe. He dropped both hands to his face.

"I figured you'd like that."

"Wait…" Troy said, blinking quickly as one of the social media interns turned off the camera. "Are you saying you put on a suit…before a hookup?"

"Before your first hookup?" Harris clarified hysterically. Shane nodded.

"That is…something that happened. Briefly."

"That is the cutest shit I have ever heard," Dykstra said in a daze.

Ilya had rolled to his side and curled up, still laughing hysterically.

"Ilya," Shane sighed.

"This is the best day ever," Ilya cried between his dwindling chortles.

"I am never cussing at reporters ever again."

It was a good thing they cut the cameras because that's when Ilya decided to leap to his feet and tackle Shane. He managed to catch Ilya and keep him in his lap just to be kissed within an inch of his life. The guys immediately starting whistling and cheering, absolutely delighted to witness the insane amount of PDA happening. Ilya pulled back with an audible smack, beaming.

"Please tell me you still have that suit."

"No, I threw it in my dumpster the second I got home. I couldn't look at it."

Ilya whined through his chuckling and dropped his forehead to Shane's.

"We could—"

"This is real cute and all, but if you actually start with the dirty talk, I will vomit everywhere," Troy interrupted, earning a whack from Harris.

"Seconded!" Bood raised a hand.

"Agreed!" the other guys chimed in.

Ilya turned to glare at them, shielding Shane's blushing face in his chest.

"Homophobic, all of you."

They immediately complained, but Ilya ignored it in favor of bullying Shane to his feet and to the door.

"Oh shut up, we will see you tomorrow. Right now we have to go role play me seducing virgin Shane Hollander again—"

"Ilya!" he complained from the hall, their bickering bouncing off the walls.

It took a beat as their teammates all looked at each other, but the penny dropped.

"Wait," Bood called out jogging for the door, "virgin?!"

"Holy shit, what year are they even talking about?"

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

A less crash out version of the Suit and Tie confession. Bitchy Shane still present and accounted for.

Chapter Notes

Shane was in the players' lounge waiting for a meeting with the coaches. They were analyzing stats and updating his conditioning plan for the next couple of months. Ilya had promised to do social media, so they'd gotten in early. He was texting Rose and Svetlana, thinking about the email his mom had sent them about Under Armour, and generally avoiding conversation.

Until Troy came in with Boyle and Lapointe in his wake.

"There he is!" Lapointe beamed. "Hollzy, we need you, man."

Shane let his eyes flick up to them but stayed neutral. He knew they were doing videos with Ilya and Harris' social media team. A big group of them had agreed to do a bunch of trends and challenges in advance to be posted while they were on their next road trip. Shane had a specific clause in his contract that said he could refuse social media, no questions asked.

"No."

"For real, Shane," Troy insisted. "Nobody can break Roz, it's gotta be you."

Shane rolled his eyes. He hadn't particularly warmed to Troy yet, despite best efforts from everyone else. Troy hadn't exactly been shy in his hostility generally, not to mention the casual racist jokes he and Kent routinely threw around, and Shane still struggled with the gross differences in how they came out. Shane was threatened by the commissioner, Ilya claimed political asylum, and Troy was just another one of the guys. Round of applause on Pride Night, everybody loved him now, but the Metros still targeted Shane like it was their job. Harris' insistence that Troy was "really trying" didn't inspire much confidence either. His only saving grace in Shane's eyes was Ilya.

Honestly, if Troy hadn't come in too, he might have agreed immediately, but something in his chest twisted in stubborn protest. Troy caught his look and took a step back, letting Boyle and Lapointe plead their case.

"We are begging you!"

"The girls won't let us leave!"

"Nobody else can do it, he's too good!"

"Guys, no—wait!"

They didn't really give him a chance to argue before the pair were on him and all but carrying him out the door.

"I have a meeting in 15—"

"Just one minute, you don't even have to be on camera, I swear!"

"You guys are so stupid," Shane complained as they nudged him into the locker room. His husband was standing right under where the Centaurs logo was printed on the ceiling, cheeks puffed out and looking bored as their teammates chirped, hooted, and made fools of themselves. He was rolling his eyes and didn't notice Shane was there at first.

"Okay, fine, what? What are you trying to do?"

Lapointe explained, "So the goal is to get people to break and laugh. Everybody takes a drink of water and then one person says or does something. If you lose your water, you're out. We've done like four rounds and nobody can get Roz."

"Nobody?" Shane smirked.

Dykstra had wandered over and clapped him on the shoulder, "We know you can, Hollzy, that's why we got you."

"These girls won't let us leave until the game is over."

"Desperate times."

That's when Ilya saw him. Shane grinned at the way his nostrils flared but he kept his face flat. That was taking some effort. A lot of effort. Ilya always smiled when he walked in the room, Hayden teased him about it relentlessly. Shane was still struggling with that, with allowing himself to have honest reactions to Ilya in front of others. A decade of turning the other way, of suppressing, of keeping distance was a hard habit to break. Sometimes his nervous system still thought they were under threat, that if anyone saw how he looked at Ilya they'd take him away. That they'd take everything away. But he was trying. So he let the smile slip across his face.

"Like maybe if you just stare at him?" Boyle offered.

Shane shook his head as Ilya's infamous Face Off glare took over. Svetlana called it his Slavic stare, but Shane had only ever seen it on the ice. Usually right before he was about to be chirped within an inch of his life. Or that time in Vegas when they were torturing themselves, the game after Shane's Boston crisis. Shane didn't like that look, but he knew exactly what it meant. Repetition was a good teacher. Ilya folded his arms over his chest, brows up, completely ignoring everyone else in the room now. Everybody's heads whipped around, following his gaze.

"Uh oh! Hubby's here!"

"You're so done Roz!"

"Hollzy, Hollzy, Hollzy!"

"Get him Shane!" Wyatt complained, "He literally made me choke!"

"Okay," Shane sighed, moving into the fray. Everyone cheered for him. He kept his head and eyes down, like he'd always done for Face Offs. Eye contact was hard on a good day, eye contact with Ilya was lethal. He stayed just inside the taped off area indicating he was in-frame so viewers would know he was present, but couldn't see his face.

He bit his lip and really thought about what he could and would not want to say. What the internet could have. What would shock Ilya enough. It was a razor thin line. He'd been having a bad week, the anniversary of Irina's death on the horizon. Doing stupid social media stuff was supposed to be fun and distracting. So Shane decided to go with something so insanely embarrassing that he knew it would do the trick. Something that was just for Ilya.

"So I never told you this. I never anyone this." He looked up and met Ilya's stare. He was very desperately trying to keep his face flat but there was that twinkle in his eye. Shane chuckled as his husband pretend to square up and be very, very serious.

"Toronto." Ilya nodded. "After we wrapped and I was waiting?" Ilya nodded and shrugged impatiently. Shane pulled his lips in to wet them, already feeling his face heat up.

"I put on a suit and tie."

Immediately Ilya spat water everywhere. He was laughing so hard he choked on it and the locker room erupted in triumphant glee. They jumped up and down, jostling Shane and mocking Ilya. But Ilya had sunk into a crouch, face in his hands, still laughing. His face and neck were red and it looked like he was sweating. He coughed and heaved over it.

"Okay," Shane complained. That had Ilya up and stumbling for him. Fuck, he was gorgeous like that. Smiling like a maniac, absolutely delighted by Shane, looking happier than he'd been in weeks. Totally worth the chirping he was going to get over this.

"A suit?" he managed, incredulously between his still choking laughter. Shane guided his outstretched hands to his chest and shoulder, rolling his eyes.

"I was nervous."

Ilya hugged him, his whole body shaking, and hid his face in Shane's neck. Shane patted his back.

"I knew you'd like that."

"I love you so much," he whined, voice strained now.

It became tradition that whenever Ilya was too serious or too annoying someone would drop a drive by "suit and tie" to make him crack. The effect was instantaneous every single time, he just dissolved into giggles. The call ups and rookies got in on it too, even though they had no idea what it meant.

When they really wanted to get him though, they'd have the sound techs change the goal song to Justin Timberlake's "Suit and Tie." Ilya would skate himself into the boards to laugh every single time, much to the announcers' amusement. It got to the point that fans would bring signs to home games that read "Play Suit and Tie!" If the camera caught it, they'd play it, and the crowd would erupt as Ilya laughed.

Over the years, many, many fans, reporters, and players asked Shane what "suit and tie" meant. Because it seemed to be the only chirp that worked on Ilya. But Shane would just blush and shake his head.

"It means I've always been a dumbass for my husband."

Chapter End Notes

If anyone would like to continue one of these with the virgin Shane role play sex scene prompted in the tumblr post, feel free! I can't make myself write it 🫣

Thank you Hadespuppy for pointing out my egregious logo error. A hockey player would Never, I am so dumb 🤦‍♀️(please find their comment about respecting the logo in the comments!)