Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, New York Admirals Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, POV Multiple, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Player Shane Hollander, no AI

Language:

English

Collections:

Subscriptions:Tracking, Fics LunaK does not want to lose track of, miQ_y's fav fav fics, RainyBugs_Hollanov_Yay!, Hello's Favorites, Pay Attention, AHRFC, Zulie's Best of Heated Rivalry, Boston Shane Hollander Fics or ones where Ilya stays with Boston and Shane trades closer

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-04 Updated: 2026-09-28 Words: 62,948 Chapters: 29/?

the tricks out of our sleeves

Summary

“Is Boston even interested.”

Ilya scoffs at him like Shane is an idiot.

“Is sky blue? Is water wet? Is English stupid language? Yes, Hollander, of course we want best player in the league.” Ilya mutters more in disgruntled Russian and Shane gets up off the couch to Google Russian lessons on his ipad while continuing their conversation.

 

Or, a Shane goes to Boston story.

Notes

Am I desperately googleing hockey facts, yes.
Do I know anything about hockey, no.

Mostly based on the TV show but will have some stuff thrown in from the books. A Shane Hollander joins the Raiders au because those are my favorites.

NO AI USE IN WRITING THIS FIC. Just escapism from job hunting.

Chapter 1: Coach's Meeting

Roz wasn’t a morning person at the best of times, and the last year had been crash out after crash out so Marly just kept his mouth shut as he handed his friend and Captian a Dunkins to go cup and flopped down in the empty seat next to Roz. The chances of a super early coaches meeting on a player’s rare day off being positive news seemed slim, especially after losing a playoff spot. And the glare on Roz’s face, despite the warm grumbled ‘thank you’ for the coffee, wasn’t super inspiring.

The Warrior Ice Arena was empty this time of day making the normal sounds of practice, fans, or tourists oddly missed as the two of them sat in silence except for the occasional sip of coffee.

After what was probably just a few awkward tense minutes, but felt like a good hour, LeClaire finally slammed opened the door to his own office startling both players, despite Roz trying to hide the fact as he huddled deeper into his hoody and gripped his coffee too tight, cup buckling slightly in his hand.

“Morning, guys.” Their coach said as he took his own seat across the desk from Roz and Marly. “We don’t have much time so let me get right to it, I doubt we’re the only team having this meeting right now. Shane Hollander has waived his no trade clause from the Metros and the GM’s office want to know from you boys if it’s gonna be hell in the locker room if we can manage to sign him.”

Marly didn’t have the chance to wrap his head around the idea that the best player in the league and the dude he had just landed-by accident- in the hospital might be considering the Raiders as a viable career option when, Roz started swearing in Russian next to him, lukewarm coffee spraying out from where he had crushed the to go cup in his hands. Before either Marly or LeClaire could make a move to help Roz clean up, coffee soaking into his sweatpants and hoody turning the grey material a sickly brown, and the sleeve of Marly’s clothes caught in the danger zone. Roz asked in a strangled tone Marly had heard only once before, when someone had first shown Roz clips of Hollander and Rose Landry dating last year, “Hollander is leaving the Metros? What did those fuckers do to him?”

“Well officially they are blaming the hospitalization and generic bs about lingering concerns on that…but Hollander is passing weekly medical with flying colors, no real indication that at the start of training season he won’t be back to normal 100%.”

“So it is locker room then?”

“There are rumors from some of his teammates. Absolutely nothing confirmed from Hollander’s management team.”

“Fuck.” Roz looked downright murderous and Marly felt three steps behind.

“Now, Rozanov I know that Hollander is your biggest rival-“ Began LeClaire, clearly setting up to start listing all of Hollander’s many many contributions to the game of hockey. Many of which Rozanov was just points behind, with the occasional win above.

“Sign him.”

“What?” Marly and LeClaire asked at the same time.

“Make the cap work somehow.”

Coach LeClaire sat back in his chair and assessed his team’s Captian. “This would change up a lot. I’d probably have to move you to wing Rozanov, are you sure about this, the Raiders management wants to keep you happy here. We don’t want you deciding to leave when your contract is up. That’s the whole reason we’re even asking both your input. That, and if we do somehow in hell end up with Hollander, we don’t want to lose him at the end of his contract either.”

“Is fine, promise.”

“Is he even interested in coming here?” asked Marly.

“Well, we aren’t sure, but we got word of him becoming available and the Admirals are very interested, but with them probably winning the cup this year, they really don’t have cap room or trade options that could meet what a player of Hollander’s skill deserves. They already have two Alternatives and a strong Captain.”

“You will give him the A.” Marly was sure it was a question, but it sure sounded like an order when Roz said it.

“Yes, the open Alternative spot would be offered.”But there were at least two teams out there with Captains retiring and other more desperate teams might even try re-arranging things even more.

“Good.” And with that Roz seemed to have considered the matter settled, as he got up and found a pile of take-out napkins to start dabbing coffee off his clothes.

Marly and LeClaire looked at each other and then at Rozanov.

“I have more questions.”

“Shoot.”

“What locker room rumors?”

LeClaire motioned for Roz to sit back down and waited until he did to continue.

“This doesn’t leave this office. Got it?” They both nodded at their coach.

“Allegedly one of Hollander’s teammates was trying to set him up with some girl or girls for months after Hollander and that actress broke up, and when Hollander essentially told him he wasn’t interested in any of them, someone made a crack that Hollander had to be gay at this point, and the team ran with it. Honestly, I’m almost surprised Hollander has led those fuckers to two cups. They really don’t seem to like him that much. They defiantly didn’t have his back when you were headed into him Marleau.”

“They will lose without him.”

“I think so too, Roz, but the Metros don’t seem to see it that way.”

“Fucking idiots.”

“So is he? Gay that is?” Marly asked still trying to figure out how this was his morning.

He could see that being enough to drive most players out of a room, but for fucks sake this was…Shane Hollander. Hollander was the fucking room.

“I don’t know and don’t care, but I’m not the one sharing a locker room with him. Is this going to be an issue in the locker room either way?”

“I have never… what is English phrase. Let team walk on me?”

“Let them walk over you.” Marly muttered. It was true, Roz had great control and respect of his teammates.

“Da, this and I will not let them do that to Hollander.”

“Marly?”

“I think we all just want to win another cup.” “Good enough for me, I’ll let the office know and see if they can’t work some magic.”

Roz and Marly take it as the dismissal it clearly is, when LeClaire is already on his cell phone, not wasting a second when the race to sign the greatest player in the league was on the line.

Roz is also on his phone texting the second they step out of the office and start walking towards the parking garage. After typing out essentially an essay on his phone he, sighed, and slipped it back into his pocket.

“You’re cool with Hollander actually coming here?” Marly asks looking at his normally much more talkative friend, whose still silent despite such a crazy morning.

“Hollander would not leave the Metros if things were ok. “

“Uh, huh, okay and what the fuck does that have to do with my question, Coach is already planning on shifting our line around Hollander and he’s not even signed yet.”

“And with two best players in the League we will win the cup again next year.”

“Right, but.” “But…but…. but…You have problem with Hollander?” Roz asks grinding out the words as he turned to stare Marly down.

It makes Marly want to step, hands raised in surrender, back despite claiming Roz as one of his best friends for years. He resists that urge and just answers instead. “I don’t even know the guy, only time I’ve meet him off ice is when I went to apologize for the hit that landed him in the hospital. And he was high as a motherfuckin kite so.”

“OK. Hollander knows that was just hockey.”

Marly’s eyebrows raise at that. Hollander, had been politely (drugged) accepting of his apology but, Marly wasn’t even certain Hollander was even 100% aware of what was going on at that time. And Illya had been pissed off at him for two solid weeks after that game. Which until now Marly had been fucking confused by. Roz isn’t stupid, and sighs again, running an agitated hand through his hair as he slumps against the door of his Porsche. “Hollander might be….good friend? Have known him since before draft, years now.”

“Sure, ok.” Marly agrees even though Roz himself doesn’t seem too sure of the title of ‘friend’ himself. Or willing to say anymore than he already has.

“And do you think…”

“No thoughts.” Roz snaps, quiet and sharp. “That stays in office like Coach said.”

Roz clearly had many thoughts, but Marly wasn’t stupid enough to try and get them out of him right now out in public.

“Right.”

“Think he even wants to play for us?” Roz shrugs again, a theme for the day and stares off into the small windows facing out to highway 90 early morning Boston traffic.

“I did not think Hollander would leave the Metros. Ever. He…” Roz trails off and pulls out his phone checking the screen for notifications, puts it away quickly when there are no message icons showing.

“I do not know, Marly.”

Chapter 2: Tape Replay

Chapter Notes

Wow. Ok. Thank you so much for all the interaction on the first chapter. Was not expecting that!

He replayed the tape again. Shane lost count of how many times he had rewatched the footage of Marleau slamming into him, it was a clean hit. It was just hockey. That wasn’t the issue despite, on paper, that was the reason his arm was still in a sling and he had only recently been allowed to look at screens as long as he wanted.

Again.

What wasn’t clean was his teammates not being at his back.

Again.

How he had been wide open, and several others had clocked Marleau’s movement. Not a single one giving him warning or stepping in.  How Illya, devastation and horror clear on his face, even clear to Shane who often struggled to read others off the ice when it wasn’t about the game, was the only one truly concerned. Even Hayden was more concerned about going after Marleau, but only after the fact.

He replayed the tape again.

And again.

Again.

His mind replayed the afternoon in the locker room the week before the game. Playing over the actual footage of him hitting the ice again and again.

Hayden sticking yet another Instagram pic of some, probably delightful, or at least nice enough woman, in his face for the millionth time. Despite Shane telling him so many times that he was fine and didn’t want to be set up with anyone. He just wanted to be fucking left alone. Not that anyone ever listened to him.  Hayden with some girl of the week that he just had to meet and his parents with carefully vetted media friendly young women or someone back in Ottawa that was a daughter of a friend of a friend.

How glancing at that woman on the screen had only made him feel bone deep exhaustion even worse than the two times he had led the team in winning the Stanley Cup. How he snapped at Hayden in the locker room…how…

Shane put his head down on the kitchen table, twinge in his healing shoulder telling him it was a bad position while the rest of his body went into its normal panic mode, chest tight, random pins and needles zinging through his nerves, breathing sped up, world narrowing to a point. 

In the background, muted by his own thoughts- obviously a lot of admiration there- count the knots in the wood table in his sightline- Ilya Rozanov still on the ice looking very concerned- tap his fingers one at a time on the table to ground himself – not even Rozanov wants to see somebody hurt like that- Rozanov, Rozanov, Ilya, Ilya…

The panic attack finally passes, leaving Shane shaky and tired. He grabbed a ginger ale from the fridge, finally turns off the iPad that had been looping the tape for him, and finds his phone hidden in the crease of the couch.

Texts from his parents about what food he wants from the grocery store. A sonogram from Hayden, Jackie has to be due any day now. A missed call from his agent, followed by a text from his agent. There are probably several emails from his agent too. And three missed calls from Lily.  And six texts too.

He doesn’t read them but hits the call button before he can over think it. The idea of hearing Rozanov’s voice in any form, even from his message box, is the only pleasant thought he’s had in hours.

“Hollander.” Ilya sounds as rough as Shane feels, “are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m….” he’s not fine, he’s not fine at all. “Can you just talk? About anything? In Russian or English, it doesn’t matter…”

Ilya pauses, mutters ok, and starts to talk in his native tongue.  Shane recognizes a word here and there and thinks, not for the first time recently, that he should really spend his downtime taking Russian lessons. It’s a thought that burrowed itself into his brain after Ilya’s trip to Russia for his dad’s funeral and has set up fulltime camp. Shane’s never lived anywhere where he couldn’t understand the main language spoken and Ilya did that alone before he was twenty years old.  He's going to research his options tonight for Russian lessons he decides as Ilya does his best to keep talking.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, Hollander.” Ilya pauses before tentatively continuing in English, “We had a Coaches meeting about you today.”

“Oh.”  He could only imagine what the Metro’s office was saying about him behind closed doors.

“It was not bad.”

Shane gives a strangled little laugh at that “sure, ok.”

“No really, Coach only wanted to know if team would be ok with best player in the league coming to Boston. I was very insulted since I was already sitting in room with Coach, but I still said it is ok for 2^nd best player to join.”

They are both silent for a moment, just the sound of their breathing mixing over the phone.

“Come to Boston, Shane. Don’t stay with the Metros. Play for the Raiders. We’ll have so much fun. Maybe win a cup or two.” Ilya says each word carefully, like he’s practiced it.  Like Shane sometimes still practices for interviews and media. It sounds odd coming from Rozanov, but Shane is feeling warmer and fonder with each careful word.

Shane vaguely remembers saying something almost word for word to Ilya in the hospital about coming to his cottage for the summer. Heat pools low under his skin and his cheeks blush. He feels ridiculously pleased at the though of Ilya remembering his invite with such detail.

“I could come to Montréal and help you pack?”  Ilya continued sounding unsure.

Ilya would be noticed in Montréal, but a Captain coming to check on a new star player wouldn’t be the most insane thing ever.  Still weird but… ok…it was still really fucking weird.  The cottage in Ottawa though…

Shane doesn’t answer that right away. All his bravery gone with the absence of good drugs in the hospital and the phone call to his agent telling her to find him options outside of the Metros.

“Is Boston even interested.”

Ilya scoffs at him like Shane is an idiot.

“Is sky blue? Is water wet? Is English stupid language? Yes, Hollander, of course we want best player in the league.” Ilya mutters more in disgruntled Russian and Shane gets up off the couch to Google Russian lessons on his iPad while continuing their conversation.

“Can they even afford me?”

“They will make cuts in other areas. It will be tight with the cap.”

He hits on the first online Language school with 4.9 rating and doesn’t think twice about pulling out his credit card and buying a year’s worth of lessons on the spot.

He does the same to the next company on the search.

Having different instructors could only be good, right?

Ilya starts talking again as he’s about to buy a third set of lessons.

“Hollander?”

“I’m still here.”

“Ok.”

“Boston, huh.”

“Is good city. I like it. There is hiking nearby. Kayaking on the Charles.”

“And you’ve done a lot of hiking in the area?” Asked Shane, distracted from buying his third set of Russian lessons. That didn’t really sound like Rozanov to him. A list of nightclubs would make more sense.  

“No. None.”

They both laugh, a bit startled. Shane likes making Ilya laugh. Shane likes so many things about Ilya.  

“You don’t mind coming to Canada for a few weeks?” he doesn’t ask ‘What about Russia?’ but the question hangs in the air none the less.  

He buys the third set of lessons and turns the iPad off again. He’ll start one of them tonight after his parents go to sleep.

After the next exhausting round of discussions about his career over dinner. His parents still don’t understand what went wrong. They’ve seen the video footage many times too. His mom is furious. Shane’s not really clearing anything up for them either.  It makes for frustrating family meals.

“After the season ends. We have a few games left, but no playoffs. You know this.”

“I’ll call my agent.”

“Ok.”

“I’ll let you know if it becomes official. It may not work out.” As he says it out loud, he can’t help but hope that it does work.  

“Ok.”

“Thank you for-“ his voice is strangled.

“Hollander.”

“What?”

“Breathe. Call your agent. Rest.”

When they finally hang up, Shane forces himself read Farah’s text, which as he had guessed did reference an email filled with what had to be about 75% of the NHL teams out there expressing detailed interest in him.  

Fuck.

He was not expecting that.

Did not want that. A whole new city and a new team and a new country after fucking up in Montréal?  He could only imagine a few worse things, and most of them featured Ilya suddenly announcing his upcoming nuptials to some stunning gorgeous person that didn’t like hockey and spoke Russian and wasn’t Shane and then his early retirement back to Russia. Maybe with a kid on the way.

He forces himself to keep scrolling through the email.

 Boston is on the list, pretty high up, but only because the list is in alphabetical order.  It’s not Farah’s first choice for him, and it would be neck and neck for dead last with Toronto for his mom. So he knows it will be easier to just move fast than try and discuss why it’s his first choice. 

The safe warmth that had been curling through him at the sound of Rozanov’s voice is already disappearing, tight stress crawling back into him.

They can’t offer as much as some of the other teams, pay about the same as he has now, and one of the Alternative spots. It’s not an upgrade, not like some of the others are offering. If he went to a team like Arizona or San Jose he could probably finagle one of the current highest paid contracts available. He doesn’t call Farah, because he doesn’t have a good excuse practiced, just texts her to get him Boston and turns off his phone.

Shane spends the rest of his afternoon sounding out how to introduce himself and how to ask where the bathroom is in Russian.

Chapter End Notes

Comments are awesome, so is feedback.

Chapter 3: Unspoken Apology

On the rare seasons the Raiders hadn’t scored at a spot in the playoffs, enthusiasm for the last few non-playoff games tended to wain a bit.  People skated less hard, passes got sloppy, minds more on vacation than scoring goals.

Not this year.

Ilya caught his breath as he skated back to the bench, hat trick, thanks to him buying them all a few minutes to reset.

He might be playing some of the best hockey of his life at the very hint that Hollander might be out here sharing ice with him in the next few months.  He was gonna prove a point, he just hadn’t quite figured out what that point was.  It had something to do with Shane, he knew that much. Most things these days did.

Last week had been the same against Anaheim where Boston had won 4-0 with another hat trick from Ilya. 

But it was enough that Coach LeClaire had pulled him aside after the game last week. Without Marly this time, to make sure he was still onboard with Hollander possibly joining the team.  Not that I have a problem with how you’re playing Rozanov, love it actually. Thrilled.  Keep it up. But Hollander’s agent has reached out to us with interest, and he’s not signed yet but it could be in the works, and the Raiders do not want to lose you Rozanov.

The but we also really want Shane fucking Hollander was unspoken but clear. Lucky for the Raiders management Ilya also really wanted Shane fucking Hollander. Preferably on his knees with Ilya’s cock in his mouth or bent over the arm of his couch begging, but he’d accept other positions and situations, like showing him Boston or buying him a ginger ale somewhere after practice. Or taking up hiking.

Anyway. He grabbed his water bottle and watched as some of the rookies were sent in for more ice time since they had such a clear lead.  Marly giving him a small grin as he took a seat next to Ilya. Ilya returned it for the first time in what was about a month.

The rest of the team, used to his normal mood swings, ran with it which he appreciated. Ilya had not been at his best this year, and it showed with the lack of a playoff spot. Between losing Shane for a few months, his father’s death, and the quiet and occasionally drunk acceptance that he might not be going back to Russia for a very long time, if ever, and then Shane getting hurt he could admit, at least to himself, that he’d been fucking shitty to be around lately. Marly had gotten the brunt of that. He’d have to try and fix that before the end of the season.

Which is how he ended up at Marleau’s North End bachelor pad condo the week before their last game, two expensive bottles of booze in hand and uburger takeout, banging on Marly’s door.

“Hey, man.”  Marly greeted him when he finally opened the door, Illya pushed past him handing him the bottle of whiskey he had bought as part of his apology and his favorite burger order.

 “Please come in.” Marly muttered at Ilya’s back as Ilya made himself comfortable in Marly’s kitchen uninvited. “So glad you could make it.”  But it was amused so Ilya ignored him as he poured himself a shot of vodka and took out his own burger.

“What you have plans?” Ilya asked in between bites. “Thought you had bruised ribs from last game?”

“Asshole.”

He smirked at him and, Marly broke open the seal on the whisky Ilya had given him, grabbed two cokes from the fridge, handed one to Ilya and joined him at the kitchen bar.

“Metros game against Anaheim should be starting soon.”  Marly offered, their normal chill vibe still off.

“Metros will lose.”

“Want to watch them lose, anyway?”

“Da, will be funny.”

They were losing but it wasn’t as amusing as Ilya had hoped. He mostly just felt exhausted at the fact that Hollander, who buried everything so fucking deep, had finally had enough of them. He hadn’t really said much, but the little he had was enough for Ilya to want to use some of that generational rage and violence he had been born into.

Somewhere between the first and second period, commenters pointing out the Metros’ current struggles without Hollander on the ice, Marly sprawled out on one of the couches, looked over at Ilya.

“Think Hollander’s really leaving? When nothing was announced before the deadline.”

“Still hurt, pushed it off. He will announce in June, like rest of trades. Nothing flashy.”

“You seem pretty sure of that.”

Well Hollander had sent him a photo of the signed papers two days ago, but Marly didn’t need to know that.

“Guy could get any contract he wanted.”

Ilya grunted in agreement.

“I don’t  understand why he would come here, we can't offer him a fraction of what other teams can, but if he did what would that even look like?”

“Our draft picks will be worst, all good picks will go in trade. And I will be on wing. Maybe lose Matthews from 2^nd line. Maybe others. Still better than most teams.”  Ilya fiddled with his empty coke can, it would also look like hope for Ilya. But Marly definitely didn’t need to know that.

“What’s he like? You said you knew him?”

How was Ilya supposed to do justice and explain Shane Hollander in English. Even Russian didn’t cover what he wanted to say most of the time.

“Smart, funny. But like quiet funny not loud. Have to listen carefully.  Obsessed with hockey. Even for a professional player. Very boring.”

No that wasn’t right because when Ilya called him boring he never meant it as boring.  Ilya’s never actually been bored with Hollander. Angry. Broken. Scared. Pissed off. Thrilled. Sad. Amused. Happy. Horny as hell. Devastated.  Safe. Horribly in love.

“Not boring, um.”

Marly’s looking at him oddly.

“Hollander is difficult to explain.”

“OK.”

They watch the game a bit longer in silence.

“When are you leaving for Moscow?”

“Have ticket for after playoffs.”  Every other day he flipped back and forth on if he was going to use it or not. Shane would be in Boston come late August either way. It would be safer for both of them just to wait.  Maybe not safe to be in Russia though, he didn’t really trust his brother to not fuck him over somehow now that their father was dead. Not that Grigori was much of a buffer, but Ilya had never been willing to fight back as much when he was alive.  Ilya was good for his money if not anything else. But now…

He really needed to investigate options for other passports.

Anaheim got another point against the Metros.

Apparently, he didn’t sound enthused enough or even slightly excited about going home to Russia because Marleau was not done asking questions.

“We could go to LA or Miami or Hawaii or something and just party for a few weeks. If you wanted.”

That should sound fun.  Hot women, drinks, beaches. Two rich young hot sports stars. He could break out the really nice cars for a bit. But that little cold pit in his stomach that reminded him ever so often that he was his mother’s son, for better or worse, grew a bit at the thought.

“Thanks. No.”

“This year has really fucking sucked for you, huh.”

He didn’t even know the half of it.

“I am very tired.”

Marleau nodded at him and didn’t push.

Anaheim wins against the Metros on the screen.  He wonders what Shane thinks of it.  He doesn’t find out because he does a damn good job of finishing off way too much of vodka and ends up drunkenly crashing in one of Marly's guest rooms instead.

Chapter 4: Cottage

Chapter Notes

A lot of the dialogue is heavily taken from Episode 6, just with the Boston twist.

With the ink signed and dried with Boston, Shane was surprised to find that ever constant knot of stress in his chest had eased up when he was alone.  It rushed back anytime he had to talk with people that didn’t know. But luckily Hayden was busy with a new baby and to sleep deprived to notice anything wrong with Shane.

Boston’s front office was reaching out left and right seeing if he needed help with moving to the city. Showing way more enthusiasm than he could ever remember from the Metros office. If he planned on being there for preseason training, or what his normal summer training regime covered.  If he'd be willing to attend optional Captain’s skates since he had been given the A. Like it would be some big sacrifice on Shane’s behalf.

The last question had left Ilya laughing hysterically over the phone for three minutes straight, while Shane ranted about never missing an optional skate in his life, he certainly hadn’t planned on starting now with a new team by skipping.

While Yuna Hollander had not taken the sudden abandonment of Montréal by Shane well -loyalty is important Shane, how am I supposed to spin this to your sponsors- she was thrilled that with some quiet maneuvering behind the scenes Dunkin Donuts had already expressed interest in Shane doing an ad. Which she probably was going to use as leverage against Tim Hortons. Either way he imagined his future involved driving a Zamboni through a drive thru somewhere while pretending to sip coffee and enjoy donuts.  

She had also, due to his dad’s influence he could only assume, held off on pushing why he was leaving, though it had to be killing her not to know.

She had also ruined Ilya’s tentative plan that they both had avoided bringing up again to come out immediately after his last game and help Shane pack up his Montréal apartment by jumping on that project full force.  She’d also been sending him links for apartments and houses in Boston for rent. Not for sale. Still a bit furious with the concept of Boston being Shane’s new team.  The fact that he didn’t even go for a much higher paying contract made even less sense. So, his dad really had to be working overtime behind the scenes to be keeping her off Shane’s back.

There was still Shane’s other, uh, property in the Montréal, but since nothing but the bedroom had really been furnished all that much, he could handle that by himself. He also really wasn’t ready to explain that investment.

But all that could wait until after the last playoff games. Which is how he found himself in his childhood home, arm in its sling for hopefully the last week or so of recovery, watching Scott Hunter make hockey history. Twice.

His phone is ringing before Shane has any chance to reel in his complete and utter disbelief at Scott Hunter kissing a man before the whole fucking world.

                                                                       _____________

Shane had already covered the basics of hospitality in the first ten minutes of the drive after picking up Ilya at the Ottawa airport. He’d asked if the flight was good, if Ilya was hungry, and explained how long the drive was to his cottage.   Talked about how he had stocked the cottage with food.  Discussed how relaxing it was and how he hoped Ilya would like it. How he wanted to actually have time to relax with Ilya.

If he wasn’t so nervous he’d be boring himself to death. And he didn’t feel particularly relaxed. Never mind what Ilya must think.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” He didn’t think this was something that would ever happen.

“Me too, but, also like terrified yeah?”

Shane was trying to concentrate on driving as safe as possible for the next two hours, but he kept trying to get a glimpse of Ilya out of the corner of his eye. He was glad it wasn’t just him absolutely scared to death.

“Did anyone recognize you at the airport?”

“No not that I noticed.”

“Even if they did I guess we have a better excuse than normal, huh? With the trade being announced tomorrow.”

Ilya reached out and pulled Shane’s free hand across the center console, threading their fingers together.

“I, uh, I might have told everyone one I was doing a silent retreat-“

Ilya squeezed his hand lightly and laughed.

“Does that sound fake? I between getting hurt and the trade, with the stress…”

“Only for someone that isn’t you.” Ilya’s voice is warm and still laughing.

“I just wanted some privacy. For us.”

“It will be nice.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence. Only broken by Shane occasionally pointing something out about the area they were driving through. When they finally pulled into the private road leading to Shane’s cottage and parked, the nerves came rushing back. Carrying in Ilya’s bags and giving him a needless tour he had watched his tv special years ago helped.

 But now he was on top of Ilya on the couch, and Ilya was talking and undoing Shane’s shorts and it didn’t make sense because they hadn’t seen each other in person in months and there was no way Ilya had suddenly decided to stop hooking up with other people but that’s definitely the words that just came out of his mouth, but it had been months and Shane was not going to last and Ilya was distracting.

“Wait,” he panted into the crook of Ilya’s neck, “I have an idea. Can we try and be honest with each other here, for the next two weeks, about what we think and really feel? Before it gets even more complicated in Boston?”

“Hollander I will probably agree to anything if you touch my dick. It has been months, so can we-“

“Wait you really haven’t been with anyone? Because I haven’t either since Florida. “

Ilya tried to distract him, but Shane had never been easy to distract when he was fixated on something. Even if Ilya’s hands and mouth were definitely distraction worthy on his dick and the pulse point on Shane’s neck.

“I’m serious. We have to actually talk.”

“Ok I will try. But can we fuck now please?”

-----------

“What you can’t do math?”

Ilya softened the comment with a kiss and by pressing up against his back as he flipped the burgers.  

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”  Ilya hooked his chin on Shane’s shoulder, arms still wrapped around Shane’s waist, waiting as Shane finished up on the grill. “We have to talk now. Was your idea.”

“Um.” He pulled away with the plated burgers and gestured at the table. Ilya grabbed the seat closest to Shane’s plate.

“Use words, am not mind reader.” Ilya said as he helped himself to the food, and handed Shane one of the burgers.

“How do you really feel about me coming to Boston. Now that it’s being announced tomorrow?”  

“The hockey will be best ever. I am ready to win another cup.”  Ilya smirked at him, not entirely innocent, “you are fun to play with.”

“Oh, so you can’t win another cup without me?”  

Ilya had a mouthful of burger  now and just shrugged at him in reply.  They both knew some of it was pure luck and some of it was pure skill and raw determination that made either one of them as successful as they were.

“What about,” Shane stumbled over his thoughts not finishing the question. Changed tactics. “You’ve um, built a life there? In Boston.”

Ilya’s eyebrow raised at the aborted attempt, but he didn’t push.

“Have big house, my cars, party out with Marly and others on team. Win hockey games. Rent my old apartment out. Summers in Russia.”

“Until now.”

“Is nice change, Hollander.” He said, smiling across the remaining burgers at Shane. Shane glanced away but smiled back.

“I guess I did make too many. I usually just give them to my parents.”

“Yuna and David? Tell me about them? You are close?”

“Yeah, I mean, Montreal isn’t that far away from Ottawa and so they’d come to a lot of my games. Mom’s a big Metros fan even before I was drafted to them. She’s obsessed with hockey despite my dad being the one that played. She’s not thrilled with my trade. Um, I couldn’t really explain what happened in the locker room without…”

“So they do not know about you?”

“No I…”

If he tried to explain, he’d have to talk about Ilya too, because it had always been about Ilya even when he hated it, even when he just wanted to smash that smug grin into the boards on the rink. And now, it was to much, to scary, to new and unspoken yet.

“Oh so this is my fault?”

“Yes, I mean no. A little.”

“You do not need to give your parents a list of all the guys you are fucking when you tell them you are gay.”

“I know that, not that’s its much of a list to share anyway.”

“Ah, ok.”

Ilya tried to meet his eyes, but Shane just stared out over the lake.

“And your mom is Japanese? Is where you get your looks from?”

“Uh yeah, half of them at least.”

“Boston has big Asian community, much bigger than Russian community in city.  Lots of Japanese restaurants.”  Now Ilya was also avoiding eye contact. “Good food, if you want.”

“Мой любимый вид спорта - хоккей.”  Shane stumbled over each unfamiliar sound; he could feel his face flushing as he tried to finish the statement, butchering pronunciation for sure and possibly the sentence itself.

“Да, я знаю.”

Then Ilya was kissing him, softly like he had all the time in the world. One large hand cupping Shane’s face like he was holding something special. When he moved to Shane’s jawline and neck, Shane was able to mutter, “I’m taking Russian lessons.”

“I see.”

“I need practice.”

“Is good you know native speaker. Lots of practice.”

Ilya pulls away, his hand leaving Shane’s face just to grab Shane’s hand and weave their fingers together.

“And your dad? Is boring? Is where you get your boring from?”  

“He’s not boring. He’s normal ok?”

Explained all the normal stuff about his dad, university and hockey at McGill, and his job for the Treasury Board and Ilya remembered about the New Yorker and sat there and listened and teased as he talked about how great his parents were.

“Would they not be good about it?”

Oh, back to this then.

“I don’t know, I mean no they’d be fine. I’ve just lied to them for years now though and…”

“Is not good time?”

“I don’t know.”

--------

Shane liked his fire pit, thank you very much. For some reason he was very surprised that Ilya had no idea how to build a fire and light it, and the concept of just sitting there peacefully and enjoying the crisp air, sounds of nature and flickering campfire might be completely foreign to Ilya. Such a city boy.

 And then Rose had to text, and he got jealous Ilya on top of bored Ilya, and then a loon of all things managed to scare him.  But it all ended with Ilya laid out in his lap, pouring his heart out to Shane about his mom one agonizing word at a time late into the Canadian night.  

Chapter End Notes

I'm not even going to pretend I know anything about the language, this was solely a google translate thing, which I am well aware can often be wrong, or not get the nuances of normal speech patterns/dialects. More than happy to fix stuff if I need to.

Мой любимый вид спорта - хоккей. My favorite sport is hockey.

Да, я знаю Yes, I know.

Chapter 5: More Cottage

Chapter Notes

Had to bump up the rating. My bad. Once again, a lot of dialogue used or based off episode 6.

“I like you.”  

It’s a warm rumble in the quiet of Shane’s bedroom, Ilya’s voice seeping into every inch of Shane’s body in the mid-morning light. Shane shifts slightly from where he’s pressed into Ilya’s chest to look at him, his curls lit up by the sun and tossed from sleep.  His mind is briefly and blissfully blank from his normal constant anxiety and fear.  He hopes Ilya’s is too.

“I like you too.”

Ilya’s lips curve into a small smile and he shifts to pull Shane in closer. Shane can hear Ilya’s heart beat steady as he relaxes back into his arms.

They stay in bed neither seeming to want to be the first to break this taste of peace for a few hours.

Shane wakes up again later, still in Ilya’s arms to a faint noise.

I like you

On the nightstand Ilya’s phone vibrates several times in a row. Shane’s is left somewhere back in the kitchen where he tossed it last night to avoid any news about his trade breaking today.

But Ilya ignores it and just rubs lightly at Shane’s arm soothingly.  Soon enough his phone falls silent again, but Shane takes the interruption as an excuse to start pressing small kisses across Ilya’s bare chest. It’s intoxicating not having to rush or worry if anyone can hear them. Ilya tugs on his hair and captures his lips with his own as Shane turns his head up. Hand in his hair keeping Shane close.

“I want to make you feel good,” Shane says quietly in-between kisses, “can I please make you feel good?”

Ilya groans something in Russian against his lips, that was not covered by Shane’s beginner Russian lessons.

“If you insist.” He then says in English, loosening but not removing his hand from Shane’s hair.  

Shane makes his way down, kissing softly along the bruises on Ilya’s ribs, careful to not press against the mottled flesh.  Noses into the hair just above the waist band of his grey sweatpants he had fallen asleep in. Breathes in deep.  The fabric smells like Ilya and faint hints of last night’s bonfire smoke. Pulls the drawstring loose and Ilya arches up slightly to help as Shane slides the pants down, Ilya’s cock growing harder with each anticipatory movement. Once Shane has Ilya’s pants, off, and half way through folding them, Shane notices what he is doing, sees Ilya staring at him in something that might be amused awe, but Shane’s never quite positive, one arm behind his head, the other now free from Shane’s hair, lightly stroking himself, waiting for Shane to finish folding Ilya’s goddamn pants.

He opens his mouth to apologize, has it half spoken, before Ilya moves his hand from stroking his cock to push his thumb into Shane’s mouth, silencing Shane. Shane sucks on the digit, treating it like he wants to treat Ilya’s cock. Ilya’s free fingers flex against his jawline, helps guide Shane back to his now fully hard cock, pulls his thumb out of Shane’s mouth, lets Shane take his him as deep as he can in his mouth, feels Ilya brush his throat, hollows his cheeks, and starts to work his tongue and mouth over his length.  Ilya lets Shane do as he wants for a minute or so, gasping his name and Russian endearments or curses, he doesn’t really know.

Eventually Ilya works his hand back in Shane’s hair, thumb still wet from Shane’s mouth, and pushes, slightly at first, allowing Shane to stop him or pull off if Shane wanted to, but Shane just relaxes, to allow Ilya to start thrusting at whatever speed he wants, careful at first as Shane gags a bit, lets Shane adjust moaning and drooling around Ilya, before finally Ilya’s just thrusting into his mouth, swears and filthy compliments falling from his lips. Ilya sets the pace, and Shane enjoys that blissful high that only comes when he’s with Ilya. Ilya thrusts start to lose rhythm, and he brings his other hand down to cup Shane’s face, forcing Shane to meet his eyes as he finishes in Shane’s mouth. Shane does his best to swallow. Licks sloppily at Ilya’s softening dick. Rests his head against Ilya’s thigh and just breathes.

--

“Will you stay with Boston for new contract next summer? When we are both free agents?” asks Ilya in the middle of their lazy foot drills and bad attempts at soccer.

“I haven’t even played for Boston yet, Ilya. I assume they may want to keep me, I have a new no-trade clause agreement.”

There were so many things that could go wrong in Boston and with the man currently play fighting with him over the soccer ball. What if Ilya didn’t want him in Boston in a year. Realized how truly boring Shane was when he had to see him every day at work.  Shane didn’t think he could survive going to work each day, seeing Ilya on the ice and locker room, and know that things were over between them.

“I would prefer to remain on the same team for the rest of my career, though.”

“Ok.”

“Why?”

“I was looking at options for me,” Ilya began. Stopped. Kicked the ball across the yard and ran after it.

“You want to leave Boston?”

“I want different passport. Russian passport is no good for me.”

Shane wished he had half of Ilya’s perceptiveness when it came to people.  Because he knew this was an important conversation, despite the unserious setting (he’s pretty sure Ilya just tripped over the soccer ball and tried to hide it behind a flowerbed). But he doesn’t quite grasp exactly what answers Ilya wants.

“So I was considering options. Canadian team I could file for citizenship.”

“Are you…were you…you aren’t talking about signing with the Metros?”

Ilya gives him such a scathing look at that, that Shane almost takes a step back. But then Ilya keeps talking and he thinks that that look was due to the situation, not Shane himself.

“After what they did to you? Fuck no, Hollander.” He makes his way back to where Shane’s now standing trying to follow the conversation fully. “Would not win for the team that did not have Shane Hollander’s back on the ice.”

“Oh, thanks?”

Ilya has given up with the soccer ball and pushes into Shane’s personal space instead one hand grasping at Shane’s hip the other tilting Shane’s face so that he can kiss him firmly. Shane doesn’t think the conversation actually came to a satisfying end for either one of them, but he’s happy to let Ilya distract him for a bit.

Illya trades long lazy kisses with him for a while, kisses they’ve never had time for, usually they’d be undressed by now. Shane likes it, Shane’s liked the whole day and half he’s had so far with Ilya.

Ilya finally breaks away after a chaste kiss to Shane’s forehead. Nuzzles his hair.  He still wasn’t going to admit Ilya was a few inches taller than him. He was clearly standing on a slight hill.

“Hungry, Hollander? I’ll make dinner?”

“Oh, I can cook, you’re a guest…”

Ilya huffs a laugh into Shane’s hair.

“I like cooking, Hollander, is fine. And I will follow your diet.”

So, Shane watches as Ilya makes himself at home over Shane’s stove.  They eat in comfortable silence, Shane cleans the kitchen and Ilya teases him about the precise way he fills the dishwasher. There’s a correct way to do it, Ilya. But it’s fond like so many of Rozanov’s recent interactions with him have been.  

They make their way to the couch later, lounging against opposite arms of the couch, their feet pressed together, in the middle. Ilya’s looking at his phone for the first time all day, it’s probably filled with texts and calls about the person he’s sharing a couch with.  The Boston Raiders had to have posted their official announcement by now. Shane’s management team is handling his social media right now.  His phone is still tucked between the toaster Shane never uses, and the blender he uses all the time.  The idea of checking it is completely overwhelming.

Instead, he just kind of sits, not quite relaxed but still comfortable. Ilya’s bare feet are warm through Shane’s socks. Ilya doesn’t seem to expect him to talk or entertain him, just scrolls on his phone, face occasionally glaring at something, and even rarer sometimes smirking at something he sees.

It hits Shane out of the blue when Ilya says, I could marry Svetlana, she is American citizen, she would help me with my passport. We are friends it would just be for passport.

He feels nauseous at the very thought. The dinner Ilya had so carefully made churning in his stomach.  

“I could stay in Boston then. Not worry about changing teams or losing visa.”

“You like girls, why don’t you find one you actually want to marry?” Shane’s seen the TMZ videos and random club promos, leaked photos from when Ilya was younger and very wild. Cliff Marleau’s probably censored Instagram posts.

“I could. But I have problem Hollander.”

Shane doesn’t want this conversation. How did this morning go from I love like you, too to this god awful discussion. He can feel his eyes start to burn which would only make this worse.

“See whenever I am with beautiful woman last few years, I am not thinking about her, just this boring slow Canadian hockey player with weak backhand.”

“A weak backhand.”

“Is ok, I have great backhand. And I think about him all the time, his beautiful freckles and he folds his clothes before he lets me fuck him, and I have ginger ale in my fridge for him. He is very funny and an asshole, but no-one believes me when I say that. But he lives so far away, and I have Russian passport which is very dangerous because we are both boys and I am only here for work.  So I think maybe I move to Canada for work, but this boy gets new job in Boston instead.”

“Do you want that problem to go away?” Shane asks.

“I do not ever want that problem to ever go away.”

His eyes are still burning but the nausea is starting to settle the more Ilya talks.

“Don’t marry Svetlana, just don’t. I know it wouldn’t be for love or whatever…just don’t.”

“Ok.”

“Do you…do you want me to leave Boston after this year? Do you want to leave Boston?”

“I like Boston and my team. I like you more, Hollander.”

--

Ilya fucks him into the mattress and normally that’s enough to turn off his brain for the night. But Shane can’t sleep, Ilya is sound asleep his breathing steady and reassuring, but Shane can’t settle. There were too many variables outside of his control. Ilya’s safety is the most important, their careers a close second. In the quiet of the night, Shane can admit to himself that he loves Ilya and there’s nothing he wouldn’t try right now to keep him safe.

He flicks on the lamp light, and runs a hand lightly across Rozanov’s shoulders to wake him. He does with sleepy protests.

“Hollander, is late, what is problem?”

“I know you said if you married Svetlana it would just be for the passport. But what if you married me instead? We could file for you here in Canada, quietly. We play for Boston, together. Find a way to make a friendship public, maybe a charity, change the narrative.  And if it was also just for the passport here, I’d understand you could always divo-“

Ilya rolls on top of him and cuts him off brokenly muttering words Shane has heard from him before into Shane’s neck. “я тебя люблю, Shane. я тебя люблю. I love you.”

Ilya’s cheeks are wet against Shane’s skin, and “Holy shit.”

Ilya freezes, and Shane in a change of roll, grabs his face and makes Ilya look at him.

“I love you, too.”

Chapter 6: Even More Cottage

Chapter Notes

Last chapter based off episode 6. Dialogue is direct from there in spots or super heavily influenced. Also, use of slurs based off of things Shane might have realistically heard in the locker from prior to his trade.

Ilya looks young, in a way he never looked when they were actual teenagers, he’s smiling softly at Shane, as Shane slowly wakes up blinking sleep from his eyes. His hair a riot of curls, sunlight highlighting all the different colors of his hair and eyes. Shane has a sudden desire to take up painting, because this sight rivals anything he’s ever seen in a museum before. It’s like the first time he hoisted the Stanley Cup above his head. This man loves him. He’s also going to marry Shane.

“Hey.” Shane says quietly, “good morning.”

Ilya’s smile grows even more.

“Da, Is very good morning, Hollander.  One of the best mornings.”

“Oh. Oh good.”  I love you. “I love you.”

“я тебя люблю.”

“And we are getting married?”  Shane asked confirming that late last night wasn’t an insanely vivid dream he had made up out of stress.

Ilya’s kissing him and muttering confirmation in his mouth and across his freckles. 

“I’ll be a good husband to you, Hollander. So good. I promise.  I love you.”  It has none of Rozanov’s normal cockiness and ego to his usual boasts. It’s almost a plea, and it scares Shane but also makes him so so angry that someone made Ilya feel like he would ever have to say that to Shane. And he hates himself a bit for that time back at Ilya’s house where he freaked out at the sound of his own name, because rarely does Ilya call him Shane.

-

Ilya’s making breakfast, in Shane’s well, soon to be their kitchen and Shane’s got a list going of everything they need to do in the next few weeks. So much for relaxing before the new season.

“Can I give Marly your number?” Ilya asks in-between bites of egg. One hand on his fork the other scrolling his phone. “He wants to welcome you to our team.”

“Oh, yeah sure.” He should actually check his phone. He finds it still plugged in behind the toaster and copies Ilya’s method of scrolling and eating.

It's a lot. Updates from his agent. Welcome messages from official social media sites for hockey. Official emails from Boston’s front office. Hayden’s texts and calls. A single text from J.J. Nothing else from the rest of his former team, not that he was ever super popular, before becoming the locker room joke, he’s always been quiet and too fond of his own peace and quiet that he needed to recharge, and too intense on the ice to relax at work.

 His mom has sent him a ton of emails, mainly about work and how being in Boston (though smaller than Montréal as a city) made working with America companies focused on the American market easier.

A few texts from Rose he was actually happy to answer.

He ignored most of it in favor of emailing his solicitor asking for an appointment asap.

“Are you ok with meeting with my lawyer to figure out the best way to file for marriage and then paperwork for me to sponsor you here? I know PR card might be one route but there are probably other avenues to explore. We can find out what a viable timeframe is and get all our paperwork filed, hopefully before the start of training camp.”

Ilya is focused on his lips as he talks, not in a fun way, but like he used to look during Media after shared games when reporters would slam him with long questions he barely understood. He looks lost.

“Ok, they have Russian translator? Is a lot for me to understand in English.”

“Oh, fuck, sorry, yeah of course, Ilya. We can hire someone for sure.” Shane fires off a second email requesting just that, as he reassured Ilya. “Hey, um, we are probably going to have to tell our agents something about all this.”

“I will need new agent. Agent is very Russian.”

Shane makes another note on his ever growing list.

“Hollander.” Ilya takes Shane’s hand from across the bar, making him put down his pen for a moment.  Shane sucks in a deep, steadying breath at his tone. “Will you tell your parents?”

“I’m going to have to, Mom manages most of my contracts. There’s a chance your name might start appearing in forms and stuff. And my media if anything gets leaked. Fuck.”  Shane focuses on all the practical reasons why he has to tell, and tries not to panic at springing being gay, marrying Ilya of all people, and the reason he’s going to Boston at his parents all at once.  It doesn’t really help much. He’s lied or sidestepped questions from them for so long now. “Fuck.”

Ilya’s standing next to him now, rubbing his back soothingly.

“Sorry, I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“Family is difficult, Hollander. I know.”

Shane doesn’t know how to respond to that, because the little he has heard about Ilya’s family life paints a very different picture than Shane’s relationship with his parents.

“I’ll text to see if they are free for lunch or dinner in the next day or two.”

--

The next day starts early and stressful, as they both have to leave the safety of the cottage to meet with Shane’s solicitor (complete with Russian translator for Ilya) for a long grueling, yet productive meeting in Ottawa.

When they finally leave hours later it’s with a specific plan, papers in the process of being drafted for once they have a valid marriage certificate, and the soonest possible date with a discreet judge that is friends with Shane’s lawyer. And several discussions on Shane’s behalf, that no really, he doesn’t need or want a prenuptial agreement but will sign one if Ilya wants one, with Ilya also arguing  that he didn’t need one but if Shane wants one he’d sign.

Shane’s pretty sure his lawyer felt like strangling the both of them.

 The important thing is they’ll be married before they leave for Boston and starting the 3-5 year process of making Ilya a Canadian citizen.

That was the easy part of the day, though and now they are both in the car headed back to the lake, but now to Shane’s parent’s place a bit down the road.

He had texted yesterday that he was bringing someone to lunch but had begged off details. Just that he had some stuff to discuss in person.

 He parks behind his dad’s car and stares blankly out the windshield trying to remember how to breathe for who knows how long until finally Ilya rubs his shoulder with a soft Hollander to break the tense quiet in the car.

“I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m sorry.” Shane mutters, but Ilya just waves off his apology and waits until Shane pulls the keys, and glances at Ilya.  Shane’s probably not the only one overwhelmed right now. Ilya’s jaw is tight, and he has a look in his eyes that Shane almost recognizes.

“Will you kiss me?”  

Ilya waves his free hand vaguely towards the window, like here Hollander, are you fucking sure? But leans in and kisses Shane like they were alone at home not in his parents’ driveway.

“Ok, Shane?” Ilya asks against his lips.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

-

They toe their shoes off by the front door and Shane puts them neatly on the rack. Walks through the front hall way towards the faint sounds he can hear in the living room, Ilya a silent presence just a step behind.

“Hey, it’s me, Shane.”

He steps into the entrance of the room and his parents turn from where they are sitting on the couch to stand and great him. They both freeze half way through saying hello at the sight of Ilya behind him.

It's so quiet and he can hear Ilya shift behind him, but he doesn’t turn.

“And this is Ilya….Rozanov…..from work? But you know that.”

Ilya mutters something in Russian under his breath, but Shane can’t  even hope to make any of it out, especially when he can hear blood rushing in his ears.

His parents are staring at him. And at Ilya.

When no one starts talking again, Ilya steps in.

“Hello.  Mr. And Mrs. Hollander. Thank you for lunch invite. Lovely home.”  He’s clearly nervous, his English not normally that short and stilted. But he’s polite, and no one has ever claimed Rozanov isn’t naturally charismatic. It’s enough to get his parents moving from the couch.

His mom reaches out a hand, business like. Shakes Ilya’s hand like they’ve just signed a contract, “please, call me Yuna.”

His dad follows suit.

“We appreciate this show of sportsmanship with Shane’s recent trade, Rozanov.” His Mom says shortly. She sounds like she doesn’t mean a word she’s saying.

“Fuck. No. God. Mom. Stop, stop” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “Mom, Dad, this is Ilya. Um. Ilya this is my mom and dad. Fuck. I’m gay.”

Ilya’s right next to him now, tense in that way he knows well from the ice. Like he’s ready to body check someone into the boards or drop gloves. Like he’s expecting violence. On the ice he’d be smirking and chirping whoever he’s about to fuck with. Usually Shane if they are on the ice at the same time. But here in Shane’s parents’ house he just has a blank haunted look.

“Oh.” His mom glances at his dad.

But Shane just has to say it all, before the barrage of questions.

“Ilya and I are engaged. We are getting married. Next week actually.”

“But you hate him.”

“No, I mean I get that but no, actually I love him.”

Shakes his head.

“I had this planned out better in my head. This is not how I wanted to tell you.”

“Maybe we should all sit down? Would anyone like a drink?” asks his dad, guiding his mom to the kitchen table. Shane follows, pulls a seat out for Ilya and then sits down himself, presses his leg next to Ilya’s under the table.

His dad puts a bottle of ginger ale in front of Shane, asks Ilya what he would like Coke or Water, is fine Mr. Hollander. Thank you. A can of coke in front of Ilya.  Once all four of them are settled at the table with drinks, his mom starts talking again.

“I think we maybe thought you were gay.”

“You did?”

“I think we thought it was certainly possible.”

“For how long?

“For a while now, we both know you pretty well, Shane.”

“Rozanov is a surprise though.”

“Ilya.” Both Shane and Ilya corrected at the exact same time.

Shane’s parents glanced at each other. Again.

“Ilya, sorry.” said his dad.

“I know, it’s a long story.”

“When did this happen?” asks his dad at the same time his mom asks, “Is this why you are trading to Boston?”

“Since rookie season-“

“No is not true, the summer before.” Ilya cut in.

“You’ve been in love since….”

Their chorus of nos overlapped.

Ilya sounded almost amused, “no just ah-lovers?”

“Ew, no Ilya.”

Ilya just shrugs next to him, and looks vaguely pleased into his soda as he takes a sip.

“And no, he’s not the reason I’m trading. Well. He’s a selling point for the Raiders, but he’s not specifically the reason I’m trading. I had no intention of leaving Montréal, I wanted to retire there but…but you saw the tapes.”

“They found out about you and Roza-sorry Ilya?”

“No. They didn’t find anything out not really. Hayden. Hayden was doing what he always does. Even though I tell him all the time I’m not interested and to leave me alone about it. But this time I finally snapped at him in the locker room about how fucking tired I was at him trying to set me up with girls. And the fact I never fucking say anything about it and how pissed I was made a few guys pay attention. And some of the other guys jumped straight to Hollander is a fucking faggot from there, which, technically true, but I never actually told them. But almost a decade and only Rose to show for it...They were just more than happy to run with the idea and use it against me. It wasn’t all of them, like Hayden and J.J. and a few others minded their own business. But not exactly an outpouring of support. Coach ignored it all.  Translates bad on the ice. Left me open to get hurt.”

“That was after all-stars, did you- you had such chemistry- is that when you got…engaged?” his dad follows up, the first one to broach that subject.  Probably trying to figure out how Rose Landry fit in with the whole time line or story.

Ilya looks at him and Shane forces himself to meet Ilya’s gaze. Ilya shrugs, a silent agreement to follow whatever Shane decides. It’s his first lie since walking in the door.

“Yeah, um, we discussed it then. Made it official after I got out of the hospital. Ilya had actually been considering going to a Canadian team once he became a free agent next year. To, uh be closer. To me. But with how bad Montréal was, um, when I had a chance at Boston, I…I…we went that route instead.” He stumbles a bit over it all but hopefully his parents just think is the nerves from the whole situation.

“You never let him win though?”

It’s insulting but almost expected. It still feels like a punch to the gut though.

“Do you let dad win at cards?”

“I’d rather die.”

“Same here.”

“When we play on same team, will not matter as much. Same goal. No one will question it. Just hockey.”  Ilya says pointing out how that drive to win would be focused in the same direction for once.

“So what is your plan here? Will you be telling the Raiders? Keep it secret until you both retire?” Asks his dad.

“No. We will not tell team. Yes, probably ” Ilya kinda shrugs again.

“Oh. But that’s sad.”

“Yeah um, we know, but until Ilya has a Canadian passport, it could be very dangerous for him if he loses his work visa via Russia. And, um, obviously we both really do care about our careers and-“

“Ilya, I’ve got to say I’m surprised. You have such a reputation as a ladies man.”

“Is not untrue.”

“Ilya likes both.”

“Oh.

“I have been with many women, but I have only been in love with one person.”

“Same here. Except for the many women part. But I’ve only been in love with Ilya.”

His mom is tearing up and leaves the table. The door to the backyard slides close seconds later.

“I’m going to…” Shane gestures towards the back door, and Ilya gives him a soft smile. He can hear his dad talking to Ilya as he makes his way outside.

“Ilya, I could use a drink. Vodka? I try and buy the good stuff from Russia, you’ll have to let me know what you think.”

Chapter End Notes

Not touching the scene with Yuna and Shane outside. That scene was MAGIC. Just assumed it happened exactly like the show in this AU.

Chapter 7: Text and Media Interlude

 St. Simon: WTF

Connors: Fuck. Right. What the hell.

Hammersmith: Are we sure this isn’t a joke.

Hammersmith: A really fucked up one.

St. Simon: IDK but ESPN won’t shut up about it. That and Scott Hunter.

Connors: Nah, bro. Our fucking team posted it on twitter.

Connors: And Facebook. And on our official website.  And sent us all emails.

Hammersmith: so legit then

Connors: Wildest fucking trade I’ve ever seen.

Marleau: it’s legit.

St. Simon: does Roz know? I would not want to be in the room with him right now.

Connors: he’s not even in the country right now.

St. Simon: well that makes me feel safer

Marleau: you do know they have both internet and TV in Russia, right? Phones too.

Connors: probably knee deep in Russian pussy.

Marleau: and it’s like 2 in the afternoon there right now.

Connors: I stand by it.

St. Simon: can we get back to the real shit? Roz getting laid isn’t even an exciting Tuesday.  

St. Simon: how the FUCK did we get SHANE HOLLANDER

Hammersmith: why would Hollander want the Raiders, there is no way he’s getting paid what he could get from other teams. We already have Roz. And Marly, I guess. How does his contract not allow him veto power?

Marleau: ha ha.

Marleau: Roz and I knew it was an option on the table. We had a Coaches meeting about it months ago.

Marleau: didn’t really think it would happen.

Marleau: but I know Coach was basically rabid at the idea of signing him. GM’s office too. We weren’t allowed to talk about it at the time.

St. Simon: we need more info, man

Marleau: Coach just wanted to make sure we weren’t gonna murder the guy the minute he stepped in our locker room.  Our fans do burn a fake version of him outside of the rink each home game we have against the Metros.

Hammersmith: and Roz was cool with this? They play the same fucking position.

Marleau: you know how he gets moody and weird every few months randomly. That’s how he was. Sort of. But different.

Connors: So he’s gonna murder Hollander. And bribe Coach to torture us.

Marleau: Idk. Don’t think so. In fact he might murder us if we give Hollander too much shit when he gets here.

St. Simon: What’s that’s supposed to mean?

Marleau: I don’t think he hates the guy.

Hammersmith: you are so useless right now, Marly.

__

BostonRaidersNHL.com

The Boston Raiders have acquired Shane Hollander from the Montreal Metros… 2 hours ago

The New York Times

Boston Raiders 2017 trade report card: Shane Hollander see more 4 hours ago

--

Hayden: pick up your phone.

MISSED CALL from Hayden Pike

Hayden: the fuck is that trade.

Hayden: you couldn’t warn me in advance that BOSTON was an option.

Hayden: answer your phone.

MISSED CALL from Hayden Pike

Hayden: I’m sorry AGAIN about how things happened, but like Shane buddy, BOSTON?

Hayden: wait are you really on a silent retreat?

Hayden: Jackie thinks you’re trying to make some sort of point. But I don’t get it. BOSTON!?

--

Svetlana: Are you enjoying your summer with Jane? Also, Hollander for the Raiders? Very strange.  Finally, I can see a good hockey player when I watch your games.

__

[10:00 A.M. EST]

Hammersmith: So we’ve all seen the news about Hollander.

Connor: and uh….

St. Simon: We’re sorry...?

Marleau: didn’t I ask to be left out of this chat?

Connor: and we voted against youre wishes.

St. Simon: consider yourself our human shield Marly.

Connor: yeah, Roz likes you better than us.

[11:45 P.M. EST]

Rozanov: you all have problem with Hollander? Do you not like winning? Enjoy sucking at hockey? Finally have 2^nd best player to play with.  Fuck off.  Am busy. You will see at practice what real hockey looks like.

Rozanov: have fun summer

Rozanov: thank you

Rozanov: 😊

Rozanov: i love u all

__

[10:01 A.M. EST]

Marleau: Do you have Hollander’s number?

Marleau: I can ask the office, but was gonna reach out to the guy. Say hi.

[11:50 A.M.  EST] Day after trade.

Rozanov: shared a screenshot

Marleau: Thanks.

Marleau: you really busy?

Rozanov: yes, sorry

Marleau: later then.

__

Marleau: Hi, it’s Cliff Marleau. Most people on the team call me Marly.  Roz, gave me your number I hope that’s cool. Just wanted to welcome you to the Raiders. Grab a drink with you before the season starts, maybe when I find out when Roz is getting back? It’s gonna be a hell of a season playing with you. Let me know if you need anything before our first Captain’s meeting.

Hollander: Thank you, Marly.  I appreciate it. I look forward to playing with you and the rest of the team.  This is an opportunity I did not expect to have and hope to make it run smoothly.

__

Marleau: does he always text like it’s a press release?

Rozanov: no

Rozanov: lmao

Marleau: you gonna let me in on the joke?

Rozanov: nope, lol

Marleau: fuck you, Roz

Rozanov: you wish

__

Rose Landry: BOSTON!??????

Shane: I have my reasons.

Rose Landry: So this is good then?

Shane: ….I really hope it will be.

Rose Landry: hey I just want my best friend to be happy.

Shane: I really do appreciate that. Seriously, Rose. Thanks.

Rose Landry: I might be filming a kidnapping scene off a boat in Boston Harbor later this year. If that works out we are getting dinner.

Shane: you’re almost 30, can we still call it kidnapping.

Rose Landry: Wow rude. Wait till you end up as old as Scott Hunter.

Shane: …no one is getting that old, he’s breaking all sorts of records.

Shane: I might need to fill you in on some minor details before we run around Boston together.  I’m really busy right now, but I’ll call in a week or two?

Rose Landry: what are you not telling me Shane…anyway… sounds like congrats are in order.

                  ________

Scott Hunter: Kip said he texts you. That you’re hilarious. That you gave him your number in Vegas. He’s lucky I love him because that’s all questionable taste.  Anyway, wanted to thank you for the support and stopping by the club. It’s a little few and far between these days.

Rozanov: Kip has questionable taste. Is dating boring hockey dinosaur.

Scott Hunter: asshole

Scott Hunter: Fuck. Did you fuckers really get Shane in the trade of the century. How?

--

Kip Grady: I’m still not sure how trades work but am I supposed to offer you congratulations or my condolences, Ilya?

Ilya Rozanov: Congratulations.  is hunter losing his mind? Sooo jealous I have better team…tell him to kiss Stanley cup goodbye

__

Scott Hunter: You and Rozanov on the same fucking team!?  JFC. What the hell Rook? Why?

Shane Hollander: What? Scared of seeing what a winning team looks like next time you play the Raiders? I don’t plan on being out of commission this year.

Scott Hunter: People think you are so nice. They are wrong.

Scott Hunter: In other news. Thank you for your support in your email after I came out on the ice, I’m sorry I haven’t responded sooner, things have been...a bit crazy since winning the cup.

Shane Hollander: That is more than understandable. Also, not the first person to think I’m a asshole.

___

Yuna Hollander: Hi, Ilya. Thank you for joining us for lunch. I hope you don’t mind I made a group chat for you, David and me. I’m making another with the four of us of course.

David Hollander: I’m sending you that pasta recipe.

Ilya Rozanov: Thank you Mrs. Hollander. And Mr. Hollander. You have been very kind, have lovely home. And son.

Yuna Hollander: You can just call us Yuna and David, ok Ilya.  I know it’s a lot.

David Hollander: But welcome to the family.

___

Ilya Rozanov: Как скоро вы сможете прилететь в Канаду?

Svetlana: Ты совершил какую-то глупость?

PHONE CALL from Ilya Rozanov [32.13 minutes]

_

Connors: so does that mean I can be fucking excited to be on the same team as Hollander now? Our coach in Providence Raiders made us watch his tapes all the time.

St. Simon: Marly was right, that was way less homicidal than I was expecting.

Marleau: what no poster of Hollander on your wall, Connors?

Connors: fuck you guys.

Hammersmith: anyone know what the guy is actually like?  

Marleau: really fucking polite

Hammersmith: you really aren’t helpful, Marly

Marleau: well fuck you too

Marleau: good at hockey?

St. Simon: NO WAY. Good at hockey you say.

Hammersmith: You get less useful by the minute, Marly.

--

Marleau: when are you back from Russia

Rozanov: Last week of august. Maybe September. Haven’t booked flight.

Marleau: damn, that’s later than normal.

Rozanov: in time for season. Busy.

--

Shane Hollander: If I was looking to buy an apartment, what neighborhoods do you suggest?

Marleau: you looking for something close to some good bars and nightclubs? How much parking do you need?

Shane Hollander: Quiet? Good places to jog? Easy commute to practice?  I only own one vehicle?

--

Marleau: you talk to Hollander at all this summer now that it’s official?

Rozanov: yes

Marleau: screenshot

Rozanov: is true, he only owns one terrible car.

Marleau: this guy is YOUR friend?

Rozanov: yes

Rozanov: good friend

Marleau: what does he do for fun?

Rozanov: hockey. Sex. Maybe birdwatching on hike? More sex. Yoga. He likes real estate. Secret sex apartment hookups on dl. Finding new apartment is fun for him. Sex. Drink ginger ale. Read books. Thinks about hockey.

Marleau: youre an asshole. Stop adding in your hobby.

Rozanov: but I’m so talented. And good at hockey too.

Rozanov: tell him backbay? Idk. River. Parks. Museums. Near practice.

Chapter 8: Ilya

It’s the first time since flying into Ottawa weeks ago that Ilya’s been away from his husband for longer than three hours. He’s not sure how they used to only see each other a few times a year, or just have borderline almost hate sex, because he already misses Shane’s presence like a phantom limb that should be connected to him but isn’t that aches now that it’s gone.

The simple gold metal  band on his right ring finger catches his attention nonstop. He can feel the literal and metaphorical weight of it as he goes about his day. It’s good.

They had packed up Shane’s Land Rover a few days ago with last minute stuff Shane wanted in Boston, and Shane had taken off to drive down with his car, Ilya’s keys and security codes to his house in Weston in hand. He’d be buying a small place down there, since they still needed to sell the idea he was a single straight bachelor to the rest of the team, but the general plan was for him to just move in with Ilya.  Never has Ilya ever seen someone that excited to go house shopping.

 Shane also wanted to get a feel for the Raiders office, coaches, and get through medical without Ilya hovering. He still had to make the Raiders his own on his own terms despite how excited Ilya was to have him there.

Ilya, they decided for several reasons would fly back. Meeting the number of days on Canadian soil  needed for his citizenship was a major factor, and they would be desperately scraping together every day they could to be safe. But also Shane’s paranoia at them being recognized travelling together.

Ilya had spent two nights alone in the cottage, this gorgeous place he could now call his summer home, that was too quiet and too remote without Shane being present. After barely any sleep for two nights in a row, and a long phone call later to Shane, his new in-laws drove over and picked him stay at their lake cottage instead.

Yuna and David Hollander have been cautiously welcoming to Ilya like no one else ever has. Obviously their main concern is Shane’s happiness and safety and since Ilya is now a major part of both those things, they have done their best to make him feel included despite their concerns. No familial figure in his life since his mom when he was a small child had given a fuck how his day went,  what he wanted for dinner, or if he wanted to watch TV with them before bed.  He spends half his time feeling bewildered at their actions and half of it horribly sad that it seems normal as breathing to them and so very wrong to him. He loves and hates it and finds himself hiding in Shane’s bedroom or going for a jog anytime it’s too much. Meets with his normal summer trainer over Skype and does his best to meet his expectations from afar to get ready for the new season. He tries to be useful, helps in the kitchen and garage and yard. He can see the glances his in-laws give each when they think he’s not looking. It’s a lot. It’s definitely not something he could verbalize in English even if he wanted to, so he’s quiet and polite and the model guest.

Shane’s childhood bedroom here is filled with hockey stuff. Which doesn’t surprise Ilya. He’s pretty sure every bedroom of Shane’s over the years has something hockey related in it.  But this has photos and signed pucks from various games and players and tons of photos of young Shane throughout the years holding an increasing number of more and more impressive trophies. He’s photographed with coaches and older famous players that have now retired, and group team photos, but there’s no photos of him one on one with anyone his age group. No indication of close childhood friends, even Ilya has that with Svetlana and Sasha, other boys back in Russia that had been close in school or at hockey, along with more causal friends over the years on various teams. He wonders if Shane was lonely as a kid.

Wonders how lonely the Metros were for him. Pike and Boiziau the only two he knows about that Shane ever had plans with outside of full team events. Thinks Boston might not be any better in certain ways except for Ilya being there and giving a damn in a way that Pike and Boiziau simply couldn’t comprehend and wouldn’t be willing to verbally or physically back up like Ilya would.

He also thinks that Shane will blend in here more outside of hockey. Maybe be able to wander around the city and not be noticed as often, maybe be able to explore being something other than a hockey icon 24/7.

Marly texts him a few times, he’s usually back from Russia at this point in the summer, but he’s pretty sure Marly chalks it up to his father dying earlier in the year. Marly’s also reached out to Shane, and Marly’s complete and utter confusion on the Hollander v. Rozanov friendship has kept him entertained.  

Meals are the worst because Yuna and David clearly want to talk.

Life has upended for them in ways they truly didn’t see coming, and while chaos is a Tuesday for Ilya, for a family with a shared color coordinated calendar and an active family group chat it’s a shock. Shane’s never lived more than a few hours away from them, and he went from avoiding dates to being married to Ilya Rozanov.

Shane has interfered for sure, because from what Ilya can tell from movies and TV and how teammates act with girlfriends and wives, usually there’s a lot more talk about learning about one’s son-in-law’s family life. But no one has asked him about his dead parents, or his brother and sister-in-law and little niece. Instead, David asks about food recipes Ilya likes from Russia, offers to help him study for the citizenship test that is years away, and buys him a copy of the study guide, Discover Canada: The Rights and Responsibilities of Citizenship. Ilya swears to him, he’ll memorize it and won’t be an embarrassment, and David just stares at him long and considering, before mildly reiterating his offer to help and that Ilya has plenty of time. Then asks if he wants to go hiking sometime during the weekend. Ilya does not, but he’ll wake up at three in the morning to go with the Hollander’s anyway.

Yuna is easier. It’s obvious she still isn’t fully onboard with Shane moving away and going to the Raiders situation. She’s even less pleased with the hit that Shane’s career is taking. Shane is a two time Stanley Cup winner and now he’s got to share the ice with Ilya’s career even more so than before.

But she also wants talks to him about his career. She’s not impressed with his management team, and when he mentions that he wanted a new team anyway, separate from any possible Russian influence, she ruthlessly gets to work finding an acceptable team for him along with pushing several possible new advertising deals and investments. Hockey doesn’t last forever, and your retirement plan was based on moving back to Russia. She doesn’t say it out loud, but he can read between the lines and tries to assure her, that financially he’ll pull his weight and not expect Shane to cover him. The only response she has to that is to tell him that is between him and Shane to figure out.

-

So, they hike on the last weekend before Ilya’s due to fly back to Boston, back to Shane. It’s way too fucking early in the morning for Ilya to be happy about getting up, just to catch the sunrise over the lake.  But at least he’s not expected to talk or carry a conversation, because one of the perks of early morning hikes is being quiet so they can spot animals in their natural habitat. David points out birds and small animals that are native to the area, and Yuna sets up her cell phone to get a photo of the three of them together in the early light of dawn for Shane. Ilya’s smile is small but genuine in the photos, as are Yuna and David’s.

They both insist on driving him to the airport when it’s finally time for him to fly back to Boston. Back to Shane.

“Thank you. Very much. For letting me stay in your home.”

He’s got his carry on and his backpack and a new checked bag full of even more last minute stuff that Shane had asked him to bring with him. He doesn’t expect the full hug and slight sniffle into his T-shirt from Yuna, followed by David, sans the light tears.

“Have a safe flight, sweetheart, please let us know when you land safely and when you get back to your house, ok.”, says Yuna, with one last hug before stepping back.

“Call us for anything, Ilya.”  Says David, as he wraps an arm around Yuna’s waist and they both say their last goodbyes to Ilya.

-

He spends the whole flight in first class unable to relax or nap. They land and finally…finally…he grabs his bags in record time and makes his way to the outside of his terminal where Shane’s been doing loops waiting for him to be ready.

He climbs into his husband’s terrible car with a wide smile and a deep seated relief, thrilled to see Shane’s smile and freckles and glasses he wears for reading and driving at night like this. People are already beeping at them, pissed, and Shane takes off without Ilya getting a kiss.

Shane’s super focused on making his way through Boston traffic, hands careful at ten and two. So, Ilya texts Yuna and David that he’s landed and with Shane. Takes a quick photo of his husband as proof, then settles back against the seat.

“I hope my parents weren’t too intense.”

“They were fine Hollander. Very kind.”

“Are you hungry? We can pick something up, or I’ve meal planned for the week at the house?”

Ilya just wants to get home and be able to touch Shane as much as he wants.

“Home is good.”

“Ok.”  Shane’s still smiling softly as he agrees.

They finally roll up to their house. Shane snags one of Ilya’s bags before Ilya has a chance to grab them all and Shane beats him to the door too. Once inside within seconds they are desperately kissing, Ilya presses his husband against the front door and is fighting with drawstring on Shane’s sweatpants. Sinks to his knees and takes Shane’s cock fully in his mouth.

It’s desperate and sloppy and Shane’s groaning Rozanov, fuck above him mixed with begging.

Ilya doesn’t tease, works him quick, swallows as Shane comes with a low grunt his hand tightening in Ilya's hair.

He smirks against the curve of Shane’s shoulder,  soft t-shirt under his flushed cheek. Presses kisses against Shane’s pulse and jaw line as they both catch their breath.

“I uh,” Shane starts as he’s trying to collect himself, trying and failing to sound casual, “I stocked up on lube and condoms.”

Turns out that Shane his brilliant and amazing husband, hadn’t just stocked up on condoms and lube for their bedroom,  but every fucking room in the house.

They don’t make it to the bedroom. Just the back of the  large living room couch, Shane’s carefully taking off his clothes and Ilya’s trying to blindly grab the condoms and lube in the little side table while simultaneously staring at Shane.

He's hot and tight and slick and oh so good for Ilya, once Ilya is finally inside him and thrusting hard and fast, Shane’s braced against the back of the couch once again begging and pleading for him so beautifully. Ilya can see Shane’s wedding ring, silver glint from where Shane’s fingers are digging into the couch. It’s enough to push him over the edge.

-

“Fuck.”

Shane sleepily glances up from where he’s dozing on Ilya’s chest in bed a few hours later.

“I forgot to text Yuna and David that we are home.”

Chapter 9: Marly

“Fuck man, welcome back.”

It’s around 2 in the afternoon when Roz bangs on his door, and Marly opens it to Roz’s smirking face.

“Hey, Marly.”

Roz claps him on his back, warm and friendly, pushes past Marly to make himself at him at home at the kitchen island. He turns down the beer Marly waves at him from the fridge and settles on a coke instead.

“How was the flight?”

“Was fine,” gives a little shrug. No complaints about the long flight.

Marly gets a look at him while Roz’s popping the top off his coke. Roz looks like a completely different man from the moody exhaustion he’d been carrying around all last season or the underlying anger of previous years.  He looks relaxed and like the hard edges of his life have been sanded down slightly, less likely to cut anyone who comes too close. Marly had never even noticed the rigidness that was always present, until it wasn’t.  It is not what Marly was fucking expecting at all. It suits Roz. Like he’s supposed to be this way.

Ever since Marly dragged out this dumbass, yet soon to be once in a generation rookie to a bar his first season and watched him outdrink all his hockey peers after a winning game that Roz had scored the winning goal in, they’ve been friends. Marly considers him his best friend. Roz isn’t exactly the type to share his life story, but Marly’s picked up some shit about him over the years.

Summer’s usually run like this. The week before he flies out to Russia, he’s a mean motherfucker, worse if the team hasn’t ended on a good note for the year. He tries his best to not take it out on Marly and the rest of his friends, but he’s way more prone to snap and get in fights.  Silent apologies to teammates in the form of expensive bottles of liquor anytime he really struggles to play nice.  Then he’ll be in Russia and other than a few basic texts, he’s basically M.I.A.  for a few weeks. He’ll fly back, and for a week he’ll still be a fucking menace but nothing like that week before at the end of season. He’ll occasionally share a story or two, that seem real, insane parties or sometimes his ‘friend’ Svetlana will join him for a few days, and he’ll talk about that. But nothing truly personal. Then it’s back to life in Boston.  He’ll throw a big ass fucking party at his house, end up in bed with a girl or two. Show up for preseason ready to kill it and back to being fun and lively in the locker room.

Honestly, he’s not even close to the biggest asshole Marly’s had to deal with in a locker room over the years because underneath it all he usually doesn’t mean it and doesn’t make it personal unless he really hates someone.

And then the last year had just been a fucking disaster. So, he hadn’t expected summer to make Roz like this.

But the script’s been ripped up this year because, Roz has been gone longer and come back like this. And this whatever the fuck this is, is new.

He doesn’t know what to say but Roz is already taking over his couch like the asshole he is and helping himself to one of the Xbox controllers.

 They kill time for an hour or two, fucking around with Call of Duty and insulting the fuck out of each other. That’s all normal.  Roz pauses between games and asks if he was planning on driving to meet Hollander for an early dinner or take the T.  

They both have that pre-season energy to burn off, before practices and brutal games take their toll on them, and the weather is nice. Plus, parking was always a bitch especially this time of year with all the college kids getting back into town. So they opt to walk and take the T.

Hockey players with strict diets wasn’t actually a new concept. Fairly normal considering they were at the top of their field in the NHL. But apparently Hollander took it really fucking seriously, because when trying to take his new teammate out for a friendly drink, he’d been informed by Hollander that a) he didn’t drink alcohol during the season, b) dinner was fine, but after suggesting three of Marly’s and Roz’s normal haunts for dinner, Hollander had checked the menus and politely let him know that he wouldn’t be able to eat anything there, except for like lettuce or some shit. Which really wasn’t the welcome to the Raiders, sorry I ruined your season last year by landing you in the hospital, I need to see you and Roz in the same room without hockey for science because Roz claims you fuckers are friendly vibe he was going for.

He finally finds a place by asking Nara one of his casual, but regular hookups who teaches private spin classes and Zumba to rich bored housewives where she’d suggest and got a list of trendy clean eating and vegetarian spots. He picked one that still had meat and fish on the menu so he and Roz would survive, and Hollander seemed to be ok with it.

Roz hadn’t bitched either when he had texted him the restaurant which was also a miracle.

They arrive early, but Hollander has already beaten them there, sitting stiffly at a small table for four next to a potted plant and some string lights in the little sunken patio outside. He’s got glasses on and is making notes in a binder in front of him as he waits for Marly and Roz.

Roz clocks him first, like he does on the ice, waving off the hostess. Walks over to the table, Marly following at a safe distance. Flops down in one of the chairs next to Hollander and makes himself at home.

“Hollander.”  

“Hey Rozanov.”

They both sound like they are at an awards show and are playing nice, but it does sound natural.

Hollander doesn’t even look up from his binder until Marly gets there. He does stand though for Marly, politely offers Marly his hand to shake, “Oh, hi, I’m Shane Hollander.”

He says it like Marly doesn’t know all his stats, like he’s never played a game against this man before and lost to him, like they haven’t had whole coach’s meetings just for the hope of getting Shane Hollander to play for them.  Like they haven’t hazed rookies for having this man’s poster on their walls before being drafted. Marly has an ex girlfriend obsessed with this man’s Calvin Klein underwear ad.

He’s shorter than Marly expected without skates on. His hair looks longer than it’s ever looked in media interviews. He looks like he’s fully recovered from the last time Marly briefly saw him drugged up in the hospital.

Roz kicks Hollander’s chair, “Da, Hollander, we all know who the fuck you are.” It’s warm though, like he’s bitching at Marly.

Shane gives Roz a halfhearted glare and rolls his eyes at the Russian. Doesn’t meet Marly’s eyes.

“Fuck off.”

Roz smiles. It’s friendly.

Marly shakes his hand amused, “Cliff Marleau, Marly usually. Welcome to Boston.”

“Thanks.”

They both sit down.

A waitress cuts off any interaction briefly, setting two menus down for them and getting a round of waters for him and Roz and a refill on Hollander’s water. Hollander closes the binder he had been focused on and sticks it in the  empty spot on the table, neat color-coded tabs sticking out of it. Marly’s never had a binder look that neat in his life, especially not in school and for damn sure not in his adult life. Shane takes off his glasses and folds them up in a small case and sticks them in the pocket of the nice slacks he’s wearing.

Roz tracks the movement from next to him, probably subconsciously, so used to trying to catch every movement Hollander makes for a chance at an advantage over him.

“You find a place to buy yet?” asks Marly determined to make this go well and latches onto the one thing Hollander had texted him about.

“That’s what I was looking through before you arrived.” Hollander gestures to the binder, “I think I’ve narrowed it down to three places, I’ll probably put in an offer tomorrow.”

Roz, without permission, leans across the table and snags the binder. Casually flips it open and starts flipping slowly through it.

Marly half expects him to get decked for that despite Hollander being notorious for not fighting usually.

Hollander barely blinks.

Marly glances at it from Roz’s other side when it looks like Hollander doesn’t give a fuck at his personal property being looked at.

Hollander has the apartments he’s considering ranked. Hand written pros and cons lists for each one. Glossy photos.  Home inspection reports for the top three. Descriptions of the gym equipment available at each.  Price break downs for HOA’s, insurance quotes, and other utilities. Mapped out routes for game days and practices. Possible short-term rental prices for off season. Profit margins.

When Marly had texted Roz about Hollander’s hobbies over the summer he had been 100% sure that Roz’s answer had been complete and utter bullshit.

Turns out Roz was not fucking joking when he said this guy liked real estate. He’s pretty sure the realtor that helped him find his North End place didn’t put this much effort in and she had been making a hell of a commission on that sale from a dumbass 21 year old with money to burn.

Roz is flipping between two of the three, looking like he’s reading Hollander’s notes carefully. Freezing on any words he doesn’t quite know in English.  Leans towards Hollander and asks him what  the fuck a Victorian Brownstone is supposed to be.

It’s a good thing he asks Hollander because, Marly doesn’t fucking know either.

Hollander spends the next five minutes describing the style and history in simple English for Roz yet in excruciating detail. Roz actually looks invested in the answer, because he asks follow up questions that Hollander happily answers.

It's like Marly isn’t even there.

The waitress comes back, and neither him nor Roz has looked at the menu yet, so the binder gets put aside yet again.

They order.

The table grows quiet once the waitress leaves.

Hockey is a safe topic that all three of them can easily spend hours on. But once again, Roz is right because Shane Hollander is obsessed. He remembers every stat of every player from the playoffs this year that Marly mentions, even if he can’t remember half of their first names. He’s even willing to chirp about a few of them.  But playoff discussions leads to analyzing the Admirals win and that leads to Scott Hunter, and Marly had forgotten over the summer, with all of Roz’s shit going on, and the excitement of the team acquiring Hollander, exactly what the rumors were that helped land Shane Hollander on the Raiders team roster in the first place.

“Hunter was some crazy fucking shit, huh?”

Hollander freezes forkful of salmon and brown rice halfway to his mouth. Puts the fork down carefully and looks like he wants to bolt in the middle of the road and let a car hurtling at him solve all his problems.  Guy looks blank. Like he’s not sitting at the table with them anymore.

“Da, so very old, so very dramatic, so very brave. Kip will have to care for him in retirement, instead of having hot crazy sex. I tell him this all the time.”

Roz sounds calm, but the look on his face is similar to the time he caught a guy spiking a girl’s drink at a nightclub in Atlanta three years ago. Like he was more than willing to put his fist through someone’s face. Repeatedly. Fuck the consequences. And it’s definitely not focused on Hollander.

“Who’s Kip?” Marly asks confused.

Roz looks at him like he’s an idiot. Roz is kinda right, but Marly’s not gonna admit that out loud.

“Hunter’s boyfriend.” Hollander mutters into his plate.

Oh, right.

“How do you know Hunter’s boyfriend, Roz?” because that is a bit of a surprise.

Hollander is still staring blankly at his salmon. Roz shifts his chair slightly closer to Hollander.

“Bar in Vegas during awards. He was bored. I was bored. We text. He is new to hockey, so I remind him how good I am when he forgets.”  Roz still sounds carefully calm not his normal smug when he tells people how great he is.

Marly snorts, he’s sure Hunter fucking loves that. Roz has always been good at getting under the older hockey player’s skin. He also thinks there’s probably a lot more to that story than what Roz is saying.

A lot like there was a lot more to the Hollander vs. Rozanov years long rivalry everyone’s been sold.

Because Hollander still looks like shit and Roz is staring at him in open faced concern that Marly’s never seen before and he’s spent a shit ton of time with Roz over the last few years.

“Excuse me,” Hollander mutters into his plate again, gets up and almost bolts into the restaurant.

Roz, once again, tracts his movements until he’s out of sight. Shifts in the seat like he’s going to follow him, before settling. Sits quietly for a few minutes, gazing at the sidewalk, watching people go about their evening. Doesn’t say anything to Marly. Eventually he pulls out his cell phone and starts texting.

The chances of them sitting there in stilted silence forever seemed high, but thankfully the waitress came by to check on them. Roz smiles at her, asks for boxes for both him and Hollander, and for the bill.

When she comes back she plates up the leftovers, hands the check to Roz, and Marly’s not having that. He’s halfway through arguing with Roz about letting Marly get the check, when Hollander makes his way back to the table, some of his hair looks damp, like he’s been splashed with water.

Roz gives up the fight for the check to Marly’s surprise as Hollander takes his seat again. Marly slides his credit card in the little receipt book and leaves it on the edge of the table for their waitress.

“Thanks for grabbing dinner with us.” Marly says roping Roz into his statement.

Hollander nods slightly from where he’s now staring at his to go box.

“Thanks for the invite.” It’s like he’s reading from a script in a play he did not want to be cast in.

He’s reminded of the Man in the Crease scathing description of Hollander as a robot several times. Marly’s positive Hollander is regretting ever agreeing to anything. Expects him to bounce as soon as they exit the restaurant.  

“Either of you need a ride home?”

Roz throws a friendly arm around Hollander’s shoulders at the offer and Hollander shrugs him off immediately glaring again. Elbows Roz in the ribs. Hard. Roz smirks down at him and accepts the offer. That’s how Marly ends up walking with them for two blocks until they find where Hollander has parked his Land Rover. Hollander looks less ill now that he’s moving around. He’s also arguing with Roz over how stupid his vehicle is, which seems to be relaxing to him. Something about not wanting to drive a Ferrari in snow.

Roz claims the passenger seat when Hollander clicks the locks, holds the binder and two to-go boxes in his lap and Marly climbs into the back.

Hollander puts his glasses back on and starts carefully driving towards the North End at Roz’s prompting.  

He pulls up in front of Marly’s place, idling in a no parking zone, and Marly climbs out after clapping Roz’s shoulder goodbye with a fond later asshole.

“See you at practice, Hollander.”

“Yeah, see you at practice, Marly.”

He takes off, Roz still shotgun.

Fuck.

Chapter 10: Shane

Chapter Notes

It’s a quiet ride home. Ilya had offered to drive, but Shane had turned him down needing something to focus his attention on even if he wasn’t comfortable navigating all the random one way streets Boston had to offer.

Now that they are alone, Shane can see in the corner of his eye Ilya reaching up to unsnap the second gold chain he had started to wear to carry his wedding ring. Shane feels a calming warmth creep it’s way into his chest as Ilya slips it back on his finger where it belongs. The next red light they stop at Shane does the same from the silver chain he’s taken up wearing. Ilya’s lips twitch up in a soft smile as he does.

The quiet remains when they get home, Shane removes his shoes by the door, sits them neatly on the shoe rack, and heads straight to the couch, Ilya steps behind him in the entrance way.

From the couch he listens to the sounds of Ilya moving around the kitchen putting up the food containers and opening drawers looking for something, lights down low to let Shane relax. Drops off Shane’s binder on the coffee table next to the couch with two cups of water.

Presses a soft kiss to Shane’s forehead before fishing a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket on his way outside.

Shane watches the brief flare of the lighter and then the dull glow of Ilya’s cigarette from inside. He hates it but he’s also not in the mood to possibly fight about it right now. Ilya doesn’t even smoke the whole thing, crushing it out on the patio table just moments later and coming back inside.

Disappears into their bedroom for a few minutes and then joins Shane on the couch in fresh comfy clothes and brushed teeth. There’s barely a hint of cigarette smoke left.

Shane should really change too. He’s been in the city most of the day touring apartments and that just makes him feel grimy. He grudgingly gets up and follows Ilya’s lead before returning and cuddling up to Ilya. Ilya wraps an arm around him and pulls him in tighter. Shane can feel the stress of the last few hours start to bleed out of him.

“I’m sorry.” He says into the soft cotton of Ilya’s shirt.

“Sorry? No. Why is this, Shane?”

“About dinner. I know Marly’s your friend and-“

“and after you play hockey with the team, will be easier I think.”

Ilya wraps his free hand around Shane’s throat and tilts Shane’s head so he has to meet Ilya’s eyes.

“New city, new people, new country. Is a lot I know. Hockey is hockey and you are the best at hockey, it will be less stress.”

He lets Shane go, lets him bury his face back into Ilya’s chest, rubs soothingly at his back.

He might be a little homesick for Montreal. Just because its familiar, he knows the streets, which food stores have what items he likes, he’s never been a fan of change. Misses the cottage for sure. Would miss Ilya more than anything if they were in separate cities right now.

“I love you so fucking much.” Butchers the Russian pronunciation but says it anyway, “Я тебя люблю”

Ilya repeats it into his hair. Settles deeper into the couch and they both relax there for awhile.

Eventually Shane shifts and cracks his eyes open, knowing better to fall asleep this early in the evening if he wants to get a full night’s rest. His binder for apartment hunting catches his eye. He needs to email his realtor which one he intends to put an offer on.

“Which one did you like the best?”

Ilya hums a questioning noise and doesn’t move. Shane looks up at him, he’s got his eyes closed, head comfortably lax against the couch, hair still mostly slicked back by product, but a few curls starting to escape from its hold.

“Which place when you were looking at them at dinner.”

“All of them were nice, Hollander. Mr. Real-estate, Mr. Landlord.” Rubs his thumb soothingly against Shane’s skin to get him to relax again.

“I’m not spending over a million dollars on something without your input, Ilya.”

Ilya tenses underneath Shane at his words. Shane waits him out, not sure what the issue is with his statement. Ilya doesn’t clarify but does continue the conversation at least.

“Is really investment property, correct?”

“Yeah. I mean, obviously I want to be here with you. And your house is gorgeous and has plenty of room and much more private that the chances of people catching us together here is way less. But I am going to use it as my main address for anything official and if you ever need this place to look like you aren’t married. I know you have parties and stuff.”

“How often did you have people over in Montreal?”

“My parents stayed with me for all my home games when they weren’t busy.”

Ilya gave a low laugh at his response, little huff of air into Shane’s hair.

“Teammates, friends, Stanley Cup winners you want to fuck, Hollander.” He clarified.

“I never invited Hunter over, I promise.”

“Oh, he has jokes.” Ilya practically purrs into Shane’s ear. “I won first. And have much better stamina. And know what you like.”

Shane shifts, trying to stay on topic and not turn and straddle Ilya.

“Um, Hayden and J.J. a few times of year. I mostly hung out at Hayden’s house; it was easier with the kids and Jackie was always willing to cook or order food I could eat. Most team parties were there or at someone else’s place.”

Ilya’s quiet again. Shane has no idea what he’s thinking.

“Holden St. one, I think. Big and nice enough to have team over, quiet and private entrance for you, has parking, should be able to rent short term or long.”

It’s one of his top three and good enough for him now that Ilya’s had a say, reluctantly moves off of Ilya to hunt down his cell phone where it’s sunk into the couch cushions and shoots off an email to his realtor to put in an offer on his behalf. Puts his cellphone on the coffee table and turns back towards Ilya. Who is stretching and rolling his shoulders now that he doesn’t have a 200 pound hockey player half on top of him, with a groan that’s obscene and making heat pool in Shane’s gut as he watches.

Ilya smirks at him, smug, when he catches Shane watching.

“Fuck off,” Shane mutters.

He expects Ilya to run with that and say something like or I could fuck you like he normally does, but Ilya just leans over kisses Shane’s cheek.

“Hungry?”

Neither one of them had finished dinner, and now that he thinks about it, he could probably handle food, so he follows Ilya to the kitchen and watches from the island as he plates Shane a snack from his carefully meal prepped side of the fridge. Waves a hand at the leftover boxes.

“Will you eat tomorrow?”

Shane shakes his head, “no I’d prefer to follow my normal routine with optional skates starting this weekend.”

Ilya heats up what he can from the boxes and adds it together on one plate and sits next to Shane.

“You have any plans for tomorrow?” Shane asks after a few minutes of silence interspersed with the sounds of them chewing. Wonders if Ilya would be ok with him making a shared calendar like his parents had for their schedules. That way he could easily figure out when he should be pretending to live elsewhere or just be Roz’s teammate hanging out. Vetoes the idea of being that boring to Ilya in their second month of marriage.

Ilya raises an eyebrow at him, swallows his bite of food.

“Sleep in. Work out. Nap,” He drawls out the next word, “relax…Enjoy last day of freedom, unless… my husband has better idea?”

“Cool, no, I had just planned to stay here too.”

“Ok,” he presses another kiss to Shane’s cheek, collects all the now empty dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Shane finds some Lysol wipes under the sink and wipes the island down. Puts the container back under the sink. Stands there not sure what to do with himself as Ilya finishes up with the dishwasher. Ilya and him have only had stolen moments in hotel rooms and the occasional day at best here and there at each other ‘s places over the years. Yes, they spent the summer together but even that was first pure excitement and relief at just having time. Followed by frenzied efforts to line everything they needed up for this year in a very brief period.

He’s really not sure how the day-to-day stuff works, now that they are in the same house in the same city on the same team. Doesn’t want to monopolize or demand Ilya’s time and affection away from what was his normal life, despite not wanting to let Ilya out of his sight.

“You think very loud.” Ilya’s done with the dishwasher and had caught him standing there.

“It’s been a long day.” He deflects. “I’m going to go take a shower”

He leaves the door to the spacious ensuite in their bedroom open as he undresses, separates his clothes into the proper hampers, and Ilya appears in the doorway as he is testing the temperature of the water in the big walk in shower.

“Do you want-“

“Yes.”

This part he can do. This part shuts off his brain. They are good at this. Good together.

Ilya’s stripping off his clothes and at least tossing them in a hamper, even if they should really be separated.

But then Ilya is backing him into the shower, Shane’s clutching the back of his neck with one hand, moaning into Ilya’s mouth as they kiss, sharp and frantic. The water from the shower hits them both and Shane blinks it out of his eyes. He let’s Ilya walk them towards the shelf built into the tile wall, Shane and Ilya’s bath supplies neatly lined up from where Shane had stocked everything in all the free time he had in Boston alone last week. Ilya lets him go for a brief moment to fumble off the cap off the lube and Shane uses his free hand to explore the tight planes of Ilya’s pecs and abs as water runs down them getting a gratifying gasp out of Ilya.

 But soon enough Ilya’s nipping at Shane’s lip for entrance and wrapping one large hand around both their dicks, stroking them both. Shane doesn’t even try and last long, finishing over Ilya’s hand and cock during one firm stroke. Ilya lets him go, focused on his own release, Shane can feel the heat of him as he cums against Shane’s stomach, before it’s washed away by the shower.

Ilya breathes deep against him for a moment coming down from his pleasure.

“Good?” He asks quietly into the shell of Shane’s ear.

Shane nods, “yes.”

They take turns running soap over each other, and by the time Ilya helps rinse conditioner out of Shane’s hair, Shane is feeling pleasantly tired instead of tightly wound.

-

“Мне холодно без тебя, вернись.” Ilya whines, voice rough with sleep as Shane tries to disentangle himself from Ilya’s arms early the next morning.

“What does that one mean?” Shane’s Russian lessons so far never covered any of the things Ilya actually said to him. Probably because half the stuff he said was straight filth and not exactly what the average lesson covered.

“You are leaving me cold and alone, Hollander. So mean to me. Come back. It is too early.” Ilya mutters as he buries his head in Shane’s indented pillow. The sight is ridiculously endearing.

Shane heads to the bathroom, and while washing his hands he tries to remember where he left his cell phone last night.

Ilya shoots him a look of utmost betrayal as he tries to quietly open the bedroom door.

“I’m coming right back.”

He finds his cell phone close to dead on the coffee table and heads back to the bedroom, plugs it in on the charger by the bed. Crawls back into bed and Ilya claims Shane’s chest as his new pillow. Shane runs his fingers through Ilya’s curls and falls back to sleep.

His cell ringing wakes them both up a few hours later. Ilya glares murder at it as Shane shifts to grab it, answers before he checks caller id.

“Shane! Finally, I’ve been calling all summer.”

Hayden’s voice cuts through the quiet of the morning. Shane’s been putting off this call for almost three months now with short texts, needing time personally, and being so busy with Ilya.

“Oh, hey Hayden.”

Ilya mouths what might be, you ok? to Shane, when Shane waves him off he slips out of bed to the bathroom.

When Hayden doesn’t exactly seem to know what to say next, Shane asks about Jackie and the kids and Hayden’s still getting him up to date on them all when Ilya comes back any trace of relaxation gone as he sits next to Shane and Shane flips on speakerphone so it’s easier for Ilya to hear.

When that lengthy topic had finally run its course, Hayden seemed to start getting to the point.

“I guess you’re in Boston by now?”

“I flew down over a week ago. Had to handle medical, my new gear, find a place to live. Captain’s skates start tomorrow.”

“Look,” Hayden pauses for a long moment, “I really am sorry about what happened.”

“I believe you.”

“I know you’re not gay, Coach and most of the rest are fucking assholes.”

Ilya’s glowering at his knees next to him.

Shane’s not sure how he’s supposed to answer that, considering he is gay and they were assholes. And they let him get majorly injured during a game. That was the most concerning thing, slightly less lucky and it could have been career ending. Then what would have been the fucking point of hiding all these years anyway.

“Um.” He doesn’t try and lie. Or say anything really.

“So Boston.”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone’s really pissed about that too. It’s really not good, Shane.”

“OK.” That’s not even remotely surprising.

“Why Boston? Is this about that Lily girl you’ve been obsessively texting for years?”

Ilya flinches next to him at the sound of one of their fake names. Glares even more, which Shane didn’t think was possible.

“You want to bring up my sex life after what just happened?” Shane manages to sputter out a little horrified and trying to deflect again.

“Good point. Sorry.”

“But seriously, you have to work with the asshole of all assholes.”

“Dallas Kent is still in Toronto. Not on the Raiders.”

“I meant Rozanov.”

“I’m positive Kent is more of an asshole than Rozanov is. Rozanov and Marleau at least came to apologize when I was in the hospital, that’s more than I can say for everyone but you and J.J.”

“J.J. is also really pissed about Boston.”

“What do you want to me say Hayden?” he can feel some of the same anger and exhaustion bubbling up that lead to this mess in the first place. “Raiders management was more than willing to make sacrifices to get me on board. Coach LeClaire was informed of the locker room atmosphere in Montreal and didn’t like how Theriault handled it. I’m not saying people wouldn’t have an issue here too. I’m sure some would. I can’t think of a team that wouldn’t. But it’s different. They are a real contenders for playoffs ever since Rozanov was drafted. I’m not trying to build up a new fucking team only for them to fucking forget I won them two fucking cups in a row.” Even Scott had teammates that had requested a trade, not wanting to share a locker room with him despite most of the Admirals’ loud support.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know.”

“Seriously, Shane you have to play with Rozanov.” Now Hayden’s trying to keep the conversation going. But he did not choose the right topic to dig in deep.

Ilya grabs his hand where it’s picking at the duvet cover aggressively and interlinks their fingers together.

This is not what he wanted to do on his last day off.

“Look I’m not discussing Rozanov with you right now. He’s the Raiders’ Captian, the team seems to love him the little I’ve heard, and he’s been helpful since he got word I was traded.”

“Shane-“

“I need to go do my yoga routine, give Jackie my best.”

He hangs up before Hayden can protest more, leans back against the headboard.

“Fuck.” He draws the ‘u’ sound out in frustration.

Takes a deep breathe.

Ilya’s still clutching his hand.

Takes another deep breath.

Leans over to kiss murderous glare off his husband's face.

-

Eventually Ilya goes to shower and Shane does start his normal Yoga routine in the middle of the living room, which seemed to really capture Ilya’s attention once he came down to start breakfast. Because every time Shane shifts into a new position and glances towards Ilya, Ilya’s tracking his movements, gaze heated.

“Can we please just try and enjoy the rest of the day?” He asks as they both sit for breakfast. “I don’t feel like talking about Hayden or the Metros right now.”

Ilya frowns, but agrees.

They instead spend breakfast discussing what Shane could expect from LeClaire’s coaching style once practices get into full swing. Shane’s not crazy at the idea that Ilya might be moving positions or even lines because Shane’s here now, but Ilya’s not putting up with his concerns. He reminds Shane that nothing has been officially decided until Coach sees them practice together and months ago when this was all a vague dream Coach had made sure Ilya was fine with the possibility.

Shane grudgingly lets it go. In the end they will both accept what’s best for the team and make it work. He’s just getting really tired of both of them having to sacrifice shit left and right.

After breakfast they both hit Ilya’s home gym, and Shane starts feeling less mad with more energy he burns.

True to fashion of the day, his mom calls as they are napping on the couch after lunch later.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Yuna.” Ilya says cheerfully into the phone, before smacking a kiss on Shane’s cheek and excusing himself to the home office he has set up, for Shane to stay and have privacy. HI ILYA echoing out of the phone in response.

“How’s it going, Honey?”

“It’s a lot. I’m not sure how I would have done this without Ilya.”

“Have you met anyone else on the team yet?”

“Marleau and Ilya had dinner with me yesterday. It didn’t go great, but it wasn’t a complete disaster.” He took a deep breath and brought up the next disaster before his mom could dig too deep into that. “and I talked to Hayden this morning. I guess everyone really hates me now that I’m supposedly gay and a Raider. Hayden’s damn sure I’m straight though. Made sure to tell me that.”

Shane can hear his mom sniff thickly and she sounds a little choked up when she switches topics.

“How’s it going with Ilya? Now that he’s home?”

“Good, I mean it’s a big adjustment for both of us but I think it’s going well. I’ve been apartment hunting and he looked through all the information I had, and we decided on one. Put in an offer today. So hopefully that will be settled soon. So Ilya doesn’t have to put his life on hold until I have a place to stay.”

His mom is quiet for a bit, like she’s choosing her words carefully.

“I don’t think Ilya’s looking for any reason to kick you out of the house, Shane. Even for a night or two. He seemed entirely thrilled while he was here at the idea of you moving in with him. Did he say or do something otherwise?”

“Well, no. But…”

“If he has teammates over or throws a party its not strange that you are there too. You just said you had dinner with him and Marleau in public. You’re on the same team now and he’s told people you both are friendly. And once you get the charity up and running you’ll have another excuse.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“You’ll feel better once you start playing again.”

“You sound like Ilya, that’s what he said.” Shane grumbles at being out numbered.

That earned him a small warm laugh.

“How’s dad?”

They talk for a bit longer before his Mom lets him go.

-

Ilya’s office is filled books, which had surprised Shane initially, but then Ilya had all sorts of layers that people didn’t always assume right about, so it’s less and less shocking each time Shane looks around. 80% of them are in Russian so he’s not sure what Ilya’s packed his bookshelves with though.

Right now though he’s busy typing on his laptop, brow furrowed in thought. Looks up at Shane when he knocks on the door frame.

“Yuna is good?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He folds his laptop closed and stalks close to Shane. Shane tugs him in close and kisses him hard. He’s not taking anymore calls for the rest of the fucking day.

Chapter End Notes

Мне холодно без тебя, вернись

=

I'm cold without you, come back

Via Google translate and various sites where I was trying to look up affectionate was to convince someone to stay in bed with you in Russian

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

Ilya somehow beats him to the Warrior Ice Arena despite leaving the house at least 20 minutes after Shane, he also parks like a fucking asshole taking up two parking spots with one of his flashy sports cars. He had the interior customized to match the Raiders’ team colors.

Shane is super tempted to park blocking him in with the Land Rover and then take extra long in the locker room so Ilya has to wait, but then assumes that’s not really what is expected from Shane Hollander Canada’s Golden Boy of Hockey on his first day towards his biggest rival and new teammate even with how extremely mild of a prank it would be. He’s still debating the idea in his head when Marleau raps his knuckles against his driver window making Shane jump slightly. He and Ilya are ridiculously early anyway, and he did not expect anyone else to be showing up at this time.

“Hey, man.” Marleau says as he leans close once Shane rolls the window down. “Everything cool, you’ve been sitting here for a few minutes.”

“Oh, yeah.” Shane pauses. “I was just thinking about blocking Rozanov’s car.”

Anything to possibly avoid talking about dinner two days ago.

Marly snorts and grins at him.

“Oh, we can do fucking better than that.”  Marly says pulling out his keys from his pocket and finding one specific key, “I’ve got his spare key for this one and several of the guys are pulling in soon.” He half turns as another car pulls in on the other side of Marly’s. Followed by another.

“Did I get the time wrong? Why is everyone here?”

Marly laughs again, but takes mercy on Shane, “Everyone is dying to meet you and see you and Roz in the same room. I’m pretty sure we’re going have the best attendance for a captain’s skate we’ve ever had.”

“Oh.”

“Well,” Marly smacks the side of Shane’s door, “Go block our Cap’s lambo, what are you waiting for?”

By the time he’s wedged his Land Rover so close to Ilya’s car, there’s no way Ilya could move it without doing damage to both their vehicles, Marly’s standing near a few people that based on build and height are clearly other players.

Shane grabs his bag and walks over to the group. So far this is not how he had planned for his morning to go, he had been aiming to get here so early he’d have an empty locker room before the chaos descended.

He at least on an academic level knew who all these guys were, he’s played against them all before. No one new so far.

Marly is currently half hanging over Hammersmith’s shoulder negotiating over speaker phone with a woman on Hammersmith’s phone. Connors and St. Simon are listening intently.

“Wait a sec, let me ask.” Marly looks over at Shane, “how do you feel about signing 50 Hollander jerseys for charity this week? Because Amie from social media and outreach says we can pile and cover Roz’s car full of your merch as long as you’re willing to sign a bunch of jerseys personally.”

“Oh. Ok. I can do that.”

He stands there awkwardly, as Marly and Hammersmith finish up their deal, and Connors and St. Simon stare at him.

“Great, no Amie, we’ll make Connors go grab them thanks.”

“Why do I have to get them?”

“We’re saving you from the embarrassment of accidently telling Hollander about that poster of him you have on your wall.”  Hammersmith helpfully chimes in. 

Conners glares at Hammersmith who is widely grinning. Marlys snorting in laughter into his shoulder. St. Simon gives him a shove and a little wave good-bye.

“Um.” Said Shane intelligently. Not sure how to respond to that.

“Eh, he doesn’t have it on his wall anymore, Hollander that was like years ago. Before he was drafted.”

“Oh, OK..” He still wasn’t sure what to think about that.

 But Marley was moving on with introductions which made things easier.

“Hollander the kid we just sent to do our bidding is Connors, this old man here is Smithy or Hammersmith, St. Simon or Simons.”

“Hey. Nice to meet everyone.”

“Roz know you’re here, yet?”

“Ignore this dumbass” Hammersmith says while hitting Saint on the arm, “he seems to think Roz is going to murder you on sight.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you so early in the season.” Shane mutters.

Smithy snorts and grins at him.

“He’s fucking with Roz’s car.” Simons points out the obvious.

“I’m pretty sure I’m fucking with it more,” cuts in Marly still laughing.

Soon enough Connors returned with a full cardboard box of Raiders jerseys with Hollander clearly across the back of them and the A on the front.  He didn’t get to stay, off to get the next box. Marley clicked open Ilya’s doors, grabbed an armful and started cheerfully draping them over every inch of the seats and pinning between the visors. Carefully at least, Shane was fairly sure Ilya adored his car collection and it wasn’t cheap by any means, and wouldn’t be thrilled with any possible damage. But Marly also had a key so Ilya probably didn’t give a damn if his friend had access.

When Connors arrived with the next box Marly cranked the car up, automatically going to turn down the sound system that had started to blast Russian club music the second the key turned at what would have been an ear-splitting level. Then he cracked the windows to start pinning jerseys over each window as Smithy made sure Shane’s last name could clearly be seen.

Shane half heartly helped dump the third box messily over the front passenger seat, cringing a bit at the mess, before Marly rolled the windows back up, turned the car off and locked it back up.

“Alright, fucking good enough. Some of us have to get set for media and some of us need to remember how to play hockey so Hollander doesn’t run back to Canada in horror after getting on the ice with us.” Marly says ushering everyone away and out the parking garage.

-

Ilya was deep in conversation with someone from the Boston Raider’s media team, while they worked on clipping a microphone to his base layer undershirt. Ilya caught his eye as soon as he walked in trailing behind Marly and Smithy. Shane gave him a slight nod that he was fine, and Ilya continued on talking while pointing to a locker across the room with the standard Raiders name plaque, except this one of course said Hollander 24 next to the little Raiders logo. He dropped his bag in the cubby and glanced at who was next to him on both sides.  Rozanov 81 was to his right, with Marleau to Ilya’s right. Smithy on Shane’s left. He tries not to think about how completely and utterly relieved he is to be next to Ilya. And if that’s going to come back and bite them in the ass in the long run.

He shifts his new gear around until it’s organized how he needs it to be because currently it was all wrong. He was pleased that he was able to keep his number with the trade though.

-

Boston Raiders’ social media team was on top of things and earlier than Shane had expected.

Across the locker room the media team now has Ilya in front of a camera and is asking his thoughts on the Raiders’ acquiring Hollander, how this might affect team dynamics and Ilya’s thoughts on playing with his almost decade long rival.  Ilya’s smirking with unholy glee and Shane can only imagine what he’s going to end up saying before the interview is over.

Before Shane can fully eavesdrop on Ilya someone from the media team is handing him a mic pack for his own interview and moving him into an opposite section of the room.

He gives polite generic media trained answers, how he’s looking forward to exploring his new team’s dynamics, no he doesn’t know what Coach’s plans are for positions and lines, how he’s always respected Rozanov on the ice and how he hopes they bring that opposing energy against other teams now. How he’s going to do what the team needs to be successful.

He doesn’t say a word about the Metros and thankfully no one asks.

The locker room starts filling up more and more until every single locker with a name at the top has a body in the room somewhere. Its loud and chaotic, Ilya’s in the middle of about five people joking and laughing and wrestling.

Smithy settles next to him at his own locker and gives him a friendly clap on the back but leaves him alone to do his own thing.

He’s able to start putting on his gear, but it’s a slow process, every few minutes someone new comes over to say hi and introduce themselves. Despite everyone being friendly Shane’s still tense and worried about accidently saying the wrong thing. Some people take a few shots at the general intelligence of the Metros team and office letting Shane go.  He just nods in agreement to those comments. Who knows what stupid thing he would end up saying about that. Eventually the locker room has run out of new people looking to introduce themselves and most have made their way to their own lockers.

If anyone is expecting or hoping for a fight or clash between him and Ilya, they will be sorely disappointed.  Though Shane’s pretty sure they have a full audience pretending not to watch when Ilya starts to approach.

“Ah, Hollander,” Ilya begins amusement evident in his voice as strides over to his locker, “excited to finally play on team with best player in the league?”

“Well, I’m here now Rozanov, so let me know how it feels a few games from now once you’ve had a chance to try it.”

Ilya claps him on his shoulder and laughs.

-

The arena is closed to the public for this first Captain’s skate, but the media team has set up various cameras to get the team stretching, running drills and casual l

scrimmages from all angles.  In the stands Coach LeClaire and some of his assistant Coaches are camped out watching.

“They always come to these?” Shane asks Marly as he skates by where Shane’s stretching, cocking his head toward where LeClaire and Co are.

“Nah,” Marly’s grinning at him, “we don’t normally have Rozanov and Hollander on the ice at the same time. Everyone is trying to bring their A game. We have a cup to win.”

“Great.”  He mutters. While he still trained over the summer Shane knows that between all the upheavals in his personal life and his injury he’s not up to his normal own high standards.  Isn’t really looking forward to the extra scrutiny.

He forgets his concerns soon enough as Ilya’s voice rings out, demanding some semblance of order on the ice, the team circling up around him without question or argument.

They run some warmup drills, cycling between different groupings and lines and skills. The Raiders have been a real challenge throughout Shane’s career, and he’s pleased at the how most of the drills go. Obviously, it’s new, most people can’t keep up with his speed and precision and there are missed passes and shots, but nothing that can’t be fixed. Everyone will learn how to adjust.

And then there’s Ilya who can and does keep up with him. With him and against him. There’s still misses and mistakes, it’s only his second time playing with Ilya and they have very different styles. It needs work, but Shane can feel the sheer potential of how great it could be. It’s the most fun he’s had in years on the ice. By the time they do a 5v5 scrimmage with Ilya and him on the same side decimating the other side, it’s clear that Ilya was right and the hockey is going to be fucking amazing if they can improve on this.

When the skate wraps up, Ilya’s crashing into him, celebrating loudly like was a real game not an informal Captain’s skate. Shane lets him for a bit before finally pushing him away. Shane’s smiling too, so it’s hard to attempt to bring Ilya down to reality. The rest of the team seems pleased. Marly and Smithy slapping him on the back and wrestling with Ilya, others bumping gloves. The locker room is loud in a different way it was this morning when they all return.  

A few of the guys are arguing over where to get lunch until Ilya names a swanky steakhouse near Copley Square that he tells Shane he will like, that gains Ilya a look from Marly that Shane doesn’t know how to read. Shane looks up the menu while Ilya’s in the showers, and there’s at least one real meal on the menu that he can eat with his diet, it’s not just all steaks. Gives into the fact that he’s going to have to socialize for a few more hours.  

In the parking garage, with at least half the team still there and a woman about Shane’s age holding a smaller box of Hollander jersey’s that must be Amie from social media and outreach for him to sign, Ilya catches sight of his Lamborghini decked out with Hollander 24 merch.

It takes them a while to leave for lunch because Ilya’s too busy laughing his ass off with Marly to clean up his car.

Chapter End Notes

So I tried to look up how Captian Skates were run in the NHL, I could only find some videos from the Oilers and the Bruins.

ANYWAY
Thank you everyone who has followed, commented and left kudos so far, you guys are the best.

Chapter 12

Hammersmith: Maybe you’re not completely useless Marly…

Marly: here we fucking goooo

Hammersmith: turns out Hollander IS good at hockey

Connors: very new info, never saw that coming

Marly: This is why ROZ is my friend and I only tolerate you assholes

St. Simon: I’m still so confused. They are friends?

-

@BostonRaidersOfficial

WELCOME TO BOSTON SHANE HOLLANDER

Image: Ilya Rozanov’s custom Raider’s themed Lamborghini is completely decked out in HOLLANDER jerseys on the first Captain’s Skate of the year, Shane Hollander’s Land Rover is clearly blocking it in it’s parking spot.

@ScottHunterOfficial

That Lambo looks better with Hollander’s name on it, Rozanov.

@IlyaRozanov81

Is second time I agree with Hunter in history. Sad day.

-

@BostonRaidersOfficial

Boston Raiders’ own HEATED RIVALRY 

Video clip: Smithy and Marly are standing off to the side of the rink sniggering and chirping at Roz and Hollzy who have been playing keepie uppie for about 5 solid minutes now, both absolutely unwilling to give in, looks of deep concentration across their faces.

Connors is in the background trying to remember everyone’s bets.

-

Yuna Hollander: Mastercard just dropped one of their NFL sports reps due to a recent scandal and arrest, they expressed interest in you. Decided to go for a different route. The shoot falls on your days off before official practices start. In New York. You fly in after your skate and will be back home around noon the next day. Still gives you two days off at home with Shane.  Are you interested? It’s time sensitive.

Ilya Rozanov: email me and agent details?

Ilya Rozanov: they did not want Shane?

Yuna Hollander: I’ll email you.  How was your first captain’s skate?

Ilya Rozanov: {Image of HOLLANDER decked out Lambo and a team photo at lunch}

-

HOLLANDER VS. ROZANOV

(2009-2017)

A PRESENTATION BY:

Eric Bennet, Scott Hunter and Carter Vaughn of the New York Admirals, Stanley Cup Winners 2016-2017 season

Slide 5: Rozanov’s favorite Chirps about Scott Hunter an essay

Slide 6: Hollander and Hunter the world’s least dangerous hockey fight

Slide 7: How draft picks work

Slide 8: Why is Hollander shirtless in so many ads, a visual journey

Carter, “Hunter, why did you make slide 8?”

Kip, “Why are these not in chronological order?”

Kip, “He needs shirtless pics to help him get though the pain.”

Carter, “Of Hollander? Not Rozanov?”

Hunter, “Why does everyone think I would even consider Rozanov? Also, you two wouldn’t let me put in that photo of Kip shirtless.”

Carter, “It wasn’t on theme.”

Eric, “You know when you do a group project and not everyone carries their weight?”

Kip, “Pretend I didn’t fucking ask. I feel your pain. So much. I should be doing homework right now.”

-

Kip Grady: So three people on the Admirals, including Scott, have tried to explain your Rivalry lore with Hollander and I don’t get any of it.  They made a PowerPoint. It wasn’t very good, lots of spelling mistakes, except for Bennet’s contribution. But I appreciated the academic attempt. You are both just really fucking good players drafted onto different teams the same year?  You haven’t even fought the guy? Just like insanely impressive hockey?

Ilya Rozanov: Da. I am best player, Hollander is 2^nd best. We were on different teams and now the same. Is simple I think.  

Kip Grady: You spelled Scott Hunter is #1 wrong but I’ll forgive you this time. I know English is a tricky language. Easy to confuse.  

-

@METROSFAN4LIFE

Did Rozanov just say his car looks better with Hollander’s name on it?

Shared: @BostonRaidersOfficial

WELCOME TO BOSTON SHANE HOLLANDER

Image: Ilya Rozanov’s custom Raider’s themed Lamborghini is completely decked out in HOLLANDER jerseys on the first Captain’s Skate of the year, Shane Hollander’s Land Rover is clearly blocking it in it’s parking spot.

@ScottHunterOfficial

That Lambo looks better with Hollander’s name on it, Rozanov.

@IlyaRozanov81

Is second time I agree with Hunter in history. Sad day.

-

Carter Vaughn: I don’t think that powerpoint helped the way you thought it would Scott.

Scott Hunter: idk, I got laid after so I’m counting it as a win.

Carter Vaughn: Kip still doesn’t understand the pain and suffering we are facing.

Carter Vaughn: I think you were getting lucky before the powerpoint and then Kip took pity on you after. Did the shirtless Hollander pics help or hurt your chances?

-

Rozanov: Middlesex Fells reservation 9 AM Wed 13

St. Simon: …what is this?

Marleau: Why the hell not. I’ll be there.

Connors: …what the hell is this?

Hammersmith: got plans with the wife, but she jogs with the dogs out there sometimes. Says its pretty. Have fun.

Rozanov: is hiking trail.

-

Connors: I’m not saying the hockey isn’t fucking amazing, but are we sure Roz wasn’t switched out with a clone this summer. Or a robot.

Hammersmith: fuck off, dumbass

St. Simon: No, no let’s hear the man out.

Marly: I think he’s just…happy?

St. Simon: It’s unnatural

Hammersmith: he’s just growing up…and is happy?

Connors: you sound almost as old as Hunter

Connors: Maybe he’s possessed

Hammersmith: Do we need to get medical to check you out.

St. Simon: Marly you are really going hiking?

Marly: yeah, I usually hang out with Roz on my days off, this is not new

Connors: at nightclubs

Marly: He made me go to the aquarium once years ago

Marly: Also I told you fuckers he was going through some shit last year like five fucking times.

St. Simon: Exactly. So why is he like this now?

-

Marleau: 9AM?

Rozanov: Is better than 6AM

Marleau: not wrong

-

Ilya Rozanov: what is name of bar you work at?

Kip Grady: The Kingfisher.

Ilya Rozanov: You work on 11^th? At night.

Kip Grady: yes

Ilya Rozanov: will stop by. Have work in NYC.

Kip Grady: looking forward to it

-

Jackie: You are welcome to come over after the 1^st Montreal v. Boston game. Just let me know so I can shop for food you like.

Shane: Thanks Jackie. I’ll try. I appreciate it. Sorry for how tense things have been. How are all the kids, the new baby?

Jackie: Oh, Shane I know things have been crazy for you the last few months. It’s fine…Hayden’s not taking all the you and Rozanov photos well though.

Shane: the team photos? The photos of us spending time on the same team…with other teammates?

Jackie: touché

-

Man in the Crease

-Based on the aggressive social media campaign Boston’s been running since acquiring Hollander, this might be one of the most eagerly awaited starts of the season.

-No question about it. Hollander looks healthy, no lingering issues from his accident. The team has been showing up full force just for Captian skates.  Coach Leclaire has got to be frothing at the mouth to get those two into their first game together.

-Scott Hunter is facing-

“I was listening to that, Kip.”

“It is way to early in the season for my boyfriend to be feeling this sorry for himself.”

-

Mom: Wear your Reebok if you’re going to be jogging publicly along the river like that.

Shane: Fine.

Mom: I’ll just text Ilya.

Shane: Ok. I’ll wear them. 

-

Yuna: Could you make sure Shane wears his Reebok when jogging.

Ilya: does he need to post photos? I will send you some.

Yuna: All set for mastercard?

Chapter 13

Ilya buries his head in his pillow with a groan as Shane’s phone, for some god damn reason goes off an hour earlier than normal on the last day of Captian skates.

Shane’s apparently awake and moving around next to him, thankfully he turns off the alarm immediately before it could start another round. Unfortunately, he turns on the lamp next to his side, the soft glow lighting up most of the bed.

Instead of getting out of bed to do something that probably didn’t need to be done at four in the morning, Shane starts pressing soft open-mouthed kisses across Ilya’s back and shoulders, slowly tempering Ilya’s initial annoyance at being awoken.

“Shane.” His voice is rough with sleep, as he tries to turn over without completely pushing Shane off him.

“Sorry, I know you hate waking up this early, but you’re going to be out of town tonight and I just thought…” Ilya squints up at him, blinking sleep from his eyes as Shane keeps talking, “you can go back to sleep if you want.”

Shane’s blushing and it makes his freckles stand out more than usual. Shane’s also naked except for a perfectly fitted pair of black boxer briefs, which was not the same clothes of an old KHL shirt of Ilya’s he’d taken a liking too and a pair of loose sweatpants he had originally gone to bed in. They highlight the thick muscles of Shane’s thighs and ass with each movement and Ilya tracts each shift with great interest.

Shane shifts to kneel by his side, so pretty an offering for Ilya.

 He’s also got lube and a condom laying near where he’s waiting. The chances of Ilya going back to sleep now were nonexistent.

Instead, he pulls a more than willing Shane on top of him, kissing him lazily and palming him through the briefs, feeling him harden under the cotton. Stops, lets Shane pull away from him to take Ilya’s sweatpants off, then crawls back on top of Ilya. Ilya can feel the heat of his breath as he kisses his way up Ilya’s chest. Wraps a hand around Ilya’s dick, rubs the head with his thumb softly. It’s a tease at best but Ilya’s growing hard in Shane’s hand. Relaxes into the pillows and lets Shane touch him.

After a bit he starts working the briefs down Shane’s fucking amazing thighs, finds a way to hitch his leg up high enough to use his foot to help pull them off completely. Shane’s not kissing him anymore, and Ilya will forgive that crime only because Shane is fumbling around with one hand on the bed trying to find the lube he had done his best to make convenient.  Finds it and the foil packet, straddles Ilya like he should, and Ilya grips and palms the globes of Shane’s ass.  Shane works himself open for him, takes his time getting himself as slick as possible for Ilya’s cock. Ilya is helpless to look away from Shane, wouldn’t want too anyway if he could.

Finally, Shane’s got the condom open and is rolling it over Ilya.  Takes Ilya’s dick in his hand and lines himself up with Shane’s hole, sinks down slowly, and Ilya can’t fucking think. His husband is hot slick tight around him as he takes every inch, so good for Ilya. So desperate.

Then he starts rolling his hips, fucking himself on Ilya, his breathing growing harsher as he does, gasping Ilya’s name like it’s fucking holy, telling Ilya how good he feels, how big, begging despite setting the pace. Shane’s dick is hard and leaking across the planes of Ilya’s abs, but he’s going to have to wait. Ilya’s given up on English muttering a litany of swears and praises up at him in Russian. Pulls him down as much as he can to kiss him roughly as he comes in his tight heat. Tries not to leave any bruises that Shane might have to explain away in the locker room as much as he wants too.  

Shane’s still hard between them when Ilya slips out of him and tries to quickly deal with the condom. He pushes his husband on his back, pinning Shane to the bed with one arm, works his way down his abs to the trail of hair leading to his cock, kissing and rubbing as he does.  Licks the length of his cock, teases enough to have Shane wrap his fingers into Ilya’s hair eager for Ilya to do more, before taking Shane fully in his mouth.  

-

“Shane. Is fine. We checked last night.” Ilya’s at the stove making them breakfast.

“I’m just double checking you have everything, Ilya.” Shane ignores his comment and is flipping through his tickets, airport pickup, his call sheet for the commercial, hotel plans, his passport and work papers. When he’s satisfied with the packet of paperwork, he grabs the folder and Ilya’s carryon and packs it all away in the car that Ilya was using this week. He’d be driving directly to the airport after practice.

He’s got breakfast plated for Shane by the time he gets back from the garage.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, Shane’s got that look on his face like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to say it.

It’s the quietest breakfast they’ve had since the day Shane met the rest of the team at the first Captain’s skate. He’s not really sure what the problem is, the real start of the season is just days away and so far Shane’s been meshing pretty well with the rest of the team on the ice.

“You said you were going to stop by and see Hunter’s boyfriend?”  he finally asks.

Shane hasn’t met Kip personally but out of hockey players on teams other than the Metros, and Ilya himself, Shane knows Hunter the best between All-Stars, the Olympics, and various awards shows. He’s not sure why Shane still seems…off.

“Da, after filming. He works late at bar. Have a bad American beer or two, then I go back to hotel, more filming in morning. Will not be partying.”

“Yeah, ok.” Shane pauses, “Isn’t it a gay bar though?” He says it like it’s a foreign word.

Hollander you spent the morning riding my dick. You woke me up, just to ride my dick. The one time you seriously dated a woman you could only get it up thinking of me.

Maybe not the best response to Shane’s concern and years of locker room culture. He goes with the next best option instead.

“Is not the first or last gay bar I have gone to, Shane.” He thinks about Shane coming out to him, how despite them hooking up for years this was new for Shane in a way it is not for Ilya. It’s nothing compared to the relative safety and ease that picking up women has been over the years but…

“No, I know you went to support Hunter in Vegas-“

“Was not first time in gay bar, Shane. Even Moscow had gay bars, maybe not in future, is getting worse, but is not point. Kingfisher is not club is not..what is word flamboyant…” He struggles over the pronunciation but makes tries to make his point.  A pride flag or two, and the chance a man might hit on him but, Ilya’s more than capable of saying no.

“No, I know. But everyone on the fucking internet-“

“Is going to say I am fucking Hunter’s boyfriend? That I am gay? Because, I have one beer while he is working? I do not think so. Is Monday night after work to see friend. Not Friday night to find hookup. I go to bars with Marly all the time. No one thinks we are fucking. Maybe if Hunter had a hot sister?”  

“You only hooked up with people on Friday nights? And you’ve never gone to a gay bar with Marly, that is something you would have told me.”

“Hollander.  Shane. You know what I mean. Have never had issue getting a woman in my bed any day of week. Which Is why people will not think this just because I visit Kip.”

“The Metros thought I was gay for way less.” That was a fresh wound that definitely hadn’t started to heal and wasn’t really the same situation.  This was also the man that had insisted on secluded hotel rooms and bought a whole complex just to hide a maybe four times a year in that specific location hookup. So, the concern wasn’t new. Ilya shared most his concerns. But. Ilya’s been with women very publicly for years.  He also had a reputation of doing whatever the fuck he wanted. He also wasn’t something of a trailblazer for Asian-Canadians in hockey, Russians had been drafted in much higher numbers over the years, barring their own political issues to weather. So, if he wanted to hang out with a friend at a friend’s job for an hour or two he was going to do that. He did not have the time or good enough English for this conversation right now, but he didn’t want to leave Shane like this either.

“Hunter has teammates go there to drink. They are not all gay.”

“I know. I know.” Shane’s tense across the table from him but not fully panicking. The tiny furrow on his brow is the one he gets when he’s missed a shot, he’s more angry than anything else.

“I will be careful, yes?”

“I trust you, I just…” Shane trails off and goes back to eating breakfast, spearing pieces of egg white with force. He finishes eating before Ilya does and is busy filling the dishwasher with his dishes in polite Canadian rage, all carefully controlled and bottled.

Ilya comes up beside him with his own dishes and hands them over when Shane puts a hand out.

Waits until Shane’s got the dishwasher to his liking before he grabs his husband’s hand, rubs the spot on his ring finger where if the world was a fair place that conversation would have never been had, where Shane and he could wear their wedding rings to work without concern, where Ilya could bring Shane home to Russia instead of summers hidden in Canada.

Pulls him in close. Shane needs to leave soon for practice to be ridiculously early.

“I’ll call you tonight when I am at hotel. Ok?”

“And when you land.”

“Of course, Solnyshko.”

“я тебя люблю.” Shane’s been practicing, his accent is still terrible. Ilya will never get tired of hearing it.

“I love you too.”  Ilya lets him go, watches as he grabs his gym bag and comes back for a kiss, that Ilya deepens for a moment before pulling back.

-

It’s the last Captain’s skate, last time Ilya actually has a say in how they scrimmage on the ice before it’s Coach’s world for the rest of the season. He plays against Hollander, nothing easy about it, a physical reminder of why the whole hockey world has pitted them against each other for years now. There’s nothing quite like the rush of fighting Hollander for the puck or getting him against the boards before skating off.  His side of the scrimmage beats Hollander’s 3-2 by the of the practice.

The locker room is loud everyone psyched about the season and the few days off. Shane’s quiet next to him, annoyed at the 1 point loss like it was a real game. Occasionally nodding to something Smithy says about his wife from his other side, each nod flicking water from Shane’s hair wet from the shower, his hair longer than it’s ever been. He’s taking his sweet time toweling off and getting dressed, droplets of water doing illegal things down Shane’s bare neck and chest, ignoring Ilya next to him completely. Asshole. Ilya’s got a plane to catch and doesn’t have time to stand here as Shane looks edible, and then Marly’s shoving some models insta account in his face, that is a very tiny bikini, asking if he’s free to double date with her and her equally bikini’d friend tomorrow when he’s back from New York.

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?” Hollander asks, interrupting Marly’s run down. Stopping Ilya from having to make up an excuse.

“Hollander is right, Marly.”

“Fuck off, have fun in New York.” Shane says, before going back to getting dressed at a glacier pace. Folding his dirty clothes neatly. Over the years Ilya has associated Shane folding his clothes before some of the best sex of Ilya’s life, that eyeing his husband cleaning up his locker is turning him on way more than it should.

He really does need to leave, there’s no way in hell he wants to explain to Yuna that he missed his flight for one of the biggest sponsors he’s ever gotten because he was staring at her son folding his clothes at work while fending off an Instagram hookup from Marly.

-

The Mastercard commercial is professional and fast paced from the moment they have an assistant pick him up from the airport, he shoots a quick text to Shane that he’s landed while in the town car, ignores Marly's texts about the instagram model,  then it’s right into hair and makeup and then off to shoot.  It’s not his first time on camera but it is the biggest name he’s represented outside of Adidas.  It’s a lot of directions all at once from different people, he gets why Shane’s reluctant to do as many ads as he does. He’s still not sure what he’s doing here, why Shane’s not the one pretending to dine in a restaurant, play tourist in NYC, sit in a fake plane seat, and swim in a roof top pool with a tall busty actress named Kora. Reshoots and voice overs set for early in the morning and will probably take all day up to his flight back to Boston.

He’s exhausted by the time he’s allowed to leave having been up since four in the fucking morning, similar exhaustion that he’s felt before in playoffs but without the thrill that made it worth it.

He waves off the town car driver offered by the contract and gets a taxi to two blocks away from the Kingfisher being as careful as he can for Shane’s sake, pays in cash and walks the rest of the way.  

He’s correct on his assumptions from the discussion with Shane that morning. The whole place is fairly empty and the booths that are occupied look like regulars. It’s 11:30 on a Monday, only people with odd work hours or tourists are looking to have a drink right now even in a city as lively as New York. Kip’s slouched behind the bar, a thick book propped up between two napkin holders, the large tv behind him is playing recaps from the Admirals winning playoff streak. This time next year, he’s going to make sure those recaps are from the Raiders. Other than the pride flag on the wall and two men in one of the booths holding hands, it’s literally just a bar on a slow night.

Kip glances up at the sound of the door closing behind Ilya. The polite grin that doesn’t quite reach Kip’s eyes morphs into a wide smile that does as Ilya slides onto a bar stool in front of him.

“I was wondering if you were going to make it. You texted hours ago.”

“Very long day. Am tired. But is important to me you remember what an amazing hockey player looks like, so I stop by.”

“Anything you say jackass,” Kip’s laughing at him, “drink?”

He settles on a coke. Hollander has infected him with his boring and responsible tendencies. He’s pretty sure there is no cure. Isn’t ever going to bother to look for one anyway.

“What are you doing in New York anyway, it’s not hockey related is it?” He asks after Ilya fully relaxes onto the bar stool and has a sip of coke.

“Mastercard commercial.”

Kip gives a low whistle.

“Exactly,” he acknowledges.

For every Scott Hunter (before he came out) and Shane Hollander scoring throngs of sponsors and ads and magazine covers and being popular enough to be household names outside of hockey there are people like Ilya, famous enough that some companies will overlook the wild partying and womanizing and questionable English or are sports based, but realistically, he’s not American generic or Golden Boy safe enough to pump into every household in the country for something other than his skills on the ice. And hockey money didn’t last forever, Yuna had showed him some statistics on how between 16-78% of professional athletes either filed bankruptcy or had major financial difficulties after retiring.  Then she had made a very long list of queer friendly sponsors should they get exposed. It was a much shorter list than she wanted. Hunter was probably taking a massive loss compared to past years after recent events.

“So, you’ve got to be tired of this question by now, but all of Scott’s friends are freaking the fuck out and I’m obligated to ask, what the deal is with Shane Hollander trading to Boston.” Kip looks like he doesn’t care, it’s refreshing.

“He wanted too?” Ilya gives a little shrug.

Kip laughs again a little too long, like he hasn’t had much to laugh about lately.

 “How is school?” He changes the topic, grabs Kip’s textbook, sticks a napkin in to hold his place, and flips through it.

Grad school is great apparently, and Kip happily latches on to the topic. It’s nice to talk about something other than hockey stats and hot women for once.

“And everything else?” he waves a hand vaguely, but Kip’s eyes narrow and assess him much like they did back in Vegas when he’d offered to keep in touch with Kip and had honestly stumbled his way through thanking Scott for his bravery and how much it meant to some people, away from prying eyes.

“Don’t know yet?” Kip starts, and Ilya must of given him some kind of look because, “hear me out. The Admirals have mostly been very supportive, Scott hasn’t lost any close friends, just about the opposite. But. In person on occasion and especially online….people are scary as fuck sometimes, death threats, going after my family on social media. But the new season is just starting now, so we have no idea how games are really going to go, and while he renewed his contract with the Admirals for three more years, Mastercard exactly isn’t knocking on Scott’s door. He uh, has a lot of free time now.”

“Da, I see. I googled what PowerPoint was. Was because of free time?”

Kip buries his head in his hands and laughs again.

“Oh see now we are getting into enemy territory, Rozanov, I can’t tell a Raider, deep dark Admiral secrets. But yeah, free time did not help that lovely little endeavor. So many shirtless Hollander pics.”

“Чё за нахуй?” He sputters over a sip of coke. What the fuck?

“Oh, yeah I think Scott got tired of years of strict heteronormativity in the locker room of pretending to be into random girls pics over the years, and just made Eric and Carter stare at your new teammate shirtless for hours. He’s done so many ads with his shirt off…or wet…or both. And the PowerPoint theme was your rivalry so, Carter insisted Scott had to stay on theme.”

“Uh, huh.” How was he supposed to convince Yuna that Shane was never allowed to leave the house in anything less than a parka or full hockey gear while wrapped in a blanket with Ilya’s name monogramed on it.  He also wasn’t sure if that between Kip and more importantly Shane apparently, Hunter had pretty damn good taste in men.

“Where is old man Hunter?”

“He has a bedtime during hockey season.” Kip said with a straight face, but still dead serious.

Ilya blew a raspberry at him like the cool mature-but not as mature as Hunter- secretly married adult that he was.

-

Shane sounds groggy on the phone when he picks up, Ilya’s finally at his hotel and all he wants to do is sleep for the next 24 hours but he’s got to be up in like four and a half hours.  Shane’s probably been asleep for hours.

“How’s everything going?” Shane’s voice quiet and soft.

“Is fine, will tell you when I get home. In hotel now, wanted to say goodnight, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Ilya face plants into one of the beds in the room, and falls asleep fully dressed in minutes to the sound of Shane breathing on the other end of the line.

Chapter 14

Marly’s had a few concussions over the years. No one’s calling him a genius. He graduated high school by the skin of his teeth with hockey always being the focus. Which, admittedly coupled with natural good looks has made him rich and lucky and very happy. But he would like to think that if something is going to hit him in the face time after time he will at least notice it and do something about it.  

In this case that’s Roz…that’s hitting him in the face? Metaphorically? Almost literally?

The point is, Marly thinks he knows a few things.  He’s not making any bets that he’s right for the record.

Roz has or had a girl he had a major thing for years listed in his phone as Jane. This is a fact. The dude, blushed anytime you brought this girl up. He’s seen Roz bored talking to a Victorian Secret model, but he’s texted this girl in airports, before and after games, at nightclubs, team dinners, everywhere with full on single-mindedness he rarely gets off the ice.

Like Marly has at least tried to ditch the bachelor lifestyle a time or two. He dated Alyssa for 7 months in 2010 and Mandy for 4 months in 2014. Roz has never.

Does Marly know what the fuck she looks like? No. Fuck no.

Does Marly know anything about her personality? She puts up with Roz sending her dick pics and filthy messages mostly by telling Roz to fuck off and to stop being an asshole. Sometimes by being equally dirty. She also insults his hockey skills on occasion.

Does he know where she lives? Canada, possibly…Roz has hooked up with her in Montreal and possibly here in Boston.  But even that could be wrong.

Other than that, like most things, Roz does keep his personal life, well really fucking personal. Marly’s introduced Roz to his sister, brother-in-law and baby niece before, Roz has met his parents at least three times. Marly’s meet Svetlana but Svetlana is in a bubble of her own when it comes to Roz.

Roz’s Wikipedia page has told him more about Roz than Roz has. Which is fine. He’s overheard some phone calls on the road, and even with the Russian translation issue, he could tell it’s never pleasant. Then his Dad died last season which impacted Roz visibly. He came back from Russia and the funeral quieter.

Then Shane Fucking Hollander happened.

At least that’s the theory Marly’s running with now.

Jane. Shane. It was like a goddamn Dr. Suess book that his sister reads to his niece.

That. Or Roz has a weird kink for people whose first name ends in -ane. Because he’s obsessed with Hollander now that they are in the same room together. And his mindset has changed.

Roz has always been more of a live fast and die young kind of guy, well at least Marly thought he was.

But since Hollander has rolled into town with his real-estate binders, sport diets, sensible car and ridiculous precision at work, Roz has been different. He’s never really slacked off at the rink, but he’s been better than he’s every played and it’s not in a way that’s trying to one up Hollander, it’s more like he’s trying to prove to Hollander he’s worth playing with.

Roz’s social life has also completely changed. Oh, he’s still going out with the team most of the time, and texts Marly but he’s picky about restaurants and bars now because he drags Hollander out most of the time, has a fraction of the booze he used to drink like water and leaves much earlier in the evening…alone, or Hollander DD’s and drives his way less than normal drunk ass home if Hollander’s out with them (and anyone else that wants a ride, but it’s Roz that always says yes). He hasn’t seen Roz sneak a cigarette at all. And Roz’s ALWAYS looking at the guy. Like tracks his movements any time they are in the same room.

Roz is now scoring sponsorships like Mastercard? Marly has no idea how that plays a role in this theory but he’s throwing it in anyway.

He’s hiking with Hollander, well walking in nature with Hollander, they aren’t like scaling mountains and shit. Which was fun to see City Boy Roz get jumpy at twigs and stuff. But still.

So if Hollander was really kicked out of Montreal for being gay, which is not confirmed anywhere, then maybe Marly’s on to something here. But he’s called around to a few buddies on other teams, from back before he traded years ago, and the rumor mill isn’t giving anything solid other than Montreal can be rough. Hollander has never been caught with a man. Rose Landry didn’t seem like a PR relationship that went bad considering they seem to genuinely like each other on social media, and Hollander has already told Johnson one of the mouthiest rookies at training camp to be fucking polite about her when he asked Hollander ‘how he scored that pussy’.

Also, as far as Marly knows, Roz only likes girls. Like really fucking likes girls, and girls fucking love him. Or people whose name ends in -ane, apparently.

But he’s suddenly bff’s with Scott Hunter’s boyfriend and he doesn’t have any clue how that happened. But it’s on theme for this idea so Marly’s going to run with that too.

-

The first preseason game of the year for the team is against Montreal.  It’s an away game, neutral location in Quebec City this year on the 18th. Coach LeClaire doesn’t even remotely consider Roz or Hollzy for it. Or any of his first two lines at all.  Sports pundits and podcasters are having a fucking field day, running with the idea that Hollander might still be hurt or that Rozanov isn’t handling having his rival on the same team well.  Two massive egos in the same room. Which clashes with all the media the Raiders have been promoting and goes against the fact that no team was going to waste their star veteran players on an out-of-town preseason game. Even if it’s against Montreal and Hollander’s original team.

Which is why they all end up invited to watch the game on ESPN from Roz’s giant ass house.

Marly shows up early, it’s basically muscle memory, hang out or pregame before a party. Roz hasn’t had a party this year, much to Connor’s disappointment, and this isn’t really one today.

This year the team is different too, and Roz as their captain is more locked in after the general disaster of a season last year. Roz is playing better than ever at practice, and Hollzy is fucking magic on the ice. It’s making everyone else shape up a lot. But, even if everyone is locked in hard core for the season, and isn’t drinking or partying as much this year, he’s still pulling into Roz’s long driveway early. It’s basically tradition. Parks next to the Land Rover that he’s started getting very used to seeing next to Roz’s cars. Grabs the expensive bottle of vodka from the passenger seat because, that’s tradition too. Even if there’s a first time ever chance that most people won’t be drinking.

Roz opens the door, casual as fuck in an old Raiders hoodie, sweatpants and bare feet.  Not party Roz for sure.

“Marly.”

“Hey man.”

They do one of those manly half hugs and Marly follows Roz into the living room, Hollzy glances over the top of the couch at their approach.  

“Hey, Hollzy.”

“Marly, hey.” 

He fist bumps Hollander over the top of the couch where he’s sprawled out with a book about the founding of the KHL open over one leg, dressed as casually as Roz but with socks on. Follows Roz to the kitchen to stick the vodka in the fancy rolling bar Roz has against one wall. Helps himself to a beer when it becomes obvious that Roz isn’t going to offer him one. Roz is drinking water.

Pre-game analysis is playing on the tv, and Hollzy’s watching it from the couch, reading his book during commercials. Roz is talking bs with Marly and watching Hollander out of the corner of his eye.

More and more people start showing up, by the time everyone still in town and any WAGs available are all piled in the living room with food and drinks, Roz has claimed the spot on the couch sandwiched between Hollzy and Marly and once the game starts is in a heated debate about Hayden Pike the 15^th best player on the Metros who is playing tonight. Well, they are arguing over what number player he is. Roz has a ranking system for veteran Metros players and strong fucking opinions apparently. Hollzy has opinions too that clash with Roz’s.

“How is he only still only the 15^th best player? Where is he compared to Comeau and Drapeau? Or Stedlund and Berkes…He needs to be higher on this list…”

“I just explained, Hollander.” Roz’s hands are waving dramatically in the air and Marly has to keep shifting towards the arm of the couch to avoid getting smacked.

“Yeah, no one followed all that Roz.” Smithy says goading him on.

“No,” Roz glares at the room, “is important. Wait here.”

Marly’s pretty sure no one was going anywhere but Roz gave them one last glare to stay seated as he walked down the hall and came back with a big whiteboard like coaches used to show plays, that he leaned up against the coffee table to write on.

Anytime the game cut to commercial or a sportscaster he was busy arguing his case with increasing complicated diagrams ranging from shitty chirps they’ve said to who had the worst fucking haircut, Smithy throwing in his 2 cents, Marly took a photo to send to Connors since he was at the game, Feller, Cadyn and Sebbin’s hanging off Roz’s every word.

But that was just Roz being Roz, Marly focused on Hollzy that had settled back in the couch and just let the noise of the room wash over him. Can’t be easy to be in a room full of what used to be your greatest rivals cheering against the team you rebuilt into a two-time Stanley Cup winning team.

Hollzy’s eyes kept flicking between the tv screen with a frown and Roz’s movements with the smallest little smile each time it landed on Roz.

Montreal loses, and Roz is passing out shots in celebration and even Hollzy looks excited, but Marly’s pretty sure Roz tosses back his shot for him.

Hollzy’s one of the last to leave, first team event he’s not one of the first out the door, and once he does leave, Roz basically kicks the rest of the stragglers out.

Marly makes sure everyone’s car is gone before he corners Roz where he’s cleaning up the living room of all things.

“Can you not afford a housecleaner anymore?”

Roz rolls his eyes and shrugs, holds out the trash bag to Marly. Marly throws an empty bottle in. Roz raises and eyebrow and waves a hand like get the fuck on with it.

“I don’t know how to say this Roz.”

“What?” Roz is on guard.

“Is Hollander the same person as Jane?”

Roz doesn’t answer, just stands still clutching the half full trash bag, similar look on his face as when Marly had sent Hollander to the hospital last season.  Fear and anger warring over the curves of his mouth and tightness in his jaw.

It’s enough of an answer that Roz doesn’t have a chirp or a joke. Or a solid ‘no’.

“Hey man, Roz, you’re my fucking brother man, I don’t give a fuck. It’s fine. Really.”

Roz is fucking shaking and Marly’s giving him the most awkward pat on the back, before he pulls the other man in for an even more awkward hug.

“I’m not going to fucking say anything, Roz. We can pretend I never asked.”

“No.” Roz sniffs, and runs a hand under his eyes, and Marly ignores it in favor of putting a paper plate in the bag he’s taken out of Roz’s hand. “Is fine.”

“It’s clearly not fine, Roz.”

“Is complicated.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I will tell you more. But I have to discuss with Shane first.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Um,” Roz lets out a deep breath. “Shane is driving around block, waiting for me to text team is gone.”

“Oh.” Oh fuck, ok. “I’m leaving. Seriously Roz, I won’t say a fucking word to anyone about anything.”

Roz walks him out to his car, still looking pretty shaky. He’s got his cellphone in hand, clutched tightly.

“You and Hollzy have a good rest of your night.”

“Night, Marly.” Roz’s voice is tight with exhaustion.

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

Wow, I can't express how awesome it is to have so many people reading and commenting. I know I haven't answered everyone, but please know I've read them all and deeply appreciate everyone reading.

Shane can see that Ilya’s huddled into his sweatshirt in the cooling evening, sitting on the steps to the front door when Shane drives down the long driveway and parks outside of the garage. The porch light is off but there’s light spilling out of the tall windows casting a glow over Ilya’s stoic profile. He’s got a cigarette in between his fingers he’s just letting burn and when Shane walks up to him, he lets out a deep shaky breath as he stares up at Shane.

Something’s not right, but Ilya’s text to come back to the house had been normal.

He crouches down next his husband and settles close to his side on the steps, stretches out his legs and leans back on the palms of his hands. Ilya takes a last drag off the cigarette and crushes it out on the brick work, curls into Shane’s shoulder.

Shane shifts his body weight so he can rub a hand across his husband’s back, stays quiet and just holds Ilya. It had worked at the cottage to allow Ilya to open up some, he could only wait and see if similar results could be repeated this time.

Sits there on the hard steps in the growing cold, stares out over the yard in the darkness, Ilya safe in his arms.

When he has to shift a bit to stop his leg from falling asleep, Ilya pulls away raising his arms behind his head and stretching, then he’s leaning back in and Shane can feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek and end of day stubble across Ilya’s jaw, before Ilya’s at his lips seeking entrance. Shane closes his eyes and opens to Ilya, letting kiss him fervently.

“Что случилось?”  he asks hoping hearing Russian will get Ilya relax, once Ilya gives him a chance to speak.

Ilya doesn’t answer, presses his lips to Shane’s forehead before standing up and offering Shane a hand up. Keeps holding Shane’s hand as he leads Shane inside. Waits for Shane to toe off his sneakers and then walks him to the living room.

They both sit on the couch, neither of them relaxed, both on the edge of the cushion.

“Ilya, I need you to say something.” Shane was starting to run down all sorts of scenarios in his mind, the problem was, he had never quite seen Ilya act like this before. He’s seen him angry, and happy and scared and in love. And horny of course.

“I do not think this is…bad, ok?” Ilya begins.

“Ok…”

“Marly knows we….” Ilya waves a hand sharply between the two of them. “He knows you are Jane.”

Oh, fuck. He thinks about Montreal. This isn’t Montréal but…

“He knows me little better than most people. By accident. I do not tell him things. But many years, we share hotel rooms, clubs, drink often, other things. Is not common knowledge on team, I think. Just Marly.”

Shane nods, careful controlled breaths, his chest is tight, but it doesn’t feel like Montreal. Ilya’s right here, one large hand on Shane’s thigh, grounding him. The Raider’s front office already knows why Montreal didn’t want him anymore. It’s a fine line of don’t ask don’t tell. It’s not good. But. Fuck.

“How did he…” Fuck he doesn’t want to do this. Things were going so well. Too well, he should have saw this coming, but people aren’t fucking hockey plays and Shane just doesn’t get them most times. They don’t make sense. “How did he react?”

“Was good? Was Marly? I think I want to talk to him. Maybe. If ok with you, Shane. Only if ok with you, always.” Ilya takes a shaky breath next to him, plays with his mom’s cross.

“I uh…”

“We do not need to decide now. Can think on it, yes?”

“He wasn’t angry? That you’ve lied to him for so long? Disgusted, that he had to share a hotel room with a man that wants to fuck other men?”

“No?”

He leans forward and now Ilya’s the one running his hand across Shane’s back soothingly.

“Can we just go to bed and deal with this later, if you think it’s ok for now. Or do I need to call our agents and my mom in case of a potential fallout in the morning?”

“Bed, I think will be fine. Sleep, talk more tomorrow?”

Ilya holds his hand as they walk upstairs to their room. It’s something he does often at home Shane notices. His hand in Shane’s, an arm around his waist, an arm over the back of his chair, fingers at the back of Shane’s neck. Always seeking out ways to touch Shane.

 But, Shane needs a shower and a moment alone as much as he is loft to separate from Ilya even for a few minutes, he showers alone running through a yoga meditation mentally in his mind as he conditions his hair. It helps a bit. Not enough though.

Ilya must of showered in a guest bedroom because his hair is wet and getting his pillow damp from where he’s sprawled out under the blankets, scrolling on his phone, on his side of the bed. Shane’s not sure how the hell anyone can sleep with wet hair and a damp pillow, but Ilya doesn’t seem to ever care.

Shane crawls in next to him and slips in under his arm to rest his head on Ilya’s bare chest, Ilya’s hand going to play with his hair idly. Tries to relax, knows after a few minutes it is going to be a fruitless endeavor.

“Did he text you?”

“Marly?” Ilya asks, “No. He said he would not say anything.”

“Maybe we should both talk to him? Before we have to face him and the rest of the team at the same time?”

“I can call him now? He would come over I think.”

“It’s like almost midnight.”

Ilya looks away from his phone and down at him like Shane is talking nonsense.  

“We have practice tomorrow afternoon and strength training.” Shane defends his statement.

“Da, and you will worry all night and not rest. Like now.”

He turns back to his phone and pulls up Marleau’s number, hits the call button. Marly answers on the first ring.

-

Shane changes into real clothes, athletic leisure, sure, but refuses to face Marly wearing the clothes he was going to sleep in. Ilya rolls out of bed and only throws on a tank top at Shane’s insistence. Shane stares blindly at some cooking competition show on the tv until the doorbell rings and Ilya goes to answer it.

His stomach churns as he can hear their voices talking in the foyer. Clicks the tv off and stands as the voices grow louder as they start walking to the kitchen where Ilya had started two pots of tea while waiting for Marly to drive here. Shane had expected a stiff drink from Ilya but was much happier to take the mug of green tea Ilya hands him once Marly and Shane are seated. Ilya slides his chair closer to Shane so that their legs are touching under the table.

All three of them sip or stare at their tea and don’t say a fucking word. Any ease that Marly and Ilya had alone seems to have bled out now that they are both in front of Shane.  It’s late, Shane’s tired, and they have practice and the one thing other than Ilya’s safety he’s not willing to fuck around with is both their careers.

Marly beats him to the punch though when he breaks the silence first.

“I’m not trying to cause either of you problems. From my end of things, I just wanted to meet the fucking girl whose had Ilya by the balls for the last like five years or so. But then she turns out to be the best fucking hockey player in the league, which, fuck yeah Roz, you go man.”

Ilya smirks into his mug of black tea, smug as hell. Shane takes a moment to really listen to what Marly had just said but he was still talking.

“Though if you hurt my boy here, I’m kicking your ass again Hollander. Last time really was an accident, next time it won’t be. Just if you could win us another Cup first that would be great.”

“Oh, right. Ok. I don’t want to hurt Ilya. I love him.” He glances over at Ilya who’s relaxing by the second. He’s never got to say those words to anyone other than Ilya and defending Ilya against his parents when he came out. It feels really good to tell someone he loves Ilya Rozanov. Especially someone that doesn’t seem to think loving Ilya is a crazy choice. He’s pretty sure he just got a shovel talk from Marly on Ilya’s behalf.

“So, you guys live together?”

“Well, we’re married, so.”

Marly chokes on his sip of tea, sputtering drops across the kitchen table. Shane shifts away from the spray zone and Ilya gets up and grabs a roll of paper towels from the island and lobs them at Marly’s head. Carefully.  Once Marly stops coughing, “Sorry, Roz, did Hollander just say married?”

Ilya’s just about beaming next to him, raises his right hand and points to his wedding band.  Wiggles his fingers so he can’t miss it.

“HOLY SHIT, ROZ.” Marly leans over the table and slugs Ilya on the shoulder. “You didn’t even let me throw you a bachelor party? Asshole. It would have been fucking epic.”

“Sor-ry.” Ilya does not sound sorry at all, Shane’s heard that tone before years ago after their draft picks.

“It’s a bit complicated.” Shane begins.

“Was quick wedding.” Ilya adds.

“More like a quickly and quietly planned elopement.”

“Look, Hollzy, like I told Roz earlier. You guys don’t actually have to tell me shit if you don’t want to. I’m confused by several things though.”

“No, I appreciate that. We’ll answer some questions. It’s just….I just…Ilya needs to keep his work visa as secure as possible for the next five years so he can get citizenship in Canada without drawing too much attention from Russia. And based on how management handled my situation in Montreal, we don’t want to give the league any reasons to go after our careers. It will go even worse if they realize we’ve been involved with each other.”

“We are announcing charity foundation to explain our friendship soon.” Ilya adds in.

“Back up.” Marly points at Roz, “You like girls, I’ve walked in on you fucking women several times…” Shane’s pretty sure that’s Marly’s version of a censored story of Ilya’s glory days.

“I like both.”

“That tracks.”

“And I don’t.”

“I love Shane, most.” Ilya sounds thrilled to say that to someone. Maybe Shane’s not the only one that is tired.

“Ok, so you two are married and got to keep it private. Works for me. Does anyone else know?”

“Yeah, my parents know just about everything they need to about us now, Rose, that’s uh, Rose Landry knows I’m…” he stumbles a bit “gay, but not about Ilya. And most of the Montreal Metros thinks they know I’m…well you know. But that was honestly an unlucky guess on their part. Agents and lawyers know bits and pieces.”

“Svetlana knows everything.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s already so many people.” Shane snaps.

Marly raises an eyebrow at him.

“I was expecting Scott Hunter and his boyfriend to be on the list.”

“Oh. I can see that. I guess.”

“I would like to tell Kip one day. They would keep secret for us, am sure. But, maybe later. Not now.” Ilya settles a hand over Shane’s. That was a conversation for another time for sure.

“What made it obvious we were…so we can fix it.”

“Hollzy, honestly it’s just because I’ve known Roz for years. I wouldn’t stress that much. Some guys from the team have clocked Roz acting a bit different, but no one’s connecting it to you right now. Or if it’s because of you its just on a professional jealousy kind of level. The fact he’s not pulling women every night is gaining some notice, but uh, he was stopping that months before you arrived here.” Marly glanced at Roz, like he might have said something wrong.  But Ilya didn’t seem worried, so Shane ignored it.

“Is late. Anything else, Shane?” Ilya asks.

Ilya’s right it is late and all three of them have practice, today now at this point. Anything else can be discussed at a later date. Shane’s routine is shot to hell. He’s going to have to skip yoga.

“No, thanks for driving back here so late Marly.”

“Yeah, anytime. See you guys at practice.”

Both he and Ilya walk Marly to the door, Ilya’s hand is warm where it’s firm on Shane’s waist. He’s smiling as Marly says a last round of goodbyes and heads out.

Chapter End Notes

Что случилось? (What happened? / What's wrong?)

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

The Boston Raider’s win 4 out of their 7 preseason games. The coaches don’t let Shane or Ilya hit the ice for any of them. It’s maybe not the tactic Shane would have taken, the games would have been good practice for him. It’s been a long time since he’s played an actual game, and never with any of the Raiders. He knows it’s a business decision. A way to sell out arenas and jersey sales and commercial space during games. Building up anticipation. But it’s not his call, so he pours his frustration into practice. His position never changes, mostly usurping Ilya’s spot center on the front line with Rozanov on left wing, but LeClaire runs some practices with Ilya on the second line center, and once or twice with Shane second line and Ilya back in his old spot. LeClaire wants flexibility and to win and has two of the players that can give it to him. Some of the guys on the team take a minute to adapt, looking towards their captain like he’s going to have a problem with it all, with Shane gaining so much attention. Once again, they are wrong because Ilya throws his all into each spot, never once saying a word, acting like nothing’s changed on the ice and people start to fall in line.

 Ilya doesn’t seem as fucking annoyed at it all as Shane is, but he tolerates Shane’s occasional rant, Yuna’s more frequent rants, and Shane’s airtight training schedule and food choices. 

He’s glad the season is ramping up, allowing him to put off his thoughts on his personal life. Marly’s been over to the house a few more times, but it always been to relax and play video games with Ilya or to talk hockey with both of them or to watch more preseason games if he’s not scheduled to play. He never brings up their relationship, at least when Shane’s in the room. Ilya and Marly still act like idiots and insult each other like it’s a compliment.  The only difference is now Shane doesn’t have to pretend to leave when it gets late and Ilya always has a hand or foot or thigh touching him. Kisses him in front of Marly like it’s normal much to Shane’s horror and secret delight.

He knows Ilya’s looking forward to their first game of the season with almost malicious glee, but he can’t help but feel maybe everyone has much higher hopes than they should.

Morning skate is mandatory at their practice arena, it feels good to skate.  Run-throughs, meetings, social media, then he’s back home in bed with Ilya, alarm set to two hours. Ilya has no problem falling asleep curled around Shane’s back, arm flung over Shane’s side and chest, warm and settled. It takes Shane a bit longer, his nerves on high alert, but Ilya’s breathing is steady and safe and he gets a decent nap in despite everything. Both he and Ilya wake up before the alarm and spend a pleasant twenty minutes or so making out and muttering endearments to each other. Ilya insists in between kisses that they need a new bet now that they are on the same team, that now whoever scores the most per game gets whatever they want in bed as a prize.

Well, Shane’s always up for something that could improve his scoring stats...and help the team. Team player, that’s him.  

They eat their normal pre-game meals and then are off to the TD Garden.

More meetings, loud locker room as everyone psyches themselves up for the first game.  Media interviews. Questions about finally playing with the new team. Playing with Rozanov. Team culture and how it’s going to translate on the ice. Ilya and Marly are off having similar interviews. Shane gives bland polite answers and flees as soon as they get a basic sound bite or two.

He forces himself to work through his first set of stretches. Rolls out his muscles. Gets his gear in order. The locker room sounds wrong, instead of Comeau and Drapeau talking shit about the opposing team, Ilya and Marly are talking shit about each other and the other team. Instead of Hayden’s jokes, Smithy’s quiet next to him. Connors and St. Simon discussing plays. Instead of French there’s Russian from Ilya. Instead of waiting for or sending Ilya a text there’s his tall built frame always within eyesight.

A little of that anxiety and worry leaves as he skates onto the TD Garden for warm ups for the first time as a member of the home team.  It’s early yet, but the stadium is loud. For die hard fans that used to burn effigies of him outside of Raiders vs Metros games, Boston has been surprisingly welcoming. There are way more signs supporting him and black and gold Hollander jerseys than he ever would have expected, considering. Rozanov jerseys still dominate, as they should, Boston loves the chaotic playboy asshole that makes sure games are interesting. All 17,850 seats have been sold for this game, which isn’t unusual the Raiders have a strong and dedicated fan base much like the Metros do, but still.

He works through his normal stretches on the ice, normal pre-game routine best he can. Ilya skates up to him lazily smirking. Throws a friendly arm across his shoulders, waves jauntily to some of the fans that have Hollander signs and Jerseys. Points at Shane, hyping them up.

Then times up and they are back in the tunnel, back to last minute pointers from the coaches and a last run-through of his gear. The colors are wrong. He hasn’t played in anything but Montreal colors, all-star, Olympics, or away jerseys since after the year he was drafted.  He picks at the ‘A’ on his jersey, it doesn’t sit right. It makes the fabric bunch weird.  But he’s out of time, Ilya’s leaving his side in the locker room to rouse everyone up loudly in the middle of the room, he doesn’t really listen, tunes most of it out, is glad he’s not expected to give a speech or try and be inspiring.

-

The roar of the crowd narrows down to a familiar safe hum. The Nashville center is chirping something to him, low so the ref can’t hear, but Shane’s in this tight little bubble of concentration and honestly doesn’t hear a word he says. Ilya’s on his left wing, Marly on the right. The ref drops the puck, Shane is on it instantly, wining the face-off, Marly drops back, Ilya’s moving forward taking most of the heat everyone expecting him to be the problem to watch out for, that’s not headed to Shane, Shane passes the puck to Marly, moves forward as attention is shifted to Marly instead of Ilya, Marly passes it back to Shane and then he and Ilya are off racing, at the last second he slices it over to Ilya who nails it right into the goal.

The roar of the crowd sounds like actual cheering in Shane’s ears as they skate back to the bench and switch out. Teammates piling on the noise as they sit down. Ilya’s got a sharp smile on his face as he winks at Shane. By the end of the first period, Shane’s made an assist to both Ilya’s and Marly’s goals. Second period, Nashville gets a point and starts getting their act together. By the end of the third period Shane’s full out, scoring the final two goals of the game, both off assists from Ilya.

The Raiders win 4-1 and the locker room is loud and chaotic and a little fun. Ilya smacks a big ass kiss to Marly’s cheek, and then to Shane’s, and then to Connors before wrapping an arm around Shane’s shoulders and shouting out a name of a bar or possibly a club, they have three days until their next home game against Colorado, so he let’s Smithy, Marly and Ilya convince him to come out for a few hours.

But first Ilya, Shane and Marly all get pulled for media. Shane and Marly escape before Ilya does, and Shane leaves the chaos for the quiet of the showers as he takes stock of the game. It went better than he expected.  He’s got a bruise along his ribs from where one of Nashville’s defensemen nailed him with an elbow. But they won, and his injury from last season isn’t giving him any trouble.

-

Thankfully it’s more bar than rooftop night club, not that that stops a few of the older guys from doing lines in the bathroom and hooking up with some puck bunnies they’d invited out, while Shane’s just trying to wash his hands.  Not that he has room to talk, he’s pretty damn sure that Ilya sent him a dick pic from inside the TD Garden locker rooms when he finally got to ditch media, and he’d happily suck Ilya off in any of these stalls if it was an option that wouldn’t easily blow all their secrets. The drugs, absolutely not.

Ilya’s here outside in person now, gesturing for Shane to go join him, Marly, Connors, Cadyn and Hammersmith and quite a few more women along the rooftop edge with a view of the water. One or two might be Cadyn’s and Smithy’s wives. Ilya presses a drink into his hands, and Shane takes a sip, pleased to only taste ginger ale and nothing else in the glass. Less pleased to see several of the women make blatant passes at Ilya that he keeps playing wingman off onto Marly or Connors or St. Simon much to their delight, and then a blonde in a very low cut dress is telling him how impressed she was with his game while putting her hand on Shane’s chest. Her hand small and warm and soft is all wrong. Shane flinches back away from her touch, and regrets agreeing to go out tonight. Most of the warmth of winning is fading with each second he has to watch another girl drape herself over his husband or with the stilted conversation he makes with the blonde he’s not interested in at all. He’s never been good at any of this, he’s not a good actor or liar. He’s stopped lying to himself months ago and can’t seem to bring himself back to a place where he can pretend buried parts of himself don’t exist.  He can’t do this in person every time they go out with the team, he’s never really thought of himself as a jealous person until now, watching how easy and expected it is for women to touch Ilya in public.

A night club would have been better actually, now that he thinks about, noise and bodies and drinks preventing conversation. It would be easier for him to slip away too, in more chaos. He makes it through about twenty minutes of sober on tipsy small talk, mostly about the game before he backs out as everyone’s getting another round of drinks and shots.

Takes the stairs instead of the elevator out of the building despite the protest in his muscles after the game.  Texts Ilya going for a walk in the area so he wouldn’t follow or worry. That’s the last thing he needs. There’s texts from Rose and Svetlana about the game.  There’s texts from his parents still unanswered, congratulating him on the game, maybe he’ll call them tomorrow.  Congratulating him and Ilya. Together.

He walks out on the street, this side of the city more sleek and modern in spots than he’s seen yet. Connors has a studio apartment in this area of Seaport.

It’s chilly out close to the water at night, Shane buries his hands in his coat pockets and heads away from the waterfront, lets the cool night air temper his frustration.  Thursday night seemed to be a decently popular night for other bars and restaurants, everything he passes looks busy and noisy.

He’s not ready to go home, well not to any place in Boston. He kinda misses his place in Montreal. But none of the bars and place open appeal to him right now, so he calls a car and waits at a well-lit intersection until it pulls up. Ilya’s texted him several times now, asking if Shane wants him to meet him somewhere or to leave the team and head home. Asking if he’s ok.

Called a car, heading back to the house.

You don’t need to leave if you are having fun.

  It takes about 40 minutes to get back to Ilya’s house, Shane has the driver let him out on the street and he walks up the gated drive, texts Ilya to let him know he’s home safe. Both Marly and Smithy have drunkenly texted him asking him where the hell he went.  Marly sent a video he didn’t open, half worried about what that could be. Gave them both the excuse he was tired and was ready to head home. Apologized for leaving without saying goodbye.  

Showers, dresses for bed. They have optional skate and mandatory tape tomorrow afternoon.  He pulls out clothes for Ilya, puts out a glass of water and Advil incase he’s drunk when he gets in. Falls asleep despite his racing mind.

It’s in a sleepy haze when he feels the bed dip later and Ilya sprawl out beside him, as quiet as he can.  

“Shh…Hollander, sleep.” Ilya mutters as Shane stirs.

-

He’s in the middle of his morning workout on the exercise bike when a groggy Ilya joins him. It’s just typical morning Ilya though, he’s not still drunk or hung over, Shane’s relieved to see, just never pleased to be up before 11 am.  Ilya crowds in across Shane’s handlebars to steal a morning kiss before starting his own warmup.  Ilya looks a little more alive by the time they both finish their workouts.

Despite being pretty sure he won the first bet of the season against Ilya, Shane gives him a mental rain check when Ilya tells him to get on your knees, Hollander Shane happily obeys, pulling Ilya’s gym shorts down enough to get to his cock out and sucking him off in front of the mirrors of the home gym, until Ilya’s coming with a deep groan down Shane’s throat, so pretty with my cock in your mouth, so good for me fingers tangled in Shane’s hair.  Shane’s hair is getting longish, but Ilya seems to like tugging it so much when they fuck, he’s been putting off cutting it. Ilya returns the favor in their post-workout shower.

He puts off answering calls and texts for a few hours more. Finally opens the video Marly sent, it’s just a shaky clip of Ilya staring over the edge of the outdoor balcony bar, cellphone in hand trying to find Shane’s mini figure walking around down below with the caption YOU GOTMYBOY WHIIIIPPED, while Marly’s voice can be heard talking dirty to one of the women off screen.

The rest of it can wait until after work.  He’s still in a strange pleased but homesick but not cycle of confusion right now. Not really up to texting and talking much.

-

A few people look a little rough at optional skate, and one or two people look even worse at tape, Coach LeClaire is not impressed at that at all reminding them all how quickly a hot start to a season can go downhill fast. Shane silently hopes that means he won’t have to go out again anytime soon for anything crazier than a team dinner.

-

That evening on the couch, when they are both relaxing on opposite ends of the couch, feet tangled together, he calls his mom and puts her on speaker phone so Ilya can hear and talk too.

The three of them argue about plays for a bit, Yuna’s distaste for Boston only tempered for her fury at the Metros and how they handled her son’s career. It’s a slow warming for Boston and part of the reason Shane doesn’t want to talk about the team or Marly or the city or the occasional homesickness, because he doesn’t think she’d react well. But both his parents want to come visit sometime, so he promises to look through both his and Ilya’s schedules and find a good week for them to fly down.

Tunes out a bit when Ilya and his mom start discussing more sponsorships for Ilya.

-

Their second home game of the season on Monday goes much the same way. 

Same starting line, except this time it’s Shane scoring within the first 8 seconds of the game without ever giving up the puck to Ilya or Marly. Shy a few seconds of meeting records.

Connors gets a point once they trade out, in the same period.

And Ilya winning them the game with point number three in the 2^nd period.  Raiders 3-2. They play Colorado again on Wednesday for an away game.  Shane can only hope they play this well on the road, and it’s not just home team advantage.

Chapter End Notes

I did hockey research, I'm still so so sorry.
https://www.espn.com/nhl/team/schedule/_/name/bos/season/2018/seasontype/2
https://soundofhockey.com/2024/10/31/inside-kraken-gameday-rituals-the-role-of-morning-skates-and-more/
https://www.cosleylaw.com/rolling-meadows-attorney/nhl-acknowledges-drug-problem
And then a bunch of Reddit posts and diagrams I ended up trying not to write about. If only Shane and Ilya were professional sailors I'd be able to write them as professionals convincingly.

Chapter 17

St. Simon: you really went hiking.

Marly: yes

Connors: yes

Hammersmith: I feel like Russians should be good in nature. Isn’t Russia all rugged and wrestling bears and shit? It’s like the Alaska of Russia.

St. Simon: You make a good point.

Marly: No he doesn’t.

Marly: Roz grew up in a major city. Moscow is a city. They have cities in Russia. It’s a big ass country. Have any of you ever googled anything about Russia, ever?

Marly: Plus I don’t think he did much other than like, play hockey growing up.

St. Simon: Do vodka brands count?

Marly: Roz is not good in nature. Cold weather, yes.

Connors: He screamed like a girl at least once when he heard weird noises in the woods.

Marly: That’s not quite how it went…

Connors: Fine it wasn’t a scream….more like a small yelp. Sort of. Ok, he just jumped a little? He tried to hide behind Hollzy though.

Marly: That last part is true.

Hammersmith: did he claim Russians don’t do this like he always does when he fucking blushes over something.

Marly: He was too busy defending himself against Hollzy’s chirps and then had an argument with Hollzy on why the state of Massachusetts should care about the Loon population returning?

Connors: it was a fucking weird day. Funny as hell though. Those two are insanely competitive. And Roz has really strong opinions on loons.

-

Scott, “Thanks for the smoothie, baby…why was Rozanov in town again last night?”

Kip, “Apparently he was filming a Mastercard commercial.”

Scott, “Lucky bastard. How’d he score that? But more importantly, you asked him about Hollander.”

Kip, “Yes. And his answer was, and I quote “He wanted too?” On trading to Boston.”

Scott, “Well fuck. That doesn’t help.”

Kip, “Maybe he just wanted something new?”

Scott, “No, not Hollander, he would have wanted to retire with the team that drafted him. He won two fucking cups there. Something’s fucked up. Also, who would want to be on Rozanov’s team.”

Kip, “Probably me, he’s fun. Also, I know he’s a menace for you on the ice and all, but off it he seems like a really good guy.”

Scott, “No you’re right…. I mean right now he’s one of the ones that clearly doesn’t give a fuck that I’m gay.”

-

Yuna: Initial feedback from your agent says the director was pleased with your performance and said you were easy to work with. Do you want me to send some more leads your way? Also, when you have time feel free to send me the draft you have going for the Irina Foundation, of course I’d be happy to look it over for you, Ilya.

-

Lily: Everyone is gone now.

Lily:  come home. Please.

-

Hayden: This fucking sucks without Shane

Jackie: It’s still preseason, the team will start coming together again. You were playing with all the rookies.

Hayden: It’s not the fucking same. It’s not going to be the fucking same.  And we have to start the season with three away games. It’s going to be a disaster.

Jackie: Have you heard from him? I invited him over during their next game here but that’s awhile from now.

Hayden: I still don’t get what he’s doing in Boston.

Jackie: I got to go babe, I think the twins are trying to dye Arthur’s hair with orange Jello.

-

Man in the Crease

-Boston has been making some wild decisions anyway, trading for Hollander in the first place.

-But putting him in Rozanov’s normal spot for the first game of the season?

-I know I’m not the only one that can’t believe Rozanov didn’t try to take him out right there on the ice, same team be damned.  Rozanov has been great for Boston, and while Hollander might technically be the better player, his personality, little that he shows, is not on brand for Boston.

-Now if we compare this to the Admirals starting line this year, Scott Hunter-

“Why do these two ALWAYS bring the subject back to you?”

“Kip, its part of my routine stop turning it off. This is why I usually listen on my run, but when you go for a run with me, which I love don’t get me wrong, I need to listen to it after.”

“Isn’t there like 40 something other teams they could go after instead…?”

“31 actually.”

“Not my point.”

-

J.J. : When did you get replaced with Rozanov?

Hayden: What now?

J.J.: Marleau’s Instagram: photo of Shane, Rozanov, Connors, and Marleau by the water at the Fells after their hike. Shane’s got a little half smile in the photo and is leaning in towards Rozanov ever so slightly, everyone is tanned or lightly burnt from the hike, Rozanov’s got one arm across his shoulders and one across Connors, wide happy smile across his face, Marleau’s also got an arm over Connors shoulders.

J.J.: traître

Hayden: I mean, I get why he traded…

J.J.: but for Boston…

Hayden: exactly.

J.J.: Boston Raider’s Instagram: photo of 1^st home game during warmups, Shane and Rozanov staring up together at HOLLANDER signs/fans in the stands.

J.J.: I think Rozanov has more photo opps with Shane than you do after all these years, mon ami.

-

Hayden: Shane, buddy. Are you ok!?

[1 days and 3 hours later]

Shane: sorry I didn’t answer this sooner.  Yes? Why? What happened?

Hayden: Just making sure Rozanov didn’t kill you for taking his position.

Shane: it wasn’t a surprise for him? We’ve been attending practices for weeks? Like the professional hockey players we are?

-

-Nick Springer for ESPN, Rozanov how is the team adapting to playing with Hollander and how is this personally affecting you on the ice?

“We won yes? And we will keep winning. We will celebrate in Montreal over the tears of the Metros. And I will make 20 more goals than Hollander this season. Hollander is inspiration. I dedicate my all goals to him.” (blows a kiss, and winks at the camera)

-

Jane: We live together now, you don’t need to send me a dick pic after every game.

Lily: but you did not get see it for real for hours after…I did not want you to miss it

Jane: oh no, however did I survive the night

Lily:😈🍆💦🥵

Jane: I'm in the kitchen just come in here and fuck me, for fucks sake. 

Lily: My husband has best ideas. Better than all other ideas. Best in world. 

-

Rose: OMG what a start to the season Shane. Congrats on winning. What’s it like playing with Rozanov.

Shane: thanks. It’s great actually.

Rose: you don’t have to be sarcastic with me. Tell me how you really feel.

Shane: That wasn’t sarcasm for once, playing with Rozanov is always great, it’s nice playing with someone who can keep up.

Shane: Any word on when you'll get kidnapped in Boston despite being a fully fledged adult now? 

-

Shane: If you and Dad can visit from Nov 23-Dec1 we have a string of home games and a day off in there too. I’ll make sure you have tickets. And then we can fly home to Ottawa late on the 23rd for a day or two. You’re welcome to stay either at Ilya’s house with us or at the apartment. The apartment is closer to public transportation and you don’t really need a car there, but Ilya also said you are welcome to borrow any of his cars while you are here. I’m not sure how many people recognize his cars on sight so I’m not sure how good of an idea that is but-

Yuna: Let me check the dates with your dad first and then we can tackle everything else, honey.

-

Svetlana: tell Rozanov to stay more wide.

Shane: you could tell him congratulations.

Svetlana: I could, but how would that help him improve.

Svetlana: Congratulations Shane Hollander on your first win as a Raider.

Shane: thanks, I think.

-

Marleau: whured you go…………….HOLZY, fudcjk look at this:

Video: clip of Ilya staring over the edge of the outdoor balcony bar, cellphone in hand trying to find Shane (unopened)

Hollander: Sorry, decided to go home, tired after the game, everyone was a little occupied so I just headed out quietly.

-

Man in the Crease

-Two games into the season and the Raider’s have had nothing but a strong start, with two wins to show for it. Montreal is not showing up in the room like they should be.

-No Montreal has always made the impression that the team itself is strong in the last few years, one person alone doesn’t win you two cups, but without Hollander leading the team on the ice, they are not starting strong with two losses already

-Scott Hunter---

“They do always have to mention me don’t they. Fucking assholes.”

Chapter 18

Chapter Notes

Quick note: this fic is listed with "The author chose not to warn for content, or Archive Warnings could apply, but the author has chosen not to specify them."

I tend to use this for most of my fics since i only have a loose outline when I write a story. Things change organically as I go.

No main characters are dying or cheating on each other in this fic but as of now I'm not tagging every concept that pops up over the course of the story.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading this far, always appreciate it.

Shane blinks blearily up at Marly as he shakes a paper to go cup in front of Shane’s face.

“It’s herbal tea with lemon. Roz said you don’t use sugar.”

Shane blinks up at him some more. It’s early, he’s still tired from last night’s winning game and the travel schedule is all different from Montreal. It’s supposed to be skate at home practice rink, meetings, then fly out in the afternoon. But the Raider’s management hadn’t gotten that memo.

“Thanks.” He takes the cup. “You didn’t have too.”

“If I’m getting fucking Roz’s order, I’m getting you one too, Hollzy.”  

One of the rookies and a few of the less established players trying to show initiative were here just as early as Shane, and they were all eyeing the trio of drinks Marly was carrying with envy. The other two cups were clearly coffee and the sweet sweet promise of caffeine. The chartered flight would be catered according to the team’s nutritionist but until they boarded, they had to fend for themselves and Hanscom Field Airport didn’t have many food options like Logan International.

Marly ignored them as he claimed one of the seats next to Shane, shoving his carry on bag under the seat and his backpack on an empty one like Shane had done.

He takes a small sip of tea to be polite; it tastes similar to one he stocks at home. Ilya must have been pretty specific on what he liked. Takes another sip.

To his left Marly drinks his coffee and closes his eyes, starting to half doze off in the uncomfortable waiting room seat. His tall frame sprawled out. It’s a relief because Shane is not in the mood for small talk.

He doesn’t know what to make of Marly.  The older player genuinely doesn’t seem to give a damn that his best friend’s been hooking up with his male league wide rival for years now. He was surprisingly chill in a way that Shane didn’t think any of his friends back in Montréal could replicate. He couldn’t imagine Hayden or J.J. being this nonchalant anyone he could hypothetically bring around, even if there was a slim chance they’d be accepting of him being gay on a personal level. They weren’t even nonchalant the times they thought he was bringing girls home he didn’t want to imagine the response if it was Ilya.  Each time was a big production in the locker room the next day. Moreso than normal chirping. Let’s announce to the whole of Canada that Shane Hollander looked at someone sexually it’s such a rare fucking occurrence.

Intellectually he knows a lot of his recent thoughts and actions since moving to Boston have been clouded by how things ended with his team. His former team. He’s been more uptight than normal, overthinking every word he says, every action with the new team and in day to day life in general. Even more than he usually does. Like at the bar after his first game playing for the Raiders.  If he had just had a drink or two, like he used to when he first started with the Metros and at award shows, he probably could have forced himself to stay out later, not ruin Ilya’s night too. But he didn’t. Can’t

But the idea of getting too relaxed, especially because he can relax around Ilya, does relax around Ilya now, only means he might fuck everything up here in Boston too.

Doesn’t mean he really knows how to change things.

Ilya’s noticed he’s…off. It would be hard for him not to, considering they now spend close to 90% of their time together. At first Shane was a little concerned that being around each other so much would end badly.  Shane’s always prized his privacy and quiet and it scares him a bit how easily he’s slipped into daily life with Ilya. They argue of course as Shane assumes any two people who have lived alone for years and had a set way of doing things would. But making up has certainly been fun.

But Shane’s reluctant to really talk about anything that could throw either him or Illya off their game. Especially now that they play for the same team.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts about Ilya by Ilya arriving and moving his backpack and taking the empty seat to his right. Marly blindly grabs the last coffee he’d been saving and hands it to Ilya across Shane’s body.

Ilya grunts out a word that might be thanks. Ilya is much more eager to drink his coffee than Shane was his tea and takes a big sip of the lukewarm drink, before mirroring Marly’s slumped form in hopes of a few more minutes of sleep. His leg is warm where he presses it up against Shane’s. No one blinks at his actions because if it was Connors, Vic, or Marly in Shane’s place Ilya wouldn’t give a fuck about doing the same thing, he’s always casually throwing an arm over a friend or pressing a congratulatory kiss to someone’s cheek if they’ve done something newsworthy on the ice. He’s also quick to throw a punch or start a fight under the right circumstances but that’s not really the point.  He just seems to always be touching Shane when he can get away with it. He’d stop the moment Shane truly told him to, but Shane’s not been able to bring himself to give up the casual touches yet.

The waiting room fills up more and instead of sleepy quiet conversations, noise and friendly chirping start to grow. Eventually the team files onto the plane and they are off to Colorado. It’s a terrible idea but he lets Ilya claim the aisle seat next to him, and Ilya spends most of the flight curled up in his hoodie after inhaling breakfast, dozing on Shane’s shoulder, while Shane replays last night’s game tape since they are playing Colorado again on a home-and-home schedule.

-

The South Suburban Family Sports center is one of the lousier practice rinks Shane’s had the misfortune of skating in over the years but it gets the job done. Practice is fine. He always feels better on the ice. Then they bus everyone out to the much nicer hotel closer to the Pepsi Center for the rest of time before tomorrow’s game.  Shane’s refolding clothes as he’s unpacking his suitcase, when Ilya knocks on his door.

He lets Ilya in, and after Ilya toes off his shoes and socks by the door, feels the air leave his lungs as Ilya pushes him down on one of the beds and climbs on top of him. Fights back a moan. One of his sponsored exercise shirts falls off the bed on to the hotel floor. Gross. Thankfully, he’s packed extras.

“What the fuck, stop it.” He hisses into Ilya’s ear instead.

Ilya tenses above him stopping at his words, the hand working it’s way up under his shirt freezing and gripping his waist instead.

“Sorry.” Ilya’s eyes are wide and concerned, and he shifts his body weight immediately so Shane can easily detangle himself from Ilya if he wants too, the hand on his waist moving to the bedspread instead. Shane instantly feels the loss. “What is problem, Shane? Did I-”

“You want to do this in a hotel full of our fucking teammates?” He’s trying to keep his voice low but still carry enough force behind it to get his point across.

The concern fades from Ilya’s eyes now that he knows Shane is fine. He rolls off of Shane and props himself up enough to still look down on Shane’s face from beside him. Shane stares up at the terrible popcorn ceiling instead of meeting his husband’s eyes. He’s half hard already.

“What? Room next door is Marly’s. Other wall is side of hotel. I think Marly knows we fuck, Shane. He will not say anything. Better than my room. I’m between Connors and two rookies.” Shane knows that, he was there when they handed out room assignments.

“Told the group chat I am napping before team dinner.” Ilya continues with his argument. Shane hasn’t bothered to look at his phone since getting in, but he’s left enough team dinners, house parties and casual hangouts early enough already this year that most people seem to get he likes his personal time. It’s another strange difference from the Metros, maybe the fact he’s not Captian anymore make’s it easier for people to give him space. Maybe it’s the fact, he’s the ‘Shane Hollander’ as Ilya always puts it, and they don’t know him very well yet. Maybe it’s just different team dynamics. Shane doesn’t know. Doesn’t know if it’s good or not.

Does know that this is dangerous though. That’s never really stopped either of them before.

“It’s still a bad idea.”

“Hmm, yes, but we are so good at bad ideas, no?”

Shane can’t really argue with that.

Ilya’s leaning back down to nuzzle Shane’s throat, works his way up to his earlobe, sucks it into his mouth. Heat pulls in Shane’s abdomen, he’s fully hard now.  Soon Ilya abandon’s Shane’s ear for the chance of working his tongue into Shane’s mouth. Shane moans into Ilya’s mouth as he kisses him back, teeth clacking at the pressure. Ilya’s hand is back under Shane’s shirt working it’s way up to Shane’s pecs. Slower but no less urgent.

There’s no way Shane can go a whole season, never mind possibly years of his career without fucking Ilya on roadies, now that only a hallway and a few doors separate them. Plus they both play better after. It’s just good hockey.

“Maybe we gag you, fill that pretty mouth of yours when it’s not filled with my cock so you will be quiet, yes? And be quick?”  Ilya offers into the shell of his ear.

Shane sucks in a sharp breath at the suggestion. That’s another thing he’s been putting off talking to Ilya about, the way his brain turns off in the best way possible when Ilya tells him what to do in bed. And out of bed, sometimes.  The internet has informed him that possible relationship dynamics like this need to be discussed, but it’s not a conversation Shane’s going to have in a hotel room near his team in a short amount of time when he can have it in the safety of Ilya’s house back in Boston when they have more free time and no interruptions. It’s not like Ilya would ever do something to Shane without Shane’s consent, anyway, so it’s not a pressing issue.

“You better not be fucking loud either. Asshole.”

Ilya rolls off him again with a smirk, to look through Shane’s suitcase, finds an extra set of boxers that Shane will probably not need, he always over packs according to Hayden. Pulls a travel size bottle of lube and condoms out of his own pockets, if he had looked closer in Shane’s toiletry bag he’d of found the same items there too.  Grabs a towel and puts it down neatly on the bed the way Shane likes so the bed won’t be dirty, even if he will probably sleep in the other bed tonight.

Turns back to give Shane his full attention.

“Get undressed, Hollander. Let me see you.”

Shane’s quick to obey before he starts finding even more reasons why this is a bad idea. Pulls his shirt off, folds it under Ilya’s unwavering heated stare. Works his pants and boxers off his erection, folds them neatly to go with his shirt. Leaves the chain with his wedding ring on, Ilya never expects him to take that off. Waits for Ilya to tell him what to do next.

Ilya beckons him to the edge of the bed, Shane inches forward as Ilya unzips and takes his cock in hand, the angle isn’t the best for Shane, but it’s better than kneeling naked on a hotel floor. Ilya’s free hand is on his cheek stroking it softly as he presses the head of his cock against Shane’s lips.  Shane licks the head and then takes him into his mouth, licking and sucking at his own pace. Ilya holds still, breathing getting heavier as Shane works over his length. Shane uses one hand to hold onto the fabric of Ilya’s pants, the other going to caress Ilya’s balls. Above him he can hear Ilya holding back his normal litany of dirty talk in an effort to stay quiet. Despite his stress at the idea of anyone hearing them, he starts to relax the longer he has Ilya in his mouth. Hums contentedly the vibration earning a gasp out of Ilya. Ilya doesn’t keep him there long though, before he’s pulling Shane off of him and stripping out of his clothes that he tosses to the side messily.

When he’s undressed he leans down to kiss Shane before grabbing the boxers he had pulled out earlier. Grips at the hinge point of Shane’s jaw with his large hand firm but careful.

“Still ok?” Ilya asks softly.

Shane’s more than ok now, doesn’t want to stop, just wants Ilya in him. Needs him. He nods and opens his mouth so Ilya can push as much of the fabric of the boxers in to his mouth as he can. He ignores the faint chemical taste of the fabric softener he uses for laundry as it presses against his tongue. His mouth is full but it’s nothing he can’t remove easily if it gets too much. Ilya presses a kiss to his forehead, palms his pecs, rubs at Shane’s nipples roughly. Shane shivers and whines into the makeshift gag. He sounds slightly muffled to his own ears.

“Get on your hands and knees for me, Shane.”

Shane moves on top of the towel, pulling one of the pillows to him so he can press his face into if he wants. He can hear the cap of the lube bottle as Ilya goes to pour some over his fingers, he doesn’t tease or play with Shane anymore, just starts to work at Shane’s hole, making Shane harder and more desperate with each finger added until he’s ready for Ilya’s cock. Moans into the gag and pillow with loss when Ilya removes his fingers to roll the condom on and slick himself up with more lube. Shane shifts on his knees, his ass twitching until Ilya holds him in place with one hand while he guide’s his cock into Shane with the other. Once Shane adjusts around his length, Ilya pushes him down into the pillow more with his now free hand, palm warm against the center of Shane’s shoulders, and starts thrusting.  

True to his suggestion earlier, Ilya comes quicker than normal, pressing close to Shane, groaning in the curve of Shane’s neck, making Shane take most of his weight as he reaches around for Shane’s cock and jerks him off at the same time.

Ilya wipes his hand clean on the towel after Shane comes, before pulling out of Shane and discarding the condom and bringing the towel to the bathroom.

Shane rolls on to his back, trying to catch his breath around the fabric that is now damp and heavy in his mouth.  Waits for Ilya to come back, for permission to remove it.

His husband sinks into the bed next him a moment later, reaching over to pull the fabric from Shane’s mouth and tossing it to the side. Shane licks his lips and rolls his jaw so it won’t get even more sore as Ilya presses kisses across his freckles and professes his love for him in quiet Russian against his skin. Shane’s feeling a little floaty and quite pleasantly tired, so it doesn’t take much on Ilya’s end to convince him to relax against Ilya’s broad chest and close his eyes as Ilya runs his fingers through his hair, playing with the longer strands. Soon Shane's going to be able to start tying his hair up if he doesn't get it cut. 

They do nap, or at least Shane does, Ilya’s already awake and watching something in Russian quietly on his phone when Shane stirs.

Ilya’s also managed to put on his shirt and steal sweatpants from Shane’s suitcase, but Shane’s naked and a bit achy and he doesn't like the texture of the hotel sheets on his bare skin so after kissing Ilya for a minute or two he pads over to the bathroom for a shower.

Ilya pokes his head in the door, now in his own pants.

“I’m going to go back to my room. Ok? Shower, change for dinner.” Ilya holds up the little paper folder with the electronic room keys with a soft smile, “I am taking one of these, Lyubimyy.”

“Yeah,” Shane nods, “I’ll see you at dinner in a bit.”

Ilya slips into his room just after curfew later that night.  He’s gone before Shane wakes up in the morning despite the early hour and his hatred of waking up early just so Shane won’t stress about someone catching him in Shane’s room.

-

Colorado does better on home turf the next day than they did in Boston. Despite Shane winning the face off, and working smoothly with both Marly and Ilya to get the puck down the ice, and their second line breaking through defense well too for St. Simon to attempt a shot, the  Raider’s don’t score until 2^nd period when Ilya pulls off an impressive backhand when they are already behind by two.  It’s enough to kick the team into gear though because  3^rd period Ilya gets another point off an assist from Marly, 2^nd and 3^rd line both attempt goals that are blocked, then Shane wins them the game in the last 3 minutes of play.

The locker room is in winning spirits, and obviously quite a few people feel the need to congratulate him considering he is the reason they won in the end, but Shane’s not impressed. He’s glad they are flying back to Boston once they are finished with media because he’s really not in the mood to celebrate.  They have the next day off then away games in Arizona then Vegas.

-

Ilya gives him space on the plane where Shane sits in companiable silence with Hammersmith who spends most of the flight texting his wife over the inflight wifi, while Ilya hangs out with Marly and Connors who are both in much better moods than Shane is about their third win.

-

Walking through the parking lot of the airport that night to get into a separate car from Ilya just to drive to the same damn place makes anger curl across Shane’s chest in a way he’s not used too. He’s used to panic and stress. This is new. Well he still feels the panic and stress its just like mutated or something these days. He’s not usually the type to punch walls or scream but suddenly he’s starting to understand the appeal. He sits in the Land Rover and watches Ilya peel out of the parking lot too fast to be safe in his…Porsche? Shane’s not a car guy and he’s still learning which one is which from a distance.

It takes him a while before he follows Ilya home at a much more reasonable pace. Ilya’s left the garage open and lighted for him when he pulls in.

Chapter 19

Ilya blindly patted Shane’s side of the bed hoping his husband was still beside him on their first day off in Boston after three games on the road. When his hand found nothing but cool sheets, he gave up looking and groaned annoyed into his pillow. He stayed burrowed in his pillow and blankets for a while, trying to enjoy the ability to be lazy for a bit, even if it was just for the early hours of the morning. No practices to run off too, no planes to catch, no games for four days. Would be better if Shane was still in bed with him. But Shane wasn’t and instead Ilya just felt tired and lonely.

Eventually he gave up on staying in bed, taking a quick shower and headed downstairs where he saw Shane bent in a very interesting position in the living room, about 20 minutes away from finishing his morning yoga routine.  Ilya sprawled over the couch, grabbing the perfectly folded throw off the back of it and got comfy to stare at Shane as he worked through each pose.

Shane glared at him halfheartedly, but didn’t say anything at Ilya’s blatant staring, though a flush was spreading over his freckled cheeks that had nothing to do with the last 40 minutes of yoga.

He must of dozed off despite the fantastic fucking view because next thing he knew the couch was dipping a bit as Shane sat down near his chest and twisted so he could kiss Ilya good morning.

“Do you want breakfast, I can cook you something?” asked Shane in-between kisses.

“Да, спасибо.” He’s not hungry but if Shane’s willing to make him something he’d pick at it. He needs to eat, they both do. Staying on top of their game is paramount right now. The team’s off to an insanely strong start to the season, five games deep each one a win. It’s the best season start the Raider’s have had since Ilya was drafted.  He’s just waiting for the day he fucks up now in a game and disappoints Shane. Makes him regret trading to the Raiders. He couldn’t really fuck shit up for Shane when he was on the Metros, but now Ilya’s acutely aware how his playing directly affects Shane’s chances for 3rd cup this year. He’s used to being a disappointment to his dad and brother, to Russia, he’s not sure how he’s going to handle being a disappointment to Shane.

Ilya’s never been more exhausted. The season is going so well, he’s thrilled to have Shane in his house and on his team and in his bed. He knows good things like that never last. Shane’s already on edge anytime they go out with the team and when Ilya fucks him in the hotels on the road.

Media has been ruthless after every game, thankfully his English has improved over the years because it’s been harder to navigate what to say about the game, the team, and Hollander when he has more to protect now more than ever. It makes his head ache by the time he’s free of it each day. He’s also been researching options for the formation of Irina Foundation, and while his ruthlessly competent mother-in-law has been happy to help, it’s been keeping him on Yuna’s radar for sponsorships.  He has a skype meeting this afternoon with another one, some perfume brand or something. All this high end stuff he’s not really been considered for in the past.  At least his agent will be involved in that. And while he’s interested he’s not sure how to balance his schedule that’s already fuller than he’s used to but, he doesn’t know how to say that to the Hollanders’ when he desperately wants them to know he can and will provide for Shane now and after they retire. Mastercard had been happy though and with the Raiders on a hot streak, there was a chance that if they won the playoffs this year, Yuna Hollander may book up every free second that Shane and Ilya could ever hope to have for the summer.

Shane breaks into his spiraling thoughts as he gets up from the couch.

“Ok. I’ll bring it here for you if you want. When I’m done cooking.”

That sounded great because, Ilya has no desire to do anything right now.

Shane heads into the kitchen and Ilya stays under the throw, curled up on the couch, listening to the sounds of Shane moving dishes and opening drawers. Once again he’s woken up by the movement of the couch and Shane rubbing his arm. The movement is soft but occasionally he can feel some of the callouses that even Shane’s multi step skin routine won’t fix while he’s an active player. Not that Ilya’s complaining. He’s happy to have Shane touching him in just about any shape, way, or form. Loves the callouses and muscles and bruises brought on by the game that ties them together. Is pretty sure Shane loves it too based on how turned on he could get in the gym or after practice or a game.

He forces himself to sit up on the couch and take the plate Shane’s laid out for him, it’s a surprisingly appetizing looking breakfast sandwich on a bagel, even if all the meats and egg on it are the healthiest versions possible.

“Thank you.”

Shane nods around his spoonful of oatmeal and fruit.

He ends up eating all of it.

Shane collects the dirty dishes and Ilya sinks back into the couch and closes his eyes.

Feels Shane’s warm and comforting weight climbing on top of him. He shifts so Shane can work the throw blanket over both of them.

They lay tangled up with each other for a few minutes, just as Shane was starting to feel a little heavy on top of him, Shane was nuzzling into his neck and…

“Can I blow you?”

Ilya’s dick stirs against Shane’s thigh at the question, but he’s not fully hard. Shane might have to put in a little more work than normal.

“On your knees Shane.”

His husband doesn’t need to be told twice, climbing off of him to kneel next to the couch, the hands Ilya had been thinking about rubbing the soft fabric of his sweat pants, Shane’s face pressed against where Ilya’s starting to strain at the fabric. Nuzzles against him and mouths at Ilya through the cloth until it grows damp from his mouth and pre-cum from Ilya. Ilya is starting to get impatient and rolls his hips, pushing against Shane’s face. Shane pulls back, hands going to Ilya’s waistband.

“Hollander…” he trails off as Shane works the sweat pants down enough that he gets Ilya’s cock and balls free. Shane alternates between licking the head of his dick and up and down Ilya’s full length and mouthing wetly at his balls.

“Fuck, Shane. So good. Fuck…your mouth.”

He tangles his hand in Shane’s hair, praises him more eloquently in Russian as Shane attempts to deep throat him. The angle isn’t the best and Shane gags before he’s able to fully take him all the way into his throat. Ilya doesn’t give a fuck, moans as Shane starts bobbing his head up and down Ilya’s cock instead.  Shane’s wet and hot and eager and his hand tightens in Shane’s hair as he’s about to cum. Holds Shane in place as he spills over his tongue, Shane does his best to swallow every drop, licks at Ilya’s softening cock for anything he’s missed, wipes at his wet chin with one hand, licks his fingers clean one by one.

“You are going to kill me, Hollander.” Ilya mutters as he throws his other arm over his face, coming down from the high that was Shane Hollander’s mouth wrapped around his cock.

“Do you want me to get you clean pants?” Shane asks him from where he’s resting his cheek against Ilya’s bare thigh. And while the idea of staying on the couch and not moving for the rest of the day while Shane seems to be more than willing to cook for him, and blow him, and fetch him clothes and drinks and whatever else the fuck he might want sounds incredibly enticing, he’s guessing Shane’s hard himself, and he might need another shower to look presentable for his meeting.

So instead, he kneels in the shower on the thick but soft bath mat Shane ordered because they both spent so much time on their knees in the shower and lets Shane spill down his throat.

Fixes his hair and finds something professional to wear while Shane disappears to make something for lunch.

Shane’s not subtle with his concerned looks as they sit side by side again on the couch for lunch, tv playing recaps on low of some other team’s game, but Ilya’s not in the mood to talk and Shane hasn’t seemed to formulate exactly what he wants to say yet. It’s a quiet meal.

After Shane collects the dirty dishes again, Ilya heads into his office to get the stupid meeting over with.

It takes way longer than he expects, but they seem charmed by him and his new agent has a sharklike grin when she signs off with him so, it seems to have gone well. He’s sure he’ll get several long emails about it either way.

Shane’s sprawled out in Ilya’s spot on the couch sexy reading glasses in place as he works his way slowly through a beginner’s Russian language textbook. Warmth breaks through the exhaustion he’s been carrying around all day at the sight. Even if Shane never gets a hang on his first language, Ilya still deeply appreciates it in ways he’s not sure he knows how to express. Shane looks up at him as he crosses his arms on the back to the couch and looks down at Shane.

“Will you go out to dinner with me?”

Shane frowns and Ilya quickly cuts in before Shane starts listing all the reasons why that might be a bad idea.

“I will bring Foundation paperwork, we can sit at bar instead of private table. Business dinner between two teammates, no? I get dinner with Marly alone all the time, will not be strange. We can fight over who pays check. I will win.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Shane even agrees to going in the same car, as long as it’s his Land rover and he gets to drive. One day Ilya’s going to get that man in a sports car or even better one of his bikes over the summer but right now he’s just going to take dinner as the win it is.

Ilya finds a high end steak house in Beacon Hill that looks modern and bro-y and expensive enough that no one should question why two hockey players chose it for a business meeting, even though Ilya thinks it’s a bit of overkill, they could have found some Japanese hole-in-the-wall that Shane would have actually enjoyed much more instead. But Shane agreed to this as the safest option and Ilya needed to get out of the house and didn’t want to go out with Connors or St. Simon to some club on a Monday night like most of his texts are offering. So he sets his phone’s gps so Shane can maneuver through Boston traffic and one-way streets until he finds parking a few blocks away.

It’s a quite but companiable walk to the restaurant, it’s starting to get windy and cold in Boston this time of year so most people around them are brisk and eager to get home after work instead of paying two random people who just happen to be hockey stars any attention.

The hostess might recognize them, or at least recognizes Ilya, but it’s an expensive enough place that other than a lingering heated glance at him, she leads them to the bar and disappears back to the front of the restaurant.

Shane either didn’t notice or is damned committed to making it through dinner for Ilya, that he sits down and takes the Irina Foundation binder (that Ilya made) and starts reading through it as Ilya peruses the menu.

Shane closes the binder halfway through his salmon dinner.

“Sorry I haven’t been much help with this, I’m really impressed with the plan.”

“You have been very busy with everything new here.”

“Still. I’m sorry I’ve dropped the ball on this.”

Ilya shrugs. It really doesn’t bother him. All the real stuff, the camps, the meetings, the charity dinners they will do side by side.

They discuss the Admirals latest win the rest of the dinner and it’s so nice to sit in public next to Shane and just exist for a few hours. It would be better if he could put a hand on his thigh or on the back of Shane’s neck, or weave their fingers together as they walk back to the car but it’s still more than he imagined months ago. Bats Shane’s hand away when the check comes. No way in hell.

Chapter 20

They keep fucking winning.

They’ve just narrowly beaten San Jose by one point in a brutal 2-1 game and even in the locker room of the TD Garden Ilya can still hear the sounds of their fans screaming their hearts out.

He can also hear half his teammates screaming You fucking Beautician, Hollzy at his husband because of his 4^th? 6^th? winning goal of the year. He’s not sure right now, they’ve fucking won the first eight games of the season and he doesn’t remember hockey stats with photographic memory like Shane seems to. Marly’s got Shane in a friendly headlock, and Connors looks like he might want to kiss Hollzy on the mouth with tongue even more than Ilya wants to. Which is impossible, but Connors might at least try with how deliriously impressed the guy is at Shane.

“Da, yes, but I got us first point.” He reminds the room loudly.

“And who had the fucking assist on that, Rozanov?” asks Shane smirking at him from over one of Marly’s arms.

“Fuck off, Hollander.”

Shane laughs.

Marly abandons his hold on Shane to wrestle Ilya into a headlock too.

“Aw…I still love you too Rozy. Even if we have Hollander now.” They end up gasping through laughter and insults on the floor as Ilya tries to break free while avoiding all the new bruising on his ribs. It had been a rough game, but he knew with vicious pleasure the other team was feeling way worse.

Eventually they drag both him and Shane out for media before either one of them has a chance to fully change or shower and stick both of them in front of salivating sports reporters together. It’s the first time in years they’ve been side by side for media.

Rozanov what’s it like knowing that Hollander has more assists and goals than you so far this season.

Hollander, you have yet to play the Metros since you’ve traded, can you keep up this level of intensity against your former team.

How are the two of you putting aside your rivalry to keep team moral up in the locker room and on the ice.

Hollander do you think your trade will affect future trades in the league, if this level of domination by the Raider’s continues, should there be limits on stacking talent on teams for unfair advantage? And how should the league proceed in situations that arise like this?

Hollander considering your performance so far this year, should you lead the Raiders to the Cup this season, do you think you should get the C instead of Rozanov.

Hollander Hollander Hollander, Rozanov Rozanov Rozanov

The questions are loud and demanding and borderline if not downright insulting. Shane knocks into his shoulder as they stand side by side and Ilya shifts to give him the floor. No one could talk hockey like Shane in his perfect polite Canadian persona. Ilya bites on his cross and stands back for the show, sweat from the game starting to dry along his hair line and down his back.  

“While I can’t speak for Roz, I know that it’s a team effort to win any game, and that is what we, the Raider’s are doing at the moment. The team is clicking and it’s clearly working on the ice, Roz and I have proven at All-Stars in the past that we are able work on the same line. I find it insulting that anyone could consider removing the title of ‘Captian’ from any player of Rozanov’s skill level for no good reason, and while I was honored to be the Captian of the Metros for as many years as I was, I was well aware of the fact I was trading to a team with a well established and popular captain. The fact the Raider’s team and management gave me the opportunity to wear one of the A’s is a show of faith that I would bring the same level of commitment and dedication to the game for the Raider’s that I have always strove to show on the ice. As for unfair advantage, all teams have the same cap capacity as the Raider’s for that very reason. That’s a better question for management, I’m just here to try and hit the puck in the goal as many times as I can and pass it to other’s when they have the best advantage.”

Shane backs down as do some of the reporters.

“I agree with Hollander, the 2^nd best player in the league. I am a great Captian and we will continue to win.”

Shane rolls his eyes.  Flashes from cameras go off. Ilya smirks at Shane and gets a brief smile back in return. More questions are being fired at them but, they stick to the game that just finished and Shane and him take turns fielding them like a play.

Back in the locker room some of the younger guys and some of the older guys that weren’t pulling as many minutes on the ice as Shane, Ilya, Connors, Vic, Marly and Hammersmith are gunning to go out and celebrate and most likely score. Even Marly who is almost as much of a womanizer as Ilya had been, looked tired at the thought of clubbing. They had another game in 48 hours and no one wants to blow their winning streak.  So, some of them head out to party, a few head home to girlfriends and wives and for the first time ever both Ilya and Marly are happier to find an Italian restaurant that is thrilled to open up a private back room for a bunch of winning Raider’s players than to cruise around a nightclub. Even at last minute notice.

Shane’s forcing down Chicken Cacciatore to meet his post game protein goals before it gets too late in the evening for him or something in between discussing the LA Kings last game in preparation for their next game this week with St. Simon, while Ilya tiredly savors his Chicken Parm next to Marly.

Ilya’s exhausted, adrenaline from the game just about gone now and he’s ready to go home, he just wants to fuck Shane, and then sleep until they are needed at practice and tape tomorrow.

The evening out ends with dinner, most people calling player services or Ubers for rides home. Shane’s car is at Shane’s fake apartment so Ilya beats him back to their house.

He showers again and ends up falling asleep on the couch while waiting for Shane to get in. When he’s woken up by Shane climbing on top of him Shane’s been home for a bit, because he’s also taken another shower and changed out of his game day suit.

He grunts in pain as Shane’s almost 200 pounds of muscle settle on top of his frame.

“Are you hurt?” Shane’s freezing, not sure where he is putting too much pressure on Ilya.

“Ribs on my left side got hit in the last period, just bruised.”

“Shit sorry,” he carefully rolls off of Ilya to wedge himself between Ilya and the back of the couch away from the bruised side of his body. “Is this better?”

“Da, is fine.”

Ilya rests his cheek against the soft cotton t-shirt covering Shane’s chest and closes his eyes again.

“Ilya?”

“Hmmm, Lyubimyy.”

“Are you….is everything….if I have…”

“I will need complete thought to answer.” Ilya says when Shane keeps trailing off.

“Right. Um. I know all of this me moving here, trading teams, living together, us being married, your dad dying, it’s a lot and it happened all at once. I know I’ve been struggling to adjust, especially with how I had to leave the Metros. But. Are you adjusting ok? I know we didn’t exactly have a normal relationship or share a lot about day to day life prior to jumping into marriage. And you’ve had to change a lot of stuff because I’m here. So if there’s something in general that’s bothering you or even something specific about me or anything else, you can be honest with me. Like we were at the cottage? It will probably go better than me trying to guess.”

Ilya takes a moment to think through everything Shane said. Shane’s said his piece and is patiently waiting for Ilya, one hand carding through Ilya’s still damp curls.

“Shane, I love you and I am so lucky to be your husband.”

He didn’t know what else to say. Shane wasn’t the problem, there wasn’t really a problem.  Unless you count playing the best hockey of his life, having more opportunities than ever, and having his soul sucked out of his dick by Shane the love of his fucking life several times a week instead of maybe six times a year. Having Shane here was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him, better than getting drafted to the NHL, better than winning the Stanely Cup.  He’s been lazy, basking in how good things have felt. He can work on that. It’s not anything Shane can fix.

“I’m fine. Just been tired.”

“Ok.” He’s not sure if Shane believes him completely but he drops it for now. Gives him a real excuse he can hide behind.

“It has been a brutal start to the season. Good start, of course. Crazy winning streak. Are you ok with being on the left wing still, Coach hasn’t mixed us up yet position wise in a game yet. Do you think he will?”

“Hollander, we are winning why change what works. And do not say it is not fair to me, remember before you came here to Boston I was considering Ottawa.”

“Fine.” Shane agrees grudgingly.

Ilya shifts carefully, mindful of his ribs and of Shane, to get up. Shane lets him, hand leaving his hair in the process.

“Bed?”

“You have hurt ribs.”

“Ah, I meant for sleep.”

“Sure.”

“Ok, I will let you do all the work then, Hollander. Since you are insisting.”

Shane laughs at him but gets up and leads him by the hand carefully up to their room. Ilya sinks into his normal spot in the bed feeling every minute of the long day and game. Shane’s careful not to jostle him as he starts to kiss his way along Ilya’s jawline and neck, and works one skilled hand into the waistband of Ilya’s pants.

-

They just keep fucking winning.

They win another tight game against the LA Kings in OT on home ice.

They win with a SO on their short roadie to play the Blue Jackets. Ilya’s so tired after that one that he crashes on his bed before exchanging room keys with Shane and only wakes up in the morning to find Shane at his hotel room door knocking with coffee, food, and heavy concern written across his face. He had slept through both Marly's and Shane’s calls and texts the night before. Shane’s tired from worrying about Ilya most of the night and Ilya’s moody and snappy on the flight home with anyone that grates on his nerves despite getting almost 10 straight hours of sleep. Both Marly and Shane are giving him looks when they think he’s not looking.

Once they are back in Boston for another three home games, they have 10 wins under them and talk of breaking records and much too early rumblings of making the playoffs despite 72 more games to go can be heard.

Shane and him have a rapidly approaching date for the launch of their foundation. Timed for when his in-laws are flying down to visit towards the end of the month. At this point the original idea of needing the Foundation to launch their friendship is a joke to the team, what little they know, because from the Raider’s perspective now 10 games deep, their ‘friendship’ is pretty fucking obvious.

 Both of them agreed that having Yuna around in person would make the press conference for that go smoother. Though Ilya’s not sure how he’s going to survive eight full days of Yuna and David being in Boston. Summer had been hard enough without the stress of work, foundation launch, hiding his relationship, and Yuna’s ever deepening interest of booking up every second of his free time.

Yuna’s also maneuvered them both into some hockey themed comerical for Dunkin’ which would be filmed in between practices and games here in Boston right before they flew out to Ottawa for Christmas. He’s pretty sure the only reason Shane agrees to it is because they get to work together, because the schedule looks grueling even if there is a lot of zeros offered up in their contracts.  

He understands Shane’s obsession with relaxing in a quiet cottage on the lake each summer now because he certainly doesn’t get a goddamn minute to himself during the year.

Ilya is a little surprised that so far his brother hasn’t reached out for money despite their blow up fight last time he was home in Russia. The Mastercard commercial had gone international. Ilya does feed money into his niece’s trust and spends an afternoon flipping through photos of him and Svetlana in some of his favorite haunts back in Moscow, which leads to him polishing off a mostly full bottle of vodka alone at three in the afternoon until Shane comes home from running errands to find him borderline blackout drunk on the floor of his office trying to flip through his only physical photo album of his shitty fucking family minus his mom that barely exists anymore considering 50% of them are literally dead and his brother may as well be dead with how they view each other. And his niece is going to grow up to hate him too at this rate.

Shane takes his photo album from his hands and puts it away carefully then hauls his drunk fucking ass up to the ensuite in their bedroom and pushes him under the spray of the shower fully dressed. Manhandles him into fresh, dry clothes, and holds Ilya under the covers of their bed tightly the rest of the day as he tries not to cry pathetically into Shane’s T-shirt. Doordashes him his favorite stupid American hangover meal of McDonalds hashbrowns, sausage biscuit and large coke the next morning and doesn’t say one damn word about it not being the appropriate diet of a professional athlete. 

Chapter 21

Ilya looks like complete and utter shit when he walks in late at practice. Dark Raybans covering bloodshot eyes. He had been curled up on the couch and barely grunted what might have been a goodbye when Shane had left the house a few hours ago. Shane had half expected him to skip.

Shane’s not used to this side of Ilya, vaguely knows it exists, he’s heard tabloid rumors over the years, but apparently the Raider’s Captian had gone through enough drunk binges over the years that no one seemed shocked, barely even blinked at him though Marly and Hammersmith might have looked worried.  A few teammates even joke about how Roz is back in action. Like this is the preferable version of Rozanov for some reason. Shane keeps his mouth shut but he’s getting pissed off real fucking quick with some of his teammates. It’s not like Shane hasn’t seen his share of drunk or hungover teammates showing up to practice like this, but it’s Ilya and he’s well aware that he’s spent the last 18 hours or so trying not to cry off and on into Shane’s chest. Not that he would ever tell the rest of the fucking team, or anybody that. That’s the kind of shit Shane’s taking to his deathbed before sharing. Doesn’t mean he’s not fucking worried though.

Ilya makes it through practice, barely.  Misses half the passes Shane sends his way. Lags behind in drills. Is the first off the rink, probably throws up in the locker room bathrooms before anyone else gets off the ice. LeClaire has a look on his face that Shane can’t read. Shane knows if it had been him in Ilya’s place his old coach on the Metros would have given him non-stop hell. Maybe even benched him if they were facing a weak team. He’s also aware that was mostly because he was Shane Hollander ™ other players had slightly more leniency.

Later in the parking garage Ilya’s taping at his phone slumped near the player’s entrance. Shane walks out behind him to see that none of Ilya’s cars are parked in Ilya’s normal space.

“Where’s your car?”

“I took a fucking uber, Hollander.” The words are harsh but there is none of Ilya’s normal heat behind them when he’s actually pissed at Shane.  “Marly is insisting on driving me home.”

Shane’s pretty sure he overheard Marly talking to someone about his equipment earlier. That could take a while. He’s also pretty sure Ilya doesn’t want to be around anyone right now. Not sure if he counts as ‘anyone’.

“Ok.” Shane stands there awkwardly as other players pass them, goodbyes and see you laters tossed their way. Shane waves at a few of them. Ilya ignores them all. “You want me to drive you instead?”

Ilya doesn’t answer just walks miserably over to Shane’s passenger side door and climbs in, he does to his credit, text Marly to let him know that Shane’s driving him before he puts his phone in his pocket and curls up next to the window, sunglasses firmly back in place as Shane merges into the late afternoon Boston traffic.

It’s a very quiet ride home.

The house stays quiet as Ilya lets Shane curl up on the couch with him at home though and spends the rest of the evening letting Shane run his hands soothingly through Ilya’s hair as he burrows into Shane’s lap or shoulder. He doesn’t cry this round.

-

The next morning after a full night’s sleep, Ilya seems to have recovered significantly and seems to think he needs to apologize to Shane for the last day in a half with a very thorough blow job that leaves Shane weak-kneed and gasping for breath and seeing God before Ilya leaves Shane to take his shower and for Ilya to cook breakfast.  Once Shane manages to recover, shower and make it downstairs, he makes it clear he doesn’t see the need for Ilya to apologize for anything he’s done recently.

It’s not exactly well received from his husband who seems keen to pretend the last day and half are now over and done with, but Shane’s concerned now and while he’ll let it rest for a little bit, he’s not going to ignore recent events. They are literally opening a foundation dealing with mental health in a few weeks named after Ilya’s dead mother, how stupid does Ilya think he is to think Shane might let this go.

His google search tabs are starting to be filled up with various therapists across the greater Boston area and articles ranging in usefulness on how to handle a grieving loved one instead of his normal hockey articles and occasional DIY house flip that’s caught his attention. None of the articles really sound like Ilya to him, but there’s a therapist or two that might know Russian, and many more therapists that specialize in LGBTQ+ clients. He has no idea the best way to suggest any of this to Ilya though.

Practice goes better than yesterday, and as far as the team acts it’s like it never happened or like it’s so normal that it’s not worth mentioning. Shane’s pretty sure the only texts Ilya received yesterday had been from Marly and Svetlana.  And Svetlana had been a coincidence not because Ilya had reached out to her about his feelings or stuff. It seems a little weird to him, Ilya always seemed so surrounded by other people. He’d thought there’d be more, uh, interaction? When their captain had showed up looking like shit.

Montreal would have been blowing up Shane’s phone if he had been in Ilya’s shoes. Maybe not in concern but definitely to remind him how out of character something like this was for his golden boy image. Or congratulating him on finally being normal for once by getting drunk.  Hayden would have been knocking on his door a loud child or two in tow to make sure he wasn’t dying. J.J. would of shared his favorite hangover remedy and probably would have congratulated him on loosing up.

For Ilya it’s just a brief check in from Marly. Maybe if Shane hadn’t been in the picture there might have been more from Marly, but he’s not sure. A few normal invites to go out from the rest of the guys. Nothing really specific about Ilya.

It’s a little confusing for Shane.

But he doesn’t get much time to think about it because they play against the Golden Knights again the next day, securing the Raider’s their 11^th win. Rozanov is still a beat or two off and misses each time he goes for a goal he but gets an assist, it’s the first game all season he hasn’t scored. It’s Shane and Connors that wins them the game.  Marly helpfully reminds Ilya in the locker room that evening that the puck goes inside the goal, incase Roz had forgotten. It gets a real laugh and a fuck you out of Ilya so Shane rolls with it.

Two days later against the Capitals, Rozanov scores the first hat trick of the season, fucks Shane hard into their mattress after their win after making him beg for it, and gossips as pillow talk about one of the Capitals D-men who is going through a nasty divorce due to a cheating scandal and it’s like recent events never ever happened. Shane falls asleep content and relaxed and pleasantly sore for the first time since finding Ilya in his office days ago. It’s not enough to make Shane forget everything though.

Their last home game is an easy win but Shane’s aware their now 13 game win streak might be on the brink of collapsing because they play the New York Admirals and then back to back games against the Toronto Guardians. Shane’s been watching game tape in every free moment he’s had. Both teams have been playing well recently. Hunter’s been playing like he’s got something to prove to the league and himself. Shane understands that feeling on a fundamental level in his soul, especially since being traded from the Metros. And it’s been working for Hunter. Not flawless wins like the Raider’s but definitely more wins than losses. They had trounced the Metros just last week, and Shane can’t help but feel a little pleased to see them lose to the Admirals.

-

“Who do you keep texting?” asks Shane after practice the afternoon before their flight to New York. Ilya’s been glued to his phone, lounging in their bed with a smirk on his face for the last 30 minutes as Shane packs their travel bags. He had tried to help pack but his haphazardness had driven Shane crazy after a minute or two and Shane had kicked him off the job. Now he was ‘supervising’ which mostly involved texting and posting on Instagram and occasionally pulling in Shane for a kiss anytime Shane got within grabbing distance.

“Kip Grady.”

“Oh.”

Ilya glances up and meets his eyes. Shane does his best to not look away. He doesn’t mind meeting Ilya’s eyes most of the time. Likes it sometimes when Ilya makes him meet his eyes, but that’s not a thought very conducive to packing.

“The Admirals are terribly sad at the idea of us playing on the same line.”

“Do they remember they just won the Stanley Cup?” Shane asks in between folding an extra pair of boxers for Ilya he’ll probably never wear. The idea of Hunter’s whole team dreading playing them is becoming more and more amusing the more Ilya brings it up.

“Do you remember we are the best players in the league, Hollander? They should be scared. Crying into their pillows each night while looking at your shirtless Men’s Health photo. Hollander is so sexy and amazing at hockey and Rozanov his lucky teammate has best backhand in the league and both their dicks are the biggest. They cry and cry as we win.”

Shane shrugs and tries to hold in his laughter and fails. Doubles over the suitcase and cracks up as Ilya joins him looking very pleased with himself.

Finally, Shane recovers. Folds the old KHL shirt he’s completely stolen from Ilya at this point. Puts it into his own suitcase, its comfy. His cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Anyway. He’s invited me to join him and Hunter after the game for a drink at the bar he works at. Many of the Admirals end up there after home games. It would not be odd for you to go too.” Ilya sounds a little hopeful as he makes the offer. “Hunter or Vaughn might invite you to come.”

It’s a terrible idea. Shane doesn’t say that though. Though he has a hard time saying no to Ilya at the best of times, and it would be impolite if the offer came from Hunter or Vaughn.

“How’d your…our team,” he corrects halfway through sobering up a bit, “how’d they react when Hunter came out?”

“Most people kept their mouths shut. Obviously now we know Marly does not care. Not like the Metros. But…”

“Right.”

“I will speak to the team before they play against Hunter. There are so many better chirps to make other than about how gay he is and how he has amazing taste in younger men.”

It’s a nice way of saying Ilya will shut down slurs by force, even against his own team. Shane can’t see that ending well for anyone. Or his and Ilya’s careers when people start gossiping about that.

“Marly was surprised that we hadn’t told Hunter about us.”

“He is only other gay hockey player Marly knows about. It would have made sense.”

“He’s the only other gay player in general, Ilya.”

Ilya scoffs and does a see-saw movement with his hand. “I do not think that is true.”

Shane frowns into the travel shaving kit he’s double checking. There’s no way there are tons more players like himself, hiding from all their team mates, using normal locker-room culture to fit in, buying separate apartments just for hookups, dating women, pushing every little bit of themselves- actually, fuck, Ilya’s probably fucking right that there might be a few others. And even if the signs were there that Shane could see, Shane probably would have misread them.

“Hunter is…test case? And it is only going ok for him. But he is white and very hockey famous and soon to retire. His boyfriend is separate from team and has a solid group of queer friends. Different from us, yes?”

“Wait. Who else do you think is gay?”

“Hollander,” Ilya begins, mock scandalized, “gossip is so rude. Where is my boring Canadian husband with polite manners.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Ilya throws a sock at him. Shane throws it back. Ilya looks thrilled, eyes sparkling with glee. Shane wants to lick every inch of him, it's legitimately an issue. 

“Boston has been a terrible influence on you. How am I going to explain that to Yuna? I promised to keep her nice sweet boy safe from all the Massholes down here.”

Shane rolls his eyes and gives Ilya the finger before zipping up the suitcases and putting them on the floor by the bedroom door.

Ilya flops back into the pillows abandoning his cellphone with a long suffering sigh.

“Ah, finally we are packed. We can have sex now?”

Shane makes sure to throw his shirt after he strips it off right into Ilya’s stupidly gorgeous face. Then regrets it when Ilya hides it under a bunch of pillows so he can’t fold it properly with his pants. Asshole.

Chapter 22: Media Interlude

Hunter: Hey Rook, if you need to talk about why you traded from the Metros, I’d be happy to listen.

Hunter: Shane, some of your former teammates made some interesting comments about you in chirps to me last week…

Hunter: Pike didn’t say shit at least.

Hunter: Hollander, nice hot streak. We should talk before our game.

Hunter: Hollander, nice hot streak. We should talk after our game.

Hunter: I know what it’s like to feel like you can’t talk to anyone…

Hunter: Comeau on the Metros thinks we are fucking. He sounded dead serious.

Hunter: It wasn’t just Comeau. Shit Rook, wtf happened in that locker room before you left.  

(Drafts deleted)

Hunter: Would you like to get a drink with Vaughn, Bennet, and I after our game? My boyfriend Kip will be there and I think he invited Rozanov, please don’t hold that against him. Though, seems like you two assholes are publicly friends these days…

-

Carter Vaughn: HOLLANDER, TALK ABOUT A FUCKING HOTSTREAK, you gotta let us get you a drink or something after we kick the Raider’s and your ass on the ice.

-

Hunter, “Does Rozanov ever text you about Hollander?”

Kip, “Uh, only if I ask a question about hockey. He usually, uh, frames the answer using Hollander as an example.”

Hunter, “Huh.”

Kip, “He posts about Hollander occasionally on his insta. More than anyone else on his team. But it’s all hockey stuff when it comes to Hollander. And like surprisingly artsy-ish photos of like daily life. And shirtless thirst traps. The man has layers and abs for days. Why?”

Hunter, “What’s the chances I’m not the only super closeted hockey player?”

Kip, “Oh I totally get vibes off of Rozanov...plus I think the guy is desperate to talk to anyone who isn’t a straight white American jock.”

Hunter, “Rozanov!? He’s fucked every woman in Boston by now. And has a girl or three in each city he plays in. I meant Shane Hollander.”

Kip, “Scott once again, never meet the guy, only seen him as a little hocky figure on the tv, or in your PowerPoint on why the hockey world ended when he traded to Rozanov’s team. Or you know trying to sell me Gatorade and Reebok in ads...on tv. Which is to say the only thing I know about him is he’s very good at hockey, has abs, and beat just about all your records at some point.”

Kip, “ Also, I know you’re new to exploring life out of your hockey bubble but, bisexuality exists and Rozanov looked more than happy to dance close to men at that club in Vegas.”

Hunter, “I honestly have no idea what to say about Rozanov. But it vaguely supports my theory that Hollander might also be gay.”

-

BOSTON RAIDER’S ON BRINK OF BREAKING RECORDS

By Nick Springer, @nspringersportsreports for Sports Illustrated

Boston- This is not the first time Raider’s have had a long winning streak featuring Russia’s Ilya Rozanov, 2013-2014 season saw the Raider’s win 12 games in a row with the season culminating ultimately with winning the Stanely Cup. Rozanov was named MVP the same season.

            The 2017-2018 season has already surpassed that 12 game streak and while the Raider’s Captian is still a pivotal part of that success, the Raider’s roster has certainly seen some changes. Hollander, formerly of Metro’s fame, is easily the only player on the ice these days that can compete with Rozanov and depending on who you ask can consistently outplay Rozanov.

            With Hollander now centering for each game so far die-hard Raider’s fans are split, some saying that trading for Hollander has pushed aside Rozanov who had helped rebuild the Raider brand since being drafted, others claim that Hollander has been nothing but a win for the team, which on a game-by-game basis, has been proven correct.

Both Hollander and Rozanov have consistently shown they can provide their teams with 100+ point seasons…read more

-

Mom: If you check your email I’ve sent the latest from Rolex, Gatorade, and some new possibilities. Because you are now in Boston and on the same team as Rozanov it wasn’t hard to convince Dunkin’ to do a combined campaign. If we got the Tim Horton’s route they only want you, Shane. Please make sure you and Ilya read it over and sign as soon as possible.

Shane: When we have a free minute, we will. I know you know our schedules are insanely tight right now. Just make sure nothing could possibly affect our schedules for hockey.

Shane: How many sponsorships are you trying to get for Ilya, anyway? I don’t want our schedules so filled all summer we don’t get to see each other, and remember he actually has to stay in Canada all summer, legally speaking, he can’t be flying around for various companies nonstop.

-

Google: Therapists in the Boston area.

Google: Therapists in Boston that speak Russian.

Google: Therapists in Boston that speak Russian that specialize in grief.

Google: Therapists in Boston that speak Russian that specialize in LGBTQ issues.

Google: Therapists in Boston that speak Russian that specialize in LGBTQ issues, grief, family abuse, and marriage?

Google: How to tell is someone is depressed?

Google: Depression vs. grief

Google: Depression affecting work performance?

Google: Does therapy help?

Google: How to convince partner to go to therapy?

Google: How to communicate in a marriage?

Google: Can you get a therapist to sign an NDA?

Google: Ilya Rozanov Boston Raider’s drinking binges from 2010-2017?

-

David Hollander: Is there anything special we can order for the holidays that you want? To celebrate any traditions you have, Ilya? I read some articles, but didn’t want to assume anything. We are looking forward to seeing both of you in November in Boston and of course when you both come home for Christmas break.

-

Sent:yunahollander@24llc.com

To: raiderscharityboston@BostonRaidersOfficial.com

Topic: Irina Foundation launch, joint venture between Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov

-

Meme image of a man with sleep deprived hair, standing in front of a red web of conspiracy corkboard

@showmehollanov

Me seeing all these in the wild photos of my favorite sweet baby boys. God I wish I lived in Boston so I could see in person.

@metrosfan

These are grown ass men just playing hockey, jfc

@RaidersRaidRad

Thank you. Dude. They are coworkers that like winning. Fuck sake why are people on the internet so weird. Also, metros suck, man. what’s it like losing all the time since we took Hollander?

-

Hollander: Hey Marly, is this normal for Ilya?

Hollander: Svetlana I have some questions about Ilya.

(Drafts deleted)

-

Jane: If you really want me to go with you to the bar after the game I will.

Lily: Thank you.

Lily: We do not have to stay long if you do not find it fun.

Lily: How many people invited you out after game?

Jane: Hunter AND Vaughn

Lily: Mr. Popular here.

-

Rose: Miles has a friend that does sound staging for Paramount, he’s single and played soccer in college. Big into sports in general. I think you’d get along with him.  He’s used to people in Hollywood needing to be discrete too, totally would sign an NDA.  Do you want his number?

Shane: I’m actually in a relationship.

Rose: SHANE FUCKING HOLLANDER.

Rose: OMG

Rose: Can you tell me who he is?

Rose: For how long now?

Rose: He’s ridiculously hot, isn’t he? Like the male equivalent of me? Stylish too?

Rose: I’m so happy for you.

Rose: Where did you meet him?

Rose: Is he famous?

Shane: Are you going to give me a chance to answer anything?

Rose: Shhh….I’m debating, I might just let my imagination run wild for a bit longer.

Shane: Ok then. Have fun. Talk later.

Rose: No….come back….Shane. Also, by the way, I will continue to interrogate you about your love life in a moment, but holy shit, I’ve been watching your games. You and Rozanov are amazing together.

Shane: Yeah. I’d like to think so.

-

Rozanov: Could you stock ginger ale for after our game?

Kip: that’s oddly specific, but lucky for you the bar does have ginger ale.

Rozanov: What brand…

Kip: Rich fucking hockey boys with their superstitions I swear to fucking god. Fuck off, go lose to us. See you after.

Rozanov: is cute that you think we will lose.

-

Shane: Sure. I guess I can join you guys for an hour or two after we win.

Vaughn: Sweet.

Hunter: Looking forward to it, Rook. You spelled after you lose wrong.

Shane: lol. Sure. Ok. I hope you took a lot of photos of the cup while you had it. It’s coming home to me this year. I’m sure it enjoyed it’s little vacation to New York, but there’s an open spot in my trophy room for my third ring. 

Chapter 23: Ilya

Scott Hunter might be the bravest person Ilya knows personally. He’s certainly changed the trajectory of Ilya’s personal life in a way that would have never happened if left solely to Ilya and Shane’s blundering attempts at poking at their own feelings. He’ll never not be pathetically grateful that Hunter stood on the ice alone after accomplishing something most people in their field only ever dream of and went fuck it, it’s not enough and kissed Kip Grady for the whole planet to see.

He’s also desperately jealous of the man for that same reason.  Shane could have another decade of great hockey or even possibly slightly longer of okish hockey to play if he truly wanted to watch his skills decline on the ice for as long as possible instead of retiring in a blaze of glory still mostly young and functional like Ilya now hopes too. Which is a very long time for Ilya to hide his life away. It’s so very tiring thinking of living his day-to-day life with the love of his life for years upon years and not being able to share it with more than a handful of people. What happens when Ilya retires but Shane doesn’t? He can’t exactly follow his husband around the country to games like some WAGs do if no one knows he’s Shane’s husband. Can’t expect him to retire the same year Ilya does. But at the same time its more than he ever thought he would get, a future that looks more defined and hopeful than he ever previously imagined. He’s at least imagining being alive in these scenarios. It’s confusing and bewildering and wonderful and horrible.

But.

They’ve only been married less than six months and he’s already exhausted of hiding and everything else in life too and doing a terrible job of keeping his feelings in check around Shane.

Shane’s given up so much for Ilya lately. Left Canada for Boston and a lower paycheck and no ‘C’ because Ilya asked him too. Married him to keep him safe and help him get a new passport. Sat through fairly insane yet unembellished stories of Ilya’s womanizing or early new to the team days told to Shane gleefully by fellow teammates who were completely oblivious to how very little Shane wanted to hear those kinds of stories. Marly does his best to help shut that shit down but it looks weird if he does it too much, especially since he’s in some of the crazy stories too. Used to be one of the first ones willing to share a crazy night out. Deals with Ilya’s mood swings and the unspoken fact that Ilya is learning just how much like his mother he is.  

But Ilya just wants more, wants to be in public with Shane. Always wanting more. Not as a teammate or friend but as his husband. Wants what Hunter now has, a date to boring (real boring, not Hollander boring) awards shows, an Instagram account that’s full of nauseating couple photos, a house that’s clearly theirs, a team that (mostly) stands behind him publicly while he’s with a man.

-

In a lucky turn of events the Raider’s get to practice the afternoon before game day at Madison Square Garden instead of one of the other rinks or training facilities. There’s a low hum of excitement throughout practice that hasn’t been there the rest of the season so far. This is the fucking team to beat this year, the fucking winners of the cup. While Ilya and probably Shane too, want to destroy the Metros when they finally come head-to-head on the ice, that’s a personal vendetta, not hockey.

It’s the Admirals the rest of the team thinks of when they think of the team to beat this year. Hunter has been playing some of the best hockey of his life.

It also means the chirping and insults are flying fast and furious anytime a team crosses the Admirals on the ice and unfortunately for Hunter he’s provided many hockey players with a whole slew of vile options to hurl at him now that he’s openly gay. He looks exhausted and pissed during interviews after each game, even when his team has just won.   

Ilya texts back and forth with Kip enough to know that it’s getting to Hunter. But Hunter also looks more alive when he stares down the cameras in a way that Ilya thinks he can understand. In a way that Ilya craves.

He climbs on top of the bench closest to the center of the locker room. Shane clocks his movement immediately and frowns, but turns towards him with intensity normally saved just for the ice or in Ilya’s preferred situation when he drops to his knees and blows Ilya.  It sets off a nice little chain reaction until the noise in the room dies down a little and everyone on the team is staring at Ilya. It’s still loud and chaotic.

“Listen the fuck up.”

The locker room goes silent. His team locked in. A few of the guys a little confused to be getting a pep talk, or what they assume is a pep talk at practice instead of before an actual game.

“The Admirals won the cup last season.” He paused for the appropriate boos and jeers and swearing. “This is the past. It does not matter. We will fucking beat the Admirals this year. We will also fucking kill the Metros each time we play them, not important for tomorrow, but still, remember for future games. We will fucking out play and out score everyone.”  That gains some cheers and back slaps amongst the team. Marly’s laughing as quietly as possible next to Shane who is straight up glaring at Ilya. Ilya winks at them both then continues, “What is important to me tomorrow is that this team does not embarrass me or yourselves. We are the best fucking team in league. So, we will play the best hockey and say best chirps. We will not insult Hunter for his great taste in men with his hot young boyfriend.”

Marly is still laughing but doing a valiant but poor job of hiding it. So naturally, he’s getting some looks. Shane’s got a hand covering his face. And the rest of the team looks confused as fuck.

“Instead, we will chirp him for real reasons, like what it must be like to watch first hockey game ever in history because he is so old. Or how both Hollander and me have beaten all his records. Not because he likes men. Oke.”

He hops down off the bench and walks back to his locker cubby purposely ignoring everyone.

-

His little speech had caused a little confusion, at least one group chat (if not more, definitely more) that he wasn’t part of but Marly was in at least a one,  a few people very pissed he was clearly supporting Hunter and letting everyone know,  several people already moving on because they didn’t give a fuck either way just cared if they made it to the playoffs or not, a few keeping their thoughts to themselves, and a much more pr friendly statement from the coaches’ office saying the same damn thing, to not target Hunter.

…and Shane who is surprisingly calm for the situation, lying flat on Ilya’s hotel bed staring up at the ceiling, fully clothed unfortunately.

“-better than the Metros response at least.” Shane’s calm but angry. Shane’s angry a lot more these days, Ilya thinks.  The more of Shane’s anger Ilya sees the more he thinks it suits Shane.  He has every right to be angry. To let loose some of those tightly controlled hidden depths and be himself, rage and all. Likes the spark it puts behind Shane’s eyes.

“You don’t think anything you said today will cause you any issues, like with Russia?”

“It was not public or recorded. You have already married me, this is best case scenario, and not just because I love you, but because we have started all that boring Canadian paperwork.  Raiders management loves me even after acquiring second best player ever. My work papers are good for now.”

“Ok.”

“OK?” Ilya looks down at his husband who is still learning every inch of the hotel room ceiling instead of looking at Ilya. He pulls his shirt off in an effort to change that.

“Yeah, I’m not going to tell you to not publicly support Hunter. You are clearly friends with Kip, I want to know your friends, I want to know every part of your life, Ilya, be a part of every part of your life, I just…”

“You worry.”

“Of course, I fucking worry. I also don’t want you to lose anything with the Raiders. I know how easily people flip when you don’t fit the image they have of you in their minds.”

Ilya’s chest tightens, most of Shane’s worst-case scenarios have either happened or at least threatened to happen. It’s not unfounded worry.

“Why would I want to stay friendly with people who hate people like us? Hate this?” he taps his wedding ring around his neck.

Shane takes a deep ragged breath at Ilya’s question; untangles one hand from the bedspread he was worrying and instead places his hand on Ilya’s thigh soothingly.

“The only thing I can’t stand to lose is you, Shane.”

In quick movement, showcasing just how much of a once in a lifetime professional athlete Shane was, Shane’s hand had left Ilya’s thigh for his arm and he had managed to somehow hook his leg up around Ilya’s thigh and flip Ilya on top of him, knocking the breath out of Ilya in the process.

With barely a hairs width of space between their lips, Shane says firmly, “Well lucky for you I hate losing and I’m not going to fucking lose you Ilya. To anything or anyone or anywhere.”

Ilya blinks back tears and instead of facing his emotions pins Shane down more firmly as he presses against his lips, Shane giving a slight gasp into his mouth as Ilya kisses him like a man possessed.  

-

Ilya’s barely slept, Shane had finished the night in his own room once curfew kicked in out of paranoia. Marly’s sent him screenshots from some of the group chats, the one’s Marly’s still in seem to back any decision Ilya makes including playing nice with Hunter. Even if it’s just a surface effort to not piss off one of their two star-players. A lot of people remember how shitty the team played last year when Ilya was going through Jane drama and his dad dying. It wasn’t worth losing a major winning streak just to call Hunter a fag or cocksucker for most of them. Especially when Shane quietly backed up Rozanov’s statements in the chats. Make that two of their star-players and management that was still rolling out the red carpet for Hollander after proving he was well worth the price in trading for him so far.

It was a simmering discomfort brewing with the team but both Ilya and Shane had lived through way worse between the Metros and Ilya’s family.

He’s lazily skating near the red line during warmups later, giving up precious watch Hollander stretch in his uniform time, which should be sacred and uninterrupted, to try and get Hunter’s attention.  Subtly. By yelling his name over the line several times and waving his stick at him until he finally broke off from stretching near Vaughn to face up to Ilya.

Maybe he should have just texted the man last night. Or Kip. But this was more fun.

“What the hell do you want Rozanov?”

Hunter’s tone of voice suggests that he’s facing a dentist appointment or been in the trenches of a brutal war not about to play a hockey game as he skates up.

It makes Ilya smile wide. He loves crushing the spirits of opposing teams on their home ice. It’s one of the best feelings in the world. Now he gets to do it next to Shane.

“Sorry we are about to beat you, but while winning if my teammates talk shit to you about Kip or your fabulous new life of being hockey’s gay poster boy, tell me.”

Hunter narrows his eyes at Ilya in a way that Ilya finds entirely too assessing for someone who is like 100,000 years old, before Hunter’s eyes flick over to Shane for a beat or two too long and then back to Ilya’s.

“I will, thanks.” It’s a grudgingly given response, and Hunter’s eyes bounce back to Shane in a way that makes Ilya a little insanely possessive because for the first time in a long time someone is hypothetically actually a viable sexual partner for Shane and is good at hockey, but the tightness across the older man’s shoulders loosens ever so slightly as he thanks Ilya.

Plus, Hunter’s totally in love with Kip and Ilya is being very very irrational.  Except Hunter’s got a cup now and Ilya’s only got one cup and Ilya has nothing to worry about because Shane married him and is in love with him and…

“See you after the game I fucking guess…” Hunter continues before skating off, muttering not quite under his breath, “fuck, Kip, you just had to be friends with this asshole…”

Chapter 24

Chapter Notes

AS ALWAYS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS AND KUDOS

“You’re starting to act like him too.”

It’s the first time all-season Shane’s paid any attention to what the opposition is saying to him at face-off.  Most of the time it’s stupid racist shit, rarely do they chirp about his playing skills or any other facet of his squeaky clean personal life. He’s dreading what the Metros will end up saying to him but right now…

Hunter’s voice is clear, and unlike last time, after the game, it doesn’t shoot a bolt of fear through Shane. Though he is pissed.

“I’ll take that as the fucking complement it is.”

And then Shane’s off down the ice winning the puck with Hunter at his heels and Ilya cutting through the Admirals’ defense to receive the puck, only for Bennet to make an absolutely stunning save midair as Ilya slices it cleanly towards the left of his caged face.

The rest of the period is similarly brutal for both teams and they are 0-0 when they trudge into their locker room for the first intermission.

Shane’s having a hard time focusing on some of Coach’s strategies because a few of the guys are shooting Ilya glares as he sits next to Shane and chugs Gatorade in a way that Shane is positive isn’t trainer approved and massages out a possible cramp in his leg that is trainer approved therapy. Ilya ignores the teammates in question, but if Shane noticed them, Ilya definitely did. He doesn’t miss stuff like that.

All of this is such a bad idea. He’s already regretting promising to go out with Ilya (technically Hunter and Vaughn) tonight, and if they end up losing this game, he can’t imagine the locker room is going to be a very friendly place for Ilya, and by association probably him and Marly.

He’s hit with a stab of longing for his cottage and how simple things felt during the summer.

Thankfully he doesn’t have time to really work himself into a full state of stress because they are back to the player’s bench and Shane’s not willing to lose and even in the worst of situations he’s able to keep somewhat of a clear head when he’s on the ice.

Neither Shane nor Scott are known for being particularly aggressive on the ice but Hunter’s reputation doesn’t stop him from slamming Shane against the boards the next time Shane has the puck and they are on the ice at the same time. Shane grunts in pain, bites his mouthguard hard and rolls with it, a sharp elbow to Hunter’s ribs and he’s not the only one letting out a grunt of pain as they battle to keep control of the puck.  Shane wins and when he sends the puck spinning into the goal, Bennet’s not lucky this time.

The cheers and jeers are loud and wash over him with familiarity.

The Raiders play just rough enough that they can claim it’s just hockey but Shane from the bench clocks several of Admirals shaking off harder than normal hits.

The locker room feels significantly less cold with the score 1-0 in favor of them during the next break, but doesn’t change the fact that there’s a shift in the room that wasn’t there the rest of the season. Shane’s paranoid about this sort of thing anyway, but it’s real and not in his head and it’s aimed at Ilya and not him for once.

Ilya’s still acting like nothing is different and Shane does his best to play along. Which isn’t super hard to do since, he’s not exactly leading the room when it comes to the Raiders. And once again he gets to hide behind hockey for a few more minutes because, really for most of the team the only thing that matters is keeping their slim lead.

Vaughny scores and the Raiders’ response is fast and rough. The Admirals don’t get anymore chances to score.

Nine minutes later when Ilya is back on the ice and sends a gorgeous backhand spinning into the net, Shane finds himself relieved, his shoulders relaxing, even though he knows even being the best at hockey won’t save someone from backlash.

-

Shane is dragging his heels in the hotel shower because once he’s dressed, he’s out of options. Ilya’s still excited about going out, and Hunter and Vaughn despite licking their wounds after losing had texted him after the game to confirm he was joining them.  He hasn’t answered yet, which is really rude, but becoming kind of par for the course for most of Shane’s interactions these days.

“Hollzy?”

Marly’s voice is inside his hotel room, which shouldn’t be possible-

“Roz gave me a key to your room…” He also sounds like he’s well aware he shouldn’t be in there.

“What’s up, Marly?”

“He, uh, wanted to make sure you’re still going out with us?”

“He’s dragging you out to the Kingfisher too?”

“Connors, also.”

“Fuck, ok. Yeah, give me 10.”

“I’ll be over at Roz’s room.”

He can hear his hotel room door shut over the sound of the water of his shower.

He forces himself out of the safety of the water and into a fresh T-shirt and a pair of nice jeans. Jacket for the time of the year in NYC. Wedding ring and necklace tucked into his shirt.

Everyone in Ilya’s room is dressed in similar basic clothes, which makes Shane feel slightly better. No one has ‘club’ vibes going on. Maybe the Kingfisher really will feel like just another bar. Just with less chances of women hitting on his husband right in front of him. That should fill him with relief, but it doesn’t, just another check in the this is wrong and dangerous column.

“Ready to remind Hunter, Vaughn and Bennet how we just kicked their fucking asses?” asks Connors as Shane leans against one of the dressers. Ilya’s still messing with his hair getting that slick look that drives Shane crazy.  To be fair he’s yet to see a version of Ilya that doesn’t drive him crazy.

“I don’t think they’ve forgotten yet.” says Shane dryly, focusing on Connors and not on the way Ilya’s shirt rides up as he bends down to put on his boots. Or the way Marly rolls his eyes fondly at them.

“Ah, victory is always better when it is on their home ice, da?”

Marly snorts, amused.

 Ilya continues as he stands up and ushers the small group out the door, “Losing hurts so much more in front of home crowd…” He says it like he’s describing the weather before sounding more and more gleeful, “so sad for old man Hunter.”

-

Ilya and Marly walk into the Kingfisher like they walk into most rooms, like they belong there. Like they own it. For Ilya Shane knows that sometimes it’s true confidence and other times it’s a bluff to get him through whatever shitty situation is hitting him next. As far as Shane knows, for Marly it is that easy. Shane has no idea what that must feel like.

Connors looks like some of the American tourists that show up in Montreal for certain games. Well he is American, but still. Shane trails in last and watches as Connors looks around confused and surprised not everything is made for people like him. Even though the bar is more dive bar than gay bar.  He’s also ridiculously thankful both Marly and Connors are here too because, even though he desperately wants to support Ilya in everything he does, there is a very good chance he’d still be hiding in the hotel shower if it was just him and Ilya coming here alone. Together. Instead he’s trying so hard to imagine this as just any other night out with some of the Raiders.

He’s broken out of his increasingly stressed musings by loud swears and ‘you just had to invite some of the Raiders out’ jeers from several sets of booths in the back.

‘HOLLANDER’ rings out and Shane makes his way to the booth where Hunter and Vaughn are sprawled out nursing their physical and mental wounds from losing tonight. Bennet and some of the other guys on the Admirals are hanging out near one of the TVs.

Ilya slides past him to a different table that isn’t full of hockey players, but one of the guys does look a lot like Hunter’s tv clips of his boyfriend Kip. Based on the way he jumps up to say to hi to Ilya it seems like a safe bet.

Connors and Marly break off to the bar and Shane slides into the booth across from Hunter.

“Holy Shit, the Raider’s newest and best player in the house.”  Vaughny crows as he reaches out for a fist bump, Shane meets his knuckles with a small laugh.

“Make sure Rozanov hears you call me the best on the team.”

Hunter mutters “happily” under his breath, shooting a resigned frown back towards where Kip was busy introducing Ilya to all his friends.

“Hey Rook.”

“Hey.”

“Glad you could make it.” Continues Hunter turning a much warmer smile on towards Shane.

“Uh, yeah. Me too.” His words do not sound convincing at all, but neither of the Admirals call him out on it.

A guy slightly younger than Shane slid up to the booth and placed a ginger ale and a Corona in front of Shane and winked at him as he blatantly looked Shane up and down.

“Th-ank you, Kyle.” Both Scott and Carter said in the same cadence.

“Uh, thanks.” Shane said a beat too late, studying the condensation on the Corana bottle with the same intensity he brought to game tape.

“From your teammate.”

“So much for us buying you a drink.” Hunter says eyes tracking Ilya’s movements next to Kip. Or maybe he was just tracking Kip’s movements. Maybe Shane needed to not read disaster into every word and movement. Though Hunter hadn’t done much more than give Marly and Connors a cursory nod when they walked in.

He takes a sip of his beer.

Kyle heads back to the bar, and Vaughn takes control of the conversation recapping parts of tonight’s game. Hunter like Shane seems relieved at the very safe topic.

It doesn’t last though, Vaughn’s phone rings and he has a brief but sweet call with his girlfriend, Gloria, while Hunter and Shane pretend they aren’t listening in by discussing the increasingly cold weather that both Boston and New York were sharing.

“Rose Landry is filming in Boston soon, or so Gloria says. You guys going to see each other?” asks Vaughn, ripping both Hunter and Shane out of the safety of discussing nothing important except for how they hate when snow delays flights on roadies. “You guys broke up because your schedules, right? Really sucks man. You guys looked good together.”

“Uh no. I mean yes. No.” He takes another sip of beer, forces himself to not glance at Ilya. “What I mean is yes, I’m going to see her, and no that’s not the only reason we broke up. We’re friends. Just friends. Nothing else.”

There must have been something in the tone of his voice, because Vaughn throws up his hands, placatingly “hey, it’s all cool, Hollander, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He doesn’t sound like it’s fine. Switches to sipping on the glass of ginger ale.

“Anyone need another round?”

“No.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Scott says.

Vaughn gets up and walks over to Marly and Connors at the bar and slaps them both on the back, Marly laughs at something Vaughn says.

It leaves Shane and Hunter alone and Shane makes the mistake of meeting Hunter’s eyes. They look sympathetic and exhausted.

“I uh, don’t know how to address this, but I think we should talk in private about some of the shit some of your former teammates said about you when we played the Metros. If you are willing. There’s a back office, Kyle won’t mind if we go there to talk. Or we could go for a walk or something.” Hunter says quietly but sincerely. He makes sure his voice is low enough that no one else could hear.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Hollander? Shane." Hunter looks concerned now. 

"I'm fine. It's fine. Yeah. Um, we can talk in private."

Chapter 25

Chapter Notes

Discussion of slurs used against a character.

“Where are you going, Hollzy?” asks Marly as they pass the trio that is having a hell of a better time than Shane and Scott are.  He gives Hunter a friendly what’s up  nod as Scott stands next to Shane, that Scott returns.

“Smoke break.”

“Fuck off of with that bs, Hollander. Do I need to show you a picture of what a cigarette looks like?”

“I’ve seen you and Roz sneak off enough to smoke to question how you’re both professional athletes….and to know what a cigarette looks like.”

Scott and Vaughn laugh at Shane’s response and Marly turns back to Kyle to order himself another beer.

"Fuck you, Holzy."

Shane rolls his eyes. 

“If Roz decides to remember he brought other people out tonight now that he’s got new friends,” Marly, Connors, and Shane all glance towards the raucous booth Ilya seems to have fully assimilated into, “I’ll let him know you went for a walk.”

“Thanks.”

It’s cold outside but they walk in silence for a few blocks until they find a less busy street. It’s New York City though, and like Boston, while they are famous and beloved by their cities, the average person probably wasn’t going to recognize them on the street outside of their team jerseys. Americans had so many other sports they obsessed over more than hockey.  In Boston more people have assumed to Shane’s face that he’s a M.I.T. student who plays a sport. Harvard once or twice. Both are laughable to him. Trying to convince non hockey fans that he’s an actual pro hockey player has gotten him some odd responses.

That and New Yorkers tend to mind their own business unless you make the situation their business.

Unfortunately, he’s become Scott Hunter’s business.

Scott’s opened his mouth several times now like he’s about to speak but hasn’t found the right words.

Shane understands that all too well.

“Let me guess,” Shane starts ruefully when Scott seems to once again fail to start. “They hit you with all the unimaginative slurs in the book? What were you that week, a faggot or a cocksucker or a cocksucking fag?”

“Yes, but I expected that.”  Scott says. Like it’s a fact. It is a fact. Shane gets that too. “I didn’t expect them to compare me sexually to the guy that led them to two damn cups back to back.”

Shane nods and they keep walking. No one even looks at them.  All caught up in their own worlds and problems. Just like Shane is caught up in his own fears and Scott in his.

“Comeau thinks we are fucking.”

Scott says not entirely out of the blue, but something about his confused tone coupled with the idea that if Shane hadn’t been obsessed with Rozanov since the first time he played against him, hooking up with Scott wouldn’t seem so outlandish. Ilya’s not wrong, Hunter is hot. He likes hockey. Had Shane known there was another closeted gay guy in the league willing to sneak around, and with as much to lose by coming out as him, he’d probably would have hooked up with Hunter in a failing effort to get Rozanov out of his system in the beginning years. Though Shane’s pretty sure that he’d find Scott boring in an actual relationship and in bed after awhile. When he thinks of a future, of building a life with someone, he can't imagine anyone other than Ilya. 

“Comeau only thinks that because you’re in the news for being gay and he has no imagination. Obviously, you’re fucking the only other gay guy he thinks he knows about.”

It takes a second for Scott to catch what Shane has just admitted out loud.

“So you are…”

“Yeah.”

He kicks at a piece of trash. He’s glad he’s wearing one of the Reebok pairs because he’d hate to ruin a pair of shoes he actually likes. A little voice that sounds like Ilya mocking him, reminds him he’s more than wealthy enough to buy new shoes or get ones he’s wearing professionally cleaned.

Scott’s smiling at him. Easy and bright. Shane avoids his eyes.

“I’d appreciate if you kept that to yourself, though. I kinda thought you already guessed.”

“Fuck, Shane, I wouldn’t tell anyone. I suspected? But mostly just after your trade. Still really wasn’t sure. Figured something had to have gone really south for you to walk away from the Metros. Then they ran their fucking mouths and...”

“Yeah, they don’t actually have, uh, proof? That I’m….” He kicks at the trash again he’s only said I’m gay four times now and forcing that admission out is still hard, “but uh, I guess most of them were more than happy to turn on me. Some of it might just be jealousy which has always been present since I was drafted, mixed with a healthy dose of racism and now homophobia. Some of it had been simmering for a while. Though the gay accusations were a nice new touch. Pretty sure that’s how I ended up in the hospital and how you won the cup.”

“I’d like to think we would have beaten you guys anyway.”

“If you say so.” His tone is highly skeptical and slightly insulting. 

Hunter calls him on it.

“You really are a fucking asshole, Hollander.”

Shane laughs, the way he says asshole in his New York accent, reminds him oddly of how Ilya calls him an asshole. Like he’s in on the joke, not the brunt of it.

“So why isn’t this story splashed across every sports station?”

“Management wanted it kept as quiet as possible, probably afraid I was about to get very tight with my solicitors. Which, in hindsight was the route I probably should have taken.  Might have to consider in the future. But I just wanted it quiet, and I wanted a trade to a team of my choosing, and I got that at least. I didn’t want it to ruin hockey for me.” He sighs. “As of now, there’s no leaked texts or photos so it really is just rumors. Most people aren't taking it seriously according to my management team.”

Scott takes a moment to think though all the new info.

“There were no other Canadian teams that were interested? Seems fucking unlikely.”

“Oh, they all wanted me. There was a long alphabetical list sent to me by my agent. I only wanted a trade to the Raiders though.”

Scott is staring at him like that’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard anyone say.

“Which makes zero sense by the way. Why the fuck, other than some twisted revenge on the Metros, which I could understand, would you want to trade to them? Is Rozanov retiring soon or something? They had to clean house to handle what was left of your contract. Resigning with them if Rozanov is staying is going to be a major pay cut for you.”

“Yeah.”

“You obviously don’t have to tell me. Sorry, I’m probably coming on a bit intense here. I just know, at least for me how lonely it was to hide all this for years.”

“No it’s fine.”

He chooses his words carefully. If he lies with the truth it will hopefully come off as genuine to someone who doesn’t really know him well like Scott. At the same time he’s finding himself relieved at being able to talk to someone other than Rose about this. Especially someone who truly could understand most of his fears at coming out.

“I’ve been in a casual relationship with someone I meet my rookie year in Boston.  Hook ups a few times a year. Recently we’ve decided to try and make things work in an actual relationship, but neither of us were out and it was very long distance. But I had the chance to move closer when things went to shit in Montreal. And on the hockey side of things, I just spent the best years of my career bending over backwards to make the Metros the best fucking team and this is the fucking thanks I get? I’m not doing that again. I wanted a solid team, with management willing to work with me, and Rozanov and I have respected each other since day one. Have had a weird under the radar friendship based on the shared insanity we faced so young in the league. We’re starting a charity together, he approached me about it just before things went to hell, it was already in the works before my trade, and he’s been great with helping me get settled in Boston and on the team.”

“Is he going to resign at a team friendly deal to help keep you next year?”

Shane shrugged, but that had been part of the plan too. Equal out their pay a bit for the next round of contracts. He also appreciated that Hunter’s first thought was how his game would be affected, not the admission that he was in a relationship.

“You’d have to ask him.”

Hunter drops that line of questioning.

“A charity?”

“Yeah, it’s being announced soon. We were actually considering reaching out to you to see if you’d volunteer.”

“Send me the details when it’s all finalized, I’ll decide then.”

They’ve been walking for a while now. Shane’s tired, Scott’s probably equally exhausted, but doesn’t seem done with the conversation yet.

“So you have a partner?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t give me details, can you?”

“No. Not right now.”

He doesn't press, It makes Shane feel pathetically thankful.

“Are you happier in Boston?”

Hunter seems painfully earnest when he asks and Shane doesn’t answer right away. Gives the question some thought. It’s not a yes or no easy answer.

“I’m angry all the time.” He thinks about waking up next to Ilya every day in Boston. He thinks about their insane winning streak. How it’s the most fun he’s ever had playing hockey. He thinks about how he hasn’t known what to say to Hayden and J.J. He thinks about driving in a second car to work and team meals and to flights despite living with Ilya. Nights curled up on the couch, doing nothing but relaxing and breathing the same air as Ilya in the same room for as long as they felt like it, no deadlines in sight.  He thinks about his marriage that feels so new and fragile and precious and secret. “But a lot of things are better.”

Shane remembers the curl of impossible hope that unfurled in his chest when he saw Scott kiss a man on the ice.

“Are you happier since you came out?”

Scott also takes his time with that question.

“The short answer is yes, I am, Shane. The complicated answer is it’s not been easy, some days fucking suck more than anything, are scary as hell, but it’s been a relief. I did not realize just how much weight hiding this part of my life put on me. I get to be me for the first time in my life. And it turns out I like it.”

Scott turns to him fully, Shane can see his breath in the cold air as he talks.

“And I was able to fix things with Kip. I would have lost him if I had picked what was expected of me and my own fears. I don’t like thinking about it, but we broke up for a bit because I was not ready to tell people, and while he understood why I didn’t want too at first, even hid our relationship for months the first time we got together, he’s been out since he’s been a young teen and could not hide himself away any longer. Didn’t deserve me asking him to for the sake of my career.”

“How…how is your career going?”

He stumbles over the question. Losing hockey is his second greatest fear just past losing Ilya in some way, any way.

“It turns out I had some real good friends on the team. I’m unbelievably thankful for Carter and Eric. Oddly enough, Rozanov ended up being the most annoying ally that I did not even remotely predict. But other teams haven’t been nearly as…pleasant.”

When Shane just stares at a streetlamp just to the right of Scott’s ear and doesn’t answer, Scott continues talking.

“It sucks. I have more bruises and injuries than ever, the chirps are fucking awful, several former teammates demanded trades, and I’ve lost a shit-ton of sponsors. That’s all with the Admirals team and management being surprisingly supportive.”

“Would you…If you…If you had the chance to make this choice again would you have made the same one?”

“Yes, I would. Wish I had come out years ago.”

Shane just nods at him in acknowledgement. He doesn’t know how to respond and Scott doesn’t push him, just points him in the right direction of the Kingfisher and lets them both walk in silence for a few blocks. When they start getting closer Scott reaches out and grabs part of his jacket it.

“I’m the last person to tell you should come out. And I’m not going to tell anyone about you, even Kip if you don’t want me to say anything. But, based on what the Metros were saying about you, your days of having a choice in the matter might be numbered. I could be wrong, but doing it on your terms, might be better than other options. Either way, if you need someone to talk to, I’m just a phone call away.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, rook. Now, I’m going to introduce you to Kip so he can meet the guy whose skills make all of us look like rookies on the ice and then you can escape back to your hotel.”

“Ok, lead the way.”

Chapter 26: Ilya

The Shane Hollander is in Ilya’s bed. The room is dimly lit by one of those low shitty generic hotel lamps. Shane’s showered and changed since returning early and is laying on top of the covers when Ilya gets back to the hotel slightly tipsy and with the glow of conversing with people who weren’t hockey players quickly fading from the shared cab ride with an amused Marly and a very confused Connors.

“Hollander,” he breathes low into the shell of his husband’s ear as he climbs on top of Shane. Shane hums easily and sleepily as he goes instinctively lax under Ilya’s familiar weight, one hand feeling its way up Ilya’s shirt to his chest the other carding though Ilya’s curls. Ilya kisses his stupid perfect freckles and then his mouth before Shane helps work his shirt off of him. His big doe eyes meet Ilya’s, and the rush of affection and devotion he feels for this man is almost to much.

Ilya rucks up Shane’s sleep shirt, mouthing at the standard fresh bruises from the game, and the various stages of healing older ones, before they help each other with the rest of their clothes.

His husband is obviously exhausted from the game and the evening, not fighting when Ilya pushes him lightly back into the pillows so he could relax as Ilya licks at Shane’s hardening dick.

He takes his time, worshipping Shane with his mouth and his hands, drinking in the soft moans and fuck Ilya, please please litanies, surrounded by Shane’s thick thighs, until that familiar salty taste hits the back of Ilya’s throat and he does his best to swallow. Cleans him with his tongue before collapsing next to his husband on the bed.

It’s getting very late, they have an early flight to Toronto in the morning and Shane should be heading back to his own room like he usually did.

He’s not though, cuddling up to Ilya instead, breathing slowly coming back down to normal, small soft smile trained on Ilya.

“I will check hallway for you once you are dressed, it is getting late.”  

Now Ilya’s the one avoiding eye contact as he presses a quick kiss to Shane’s lips and backs up to hand Shane his t-shirt when Shane tries to deepen it, trying desperately to not beg Shane to not leave. To let him have what fucking Hunter and Kip had. Ilya might be drunker than he thought because for some damn reason he feels like burrowing into Shane’s arms and crying. Which just makes him madder that he’s going to have to spend another night alone despite Shane’s room being just a few doors down from his, and then two more nights alone until they are back in Boston.

“What?”

Shane’s clutching the shirt Ilya’s just handed him and staring at Ilya bewildered.

“What, Hollander?”

“You want me to leave?” his eyes drop from Ilya’s face to Ilya’s flagging erection. “You don’t even want to come first?”

There’s a hint of hurt in his voice that makes Ilya’s chest tight just to hear.

Ilya doesn’t answer either question, just walks into the bathroom to brush his teeth and gargle and avoid Shane’s now glistening eyes. He’s fucking exhausted, something deeper than the normal post-game aches.  It’s becoming a very familiar feeling.

When he finally goes back into the main room, Shane’s still shirtless, but he’s put on pants and is still in Ilya’s bed. He pats the spot next to him that Ilya had abandoned minutes before.

“If you really want me to leave, Ilya I will. If you want space or something. But I was thinking I could just sleep here tonight.”

Ilya protests wordlessly, sinking into the bed next to Shane and giving into his previous thought of hiding in Shane’s arms. Shane tentatively rubs Ilya’s back and holds him close at the same time. It’s soothing and safe, and now Ilya is getting hard again because honestly, he can’t name 5 things about Shane that doesn’t turn him on.

“I know we tend to be bad at talking about stuff sometimes, but we are married and if you’re upset or unhappy, I need to and want to know, Ilya.

“It is late Hollander, not now.”

Shane does not like that answer based on how he tenses and the careful moderated tone he uses to continue.

“Ok, maybe when we get back home to Boston we sit down and talk?”

Ilya nods miserably into Shane’s shoulder. Shane’s not going to let him escape what will probably be another heart wrenching deep dive into his feelings, if past history of talks with Shane is any indication. He’s not looking forward to it.

“Ok.”

“We both need sleep now, but if you want a quick hand job-“

Ilya laughs weakly as he nods again into the crook of Shane’s neck and his stupidly perfect husband wraps a hand around his dick.

-

Marly’s snoring on one side of him when Shane slides his phone onto Ilya’s fold down tray during their flight, where Ilya pauses mid bite of breakfast to read the text he wants Ilya to see. He’s got a small frown etched across his face.

Your Dad and I are driving in to see you and Ilya play Toronto. I know your schedule is busy right now but if you have an hour for lunch or dinner, we’d love to buy both of you dinner.

He swallows, and goes to fish out his own phone out of his pocket to let Shane know he’s fine with this if there is time but Shane’s typing and sliding it back into reading view again before he has a chance to.

I’ll tell them I’ll meet them if there is time. We can’t have dinner together in public with them. I don’t even know why the fuck they thought we could.

Intellectually Ilya knows Shane is just following their long-term plans but the impulsive emotional side of him that usually wins out, is snarling in anger and jealousy. Had his in-laws given them a bit more of heads up, a bit surprising with Yuna’s usually airtight scheduling, Ilya probably could have convinced Shane, or at least made it look like a business meeting for the up coming charity.

But Shane’s already decided and this is no place for an argument when they can only communicate via text.

By the time they land and roll out to practice, tape, and a few media engagements for the team, Ilya’s in no mood to join Marly and Vic for dinner but Marly drags him out anyway across the hotel lobby where Shane’s meeting Yuna and David at the same time. He’s ever so slightly mollified by the small wave David sends his way when they lock eyes as Ilya leaves the hotel with his friends. Shane’s busy arguing with Yuna, with his back to the room, the wide expanse of his muscled shoulders tense as he stands next to his parents.  

Some of Ilya’s anger is tempered by the fact that when he killed time on his phone during the day, alerts for Shane popped up with disturbing frequency and some of his fellow Canadians had some pretty shitty public responses about their favorite player not being on a Canadian team anymore. Even if they weren’t even playing the Metros.  When they finally ended up playing Montreal it was going to be even worse. He’s angry on Shane’s behalf while being angry at Shane, and it makes him mean until halfway through dinner Marly tells him to fucking snap out of it.  He pays for Marly’s and Vic’s dinner as an unspoken apology and hides in Shane’s room as soon as they get back to the hotel. Though Marly does text him to see if he’s ok once they go their own ways.

Later that night whatever Hunter had said to Shane to relax him enough to stay the night with Ilya yesterday was gone in the face of being back on Canadian soil for his first game playing for an American team. Shane’s tense under his lips when Ilya kisses him when he gets back from his own dinner plans. He still drops to his knees as quickly and as obediently and eager as ever, but he’s quiet and moody after, and Ilya just wants a cigarette and to be back home in Boston.

It almost feels like the early days when Shane wouldn’t even let him come to his house and they’d have to hook up at cheap hotels or separate apartments.  Ilya hates it even if he sort of understands it and spends the next thirty minutes before curfew in his own room alone, chain-smoking out the window. He finishes up his pack of cigarettes he’d been nursing since Shane moved in with him months ago and debates trying to bribe the front desk staff into buying him a new pack and sneaking it up to his room. Ignores his in-laws texts saying they missed him at dinner, until he feels guilty and thanks them for the thought and that he will see them when they come to visit in Boston before he goes to bed.

-

Shane’s fucking pissed. Ilya can tell from the way he chews his mouthguard, the way his eyes have tracked the game with no glint of humor or enjoyment, to how much more physical he is each time he fights for the puck.  Several of Toronto’s guys are flying to Boston tonight with nice new bruises, curtesy of Shane Hollander.   

The crowd is loud and mean and each time the Raider’s inch closer to winning it grows even more deafening. Ilya loves it. Feeds into it. Plays it up as he skates the best he can.

Whatever Kent says at each face off is clearly getting to Shane, but not having the desired effect on his game, because Shane’s still dominating the ice.  Barrett hasn’t said a word as far as Ilya can tell the few times he gets close to Shane, but he stares at Shane with a laser focus anytime the game is paused in a way that makes Ilya twitchy.

But in the end, none of that matters in the moment because they beat Toronto for their 15^th win of the season 5-3 and everyone other than Shane and himself are losing their fucking minds in the locker room after the game. The Boston Raiders are three games away from making an all-new record, but tonight they at least joined the ranks of a select few other teams that had ever made it this far.

Shane’s doing his best to participate in their team’s excitement, but it’s clearly a lot for him each time another person slaps his back, gets him in a friendly head lock, or otherwise invades his personal space.  Ilya tries to intervene when he can but considering he’s getting the same excited treatment based off his two goals, and monopolizing The Shane Hollander’s time isn’t going to fly, it’s almost impossible, especially when Ilya also scored two of tonight’s goals. St. Simon is basking in his own goal contribution across the room.

Media is hounding Shane in French and English and Shane answers in that emotionless, bland and polite way he gets in front of media and Ilya can barely keep up with his own interviews to follow Shane’s at the same time.

Yuna and David congratulate them both in a shared text, and Shane sees them to say good bye briefly outside the locker room on the way to the bus. Ilya walks past like Shane's just another teammate with family around.  

He is so ready to fly back to Boston and sleep in his own house tonight. He’s tired of fucking hotels and curfews, playing nice with his teammates, playing pretend with his own fucking life. The plane is quiet as they fly out of Canada, most of their teammates using the few hours as a chance to nap after the brutal game. Shane is glaring out the dark window at something only he can see but doesn’t pull away when Ilya presses his foot against Shane’s in the dark. Just taps back softly and keeps staring out the window.

Chapter 27

Ilya beats him back to the house once they land in Boston by ten minutes, because of course he does. He’s left the light on again for Shane, like he’s done in the past when he’s beaten him home before.

Shane is strangely relieved to be back in Boston; in a way he hasn’t felt since moving here. His first time back in Canada since trading is now in the past, and it’s like a valve letting out some of the pressure. It sucked but, he got through it and now he’s back home.

 By the time he’s brought in his luggage for roadies and toed off his shoes by the door and made his way upstairs to their bedroom, Ilya’s already fresh out of the shower and bundled up in a pair of sweatpants and an old Raiders hoodie.

Shane would also love a shower, get rid of that specific grim that only comes from being on airplanes for hours on end. But he has a mission and he’s going to make sure he addresses some stuff first. If he gets to comfortable or if Ilya starts to doze off while he’s in the shower it’s going to get pushed to the side again.

“Can we talk?”

Shane blurts out before he gets distracted by literally anything Ilya might do.  Like breathe in his direction or dry his hair with a towel. Shane is aware he’s obsessed.

“We just got home Hollander and we have game tomorrow.” He says shortly.

Ilya’s not going to make this easy, and he does look exhausted, but Shane’s not sure there is a better time for this at this point. Every aspect of work is insanely busy, they are about to leave town again for a longer roadie and a hotel room surrounded by coworkers is not the way to do this, and when they do get back from that roadie his parents are flying in. They can’t keep going forward like this, at least Shane can’t.

“We always have a game, or practice, or some fucking sponsorship, Ilya. Can we please talk?”

Ilya sits at the foot of their bed and waves an aggravated go on hand at him, before crossing his arms across his chest.

The less than willing response makes him pause for a moment to collect his thoughts, long enough to piss Ilya off more.

“You want to talk, so talk Hollander. Do not take all night.”

He’s not sure where to start. He needs to tell Ilya about what he and Hunter had discussed the other night, but he’s more concerned about Ilya in general than whatever rumors the Metros were finally spreading against whatever efforts management had made to keep it all quiet. Except any rumors about Shane right now could be detrimental to Ilya now that they were on the same team and about to publicly announce the Irina Foundation.

“Are you unhappy I moved to Boston? Or…or missing being single? Because, I can give you space if you need it…”

It would probably kill him inside, but he’d also gone years just hooking up with Ilya. Maybe they could go to some sort of more frequent arrangement. They had jumped in really fast with the marriage and everything, so if Ilya wanted-

Ilya glares at him.

Shane takes a small step back to give him space.

“What the fuck, Shane?” Ilya stands and crowds up close, Shane can smell that he’s used Shane’s mint shower gel and not his own. “Is this because of night in hotel? Did not want you to be nervous about getting caught in my room, not because I want you to leave.”

“No, I mean, yes, no. I mean in general Ilya. I know I’ve said this before, but we moved really fast since this summer and if you are regretting anything or need space, or miss-“ he stumbles over this part, because the idea makes him want to rip any person Ilya might ever look at to shreds with his bare hands, which should concern him more than it does, “sleeping with other people, you are going to have to tell me, just be honest with me. We can make different arrangements.”

He hasn’t rented out his new apartment yet. He could spend a few nights there. Should anyway to be more legit.

Ilya blinks at him, the glare melting into some inscrutable look Shane can’t even hope to begin to read.

“What. The. Fuck.”

When Shane doesn’t seem to know what response to give Ilya at that, Ilya sucks in an annoyed breath through his teeth and reaches out to grab Shane’s hands from where they are picking at his pants pockets.

“Hollander…Shane…I am your husband, very happy to be your husband and not doing very good job at being your husband if you think I want anyone else. We are monogamous, yes? Is correct word? Just me and you? No one else.”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, and you want to be monogamous with me, Shane, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, do not fucking ask me this again.”

“Yeah, ok”

Relief flood through him at that. Ilya still sounds pissed, and they are still going to probably fight over something Shane says in the next few minutes but at least the worst-case scenario short of Ilya wanting a divorce is out of the way.

“Then what is the problem Ilya? Is it not being able to go home to Russia? Or your family? Or both. Or something I don’t know about. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to….look if you don’t want to talk to me, I won’t be mad, but maybe a professional?”

Ilya lets out another aggravated sigh and drops one of Shane’s hands to rub a hand over his face and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Professional what? Hollander. Is late, am tired, English is stupid language.”

He still has one hand around Shane’s.

“Like a therapist, someone professional, who you can talk to about anything that makes you sad or stressed. Maybe one who speaks Russian? So you don’t have to deal with talking in a different language. Maybe it will help.”

Ilya steps backwards towards the bed, the back of his legs hit the frame and he sits back down, he hasn’t let go of Shane’s hand yet so now Shane’s standing close to him, putting him in a place for Ilya to bury his face in Shane’s stomach. Shane cards his free hand through his damp curls.

“You’re scaring me, Ilya. The last month or so. I just want to help. There’s one or two in the area that speak Russian. I did some research. Or if it is something to do with me we can find one that works with couples. I want to do anything I can to help or support you.”

When Ilya doesn’t move or pull away or say anything he keeps playing with Ilya’s hair and keeps talking.

“You’ve been through so much lately, and you’ve helped me so much with moving and being on a new team. Thank you.”

The hand that isn’t clutching his, goes to his waist and pulls him closer into Ilya’s orbit. He doesn’t lift his head from where he’s buried it against Shane though.

“I love you so much, Ilya. Please just consider it. If you do go and don’t think it’s helpful or-“

“Shane.”

Shane falls silent waiting for Ilya to continue.

“Is maybe not bad idea. You can tell me your research during the day when is not so late?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Ok.”

Ilya’s shifting, and now rubbing his cheek against the fabric covering Shane’s pant’s zipper which is fantastic and not at all conducive to finishing their talk. Also, making Shane feel a bit of whiplash based on how watery Ilya’s eyes looked.

“Stop.”

Ilya looks up at him incredulously.

“I’m not done talking.”

“What. Else. Hollander.”

“I need to tell you what Hunter wanted to talk about when I went for a walk with him.”

“Fine. Sit, Shane. Talk about boring old dinosaur.”

“Shut up. You like the guy.”

“Just said he was old dinosaur, not old dinosaur I hate.”

“I told him I was gay.”

Ilya freezes next to him.

“I didn’t say anything about you. I don’t think he’s guessed anything about you.”

Shane presses his leg to Ilya’s and stares down at their joined hands.

“I guess some of the Metros were really saying some shit about me during the last game they played against the Admirals. They think I’m fucking Hunter by the way.”

Ilya mutters something in Russian that Shane thinks means fucking idiots.

‘We talked a bit what it was like for Hunter to come out. It’s not great. But he’s been lucky with his team, mostly. He said he wished he’d come out years ago.”

“Ah.”

He’s not sure what that response means so he powers forward.

“He thinks I should come out. Before someone else, namely the Metros, makes me. You know do it my way, as much as it can be.”

“Do you want to?”

“No, I…”

“You are very brave Hollander.”

“I already lost the team I wanted to retire with.”

“Ok.”

“I’d lose what I have here now, too. I mean the hockey’s been great, playing with you is fucking amazing. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted when it comes to being on the ice.”

Ilya presses a kiss to the side of his cheek but doesn’t speak.

“But clearly just based on the last few days, it’s not really going to win me many close friends on the Raiders. And wouldn’t it put you in a more dangerous spot? We have years to go before you’re legally a Canadian citizen.”

“Ah, maybe we just call our lawyer on details. And maybe Yuna. For a plan. New plan, if we go public?”

“Wait. Both of us come out? Ruin both our careers at the same time? That’s fucking stupid.”

“Fine.” It’s curt and Ilya drops Shane’s hand and he instantly misses the warmth of his husband’s hand in his.

“Wait. Wait. Ilya. Do you want to come out?”

He shrugs, but it’s not coming off as casual as Ilya would like it too and even Shane can see he’s upset.

“I am getting very tired of hiding.”

“Oh.”

“Of hiding being with you.”

“Same. It make me so angry sometimes.”

Ilya stifles a yawn with his hand and while nothing’s really been wrapped up or answered at least Shane’s been able to get some of his concerns off his chest.

“But we can talk about this all later, we do have a game tomorrow.”

But now Ilya seemed to have remembered something he wanted to talk about of his own.

“What did Kent say to piss you off during last game.”

“Normal racist shit. With an extra side of gay rumors. I’m just getting worse at ignoring it all.”

“And Barrett?”

“Weirdly quiet, why?”

“He was staring at you whole game.”

“Weird.”

“I did not like it. Just be careful next game. I will watch your back…and front of course. And ass.”

“Ok, we’ve clearly hit the limit on serious conversation, asshole.”

He manfully ignores Ilya’s plea’s to stay and finally gets a chance to go shower off airplane travel grime only for the very high chance that Ilya will get him dirty again in just a few minutes. 

Chapter 28: Media Interlude

BOSTON RAIDERS THREE GAMES AWAY FROM HOCKEY HISTORY

            The Raiders’ win in Toronto has put them in the same small winning…see more

BOSTON RAIDERS COUNTDOWN TO BREAKING RECORDS

            With the Raiders’ win against Toronto at TD Gardens last night…see more

HOLLANDER HITS HARD

            Shane Hollander had an unusually high number of minutes, for the normally reluctant to fight player, in the sin bin last night against Toronto last night…see more

TWO GAMES NEEDED FOR BOSTON RAIDERS HISTORIC WINNING STREAK

            The Boston Raiders’ arrive in California for their 17^th possible win…see more

BOSTON RAIDERS WIN 17^th GAME IN WINNING STREAK

             Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander have led the Raiders to their 17th…see more

-

Yuna: Is Shane ok? He hasn’t answered my texts with any details after the game.

Ilya: Barely a split lip after the fight. Kent fucking started it. Shane ended it.

Yuna: Fucking asshole.

-

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY

Rose Landry spotted wearing a Hollander Raiders Jersey during the game in California last night. Are these two former love-birds on again? We can only hope…see more

Entertainment Weekly Comment section:

@Landerinlove

Shane and Rose give me hope in true love

@IlyaRozanov81

Fuck Off

@Roses4Rose

Marry me Rose Landry

@LandryGossipX-Squad

Lmao what?

                        @IlyaRozanov81

                        Fuck Off

Well someone is getting fired on Hollander’s teammate’s pr team, cuz that’s his official handle, lol

-

Rose: O.M.G. SHANE HOLLANDER YOU BETTER FUCKING WIN TONIGHT.  I did not just drive to the Honda Center today and back to L.A. to the Staples Center for tomorrow’s game just to watch you lose and get murdered by death glare by your teammate Rozanov.

Shane: 1^st of all it’s like a 40 minute drive.

Rose: There was traffic. There is always traffic. Try again.

Shane: I know we were on a bus making the same damn drive. ANNNNDDD, you had a driver for you and your friends. So don’t even. Your brother the agent is coming in for this next game, right?

Rose: Whatever. Why does Rozanov hate me? Did he watch HEARTS IN PERIL, even I hate me in that movie.

Rose: And yeah. He’s pretty bummed we aren’t still dating, was probably hoping to sign you at a family discount.

Shane: Rozanov doesn’t hate you.

Shane: Your brother would have to go through my mom. He’d never stand a chance. I’m surprised Farah made the cut.

Rose: So about Rozanov. I’m pretty sure had I burst into flames after hugging you, he’d have tried to put me out with gasoline before the tall hot brunette one pulled him away for media or something.

Shane: I’ll introduce you to him for real after tomorrow’s game. We were on a tight schedule tonight.

Rose: You better be too busy fucking celebrating a historic win, bitch.

Shane: I can do both. No seriously, let me introduce him to you after the game.

Rose: I’ll wear the least flammable jersey I own.

-

Lily: youre girlfriend was happy to see you

Jane: *EX-girlfriend

Jane: EX that knows I only like dick, you dick

 Lily: ok

Jane: go suck my dick

Lily: I will better than Rose Fucking Landry. For fucking sure. Room 403.

Jane: be there in 15 I got to talk to one of the coaches real quick

Lily: gonna make you fucking beg so good for me

-

Hunter: best of luck, Rook.

Hollander: Thanks.

Hunter: It’s starting to become obvious that to play great hockey you have to be gay.

Hollander: my partner is going to find that hilarious. You don’t even know.

-

Kip, “Does Shane’s partner play hockey?”

Scott, “Fuck if I know. I’m impressed he told me as much as he did.”

-

Kip: I hear you are about to make hockey history or something. Knock, em dead.

Ilya: Thank you! You should watch our game instead of Hunter’s tomorrow.

Kip: I don’t like you or hockey, that much.

Ilya: lol

-

Jane:    Screenshot:

                 Hunter: It’s starting to become obvious that to play great hockey you have to be gay.

Lily: So wise in his old age.

Jane: We can learn much from our elders

Lily: Indeed

-

Svetlana: LA’s right wing 1^st line number 54 is going through a nasty divorce according to the Russian WAGs chat I’m in.  Might be a good time to chirp in Russian. It will definitely throw off his game.

Shane: That’s more Ilya’s style than mine.

Svetlana: Says the man that just fought Dallas Kent on the ice.

Svetlana: Everyone expects Ilya to chirp a Russian in Russian. No one expects it from you.

Shane: You scare me.

Shane: Lots of people punch Kent by the way. He has a very punchable face. He started it. He’s not the first fight I’ve had. Fuck.

Svetlana: I scare all men. Don’t take it personal. History is on the line. Practice your pronunciation with Ilya if you decide I’m brilliant.

-

Yuna: LA’s center 1^st line is favoring his left knee ever so slightly.

Yuna: I’ve been pouring over tape for hours.

Yuna: Just incase you and Shane hadn’t noticed yet.

Ilya: You and Svetlana should have hockey group chat.

Ilya: Thank you.

Yuna: Play Hard.

Ilya: Always

-

J.J.: Win number 18, mon Capitaine

Shane: Hey, J.J.! I’ll fucking try. Thanks.

-

Hayden: You got this buddy.

Shane: Appreciate it.

-

J.J.: so why didn’t we win 17 games in a row when we had Shane?

Hayden: I mean we won two cups…

J.J.: Hollzy’s about to bag himself number 3.

Hayden: why are all his interviews with Rozanov like he’s thrilled to be there. He never smiled like that in interviews with me.

-

Shane, “FUUUUUUCK, Ilya”

Ilya, “I know Rose fucking Landry never did that for you.”

Shane, “We are fucking married Ilya. I don’t even like girls. Be nice.”

Ilya, “Ah, no. If you can still talk this clear, and think about Rose, need another round, da?”

Shane, “You’re the one that keeps bringing her up.”

Shane, “oh god, baby, Ilya, fuck, love you, please don’t stop.”

-

Hammersmith: if Hollzy wins us this game I might just have my wife frame a picture of him on our wall like Connors does.

Connors: It was a poster. I was in high school you asshole. He’s a damn good player.  I was a fan.

Marly: So that group photo of us hiking on your fridge.

Connors: all of you go fuck yourselves

Connors: GROUP. PHOTO. And you posted it on Instagram

St. Simon: when did you stop being a fan of Hollzy, Connors.

Connors: JFC he’s still the best goddam player you assholes.

Marly: is everyone just getting room service for dinner? I’m fucking exhausted.

Hammersmith: same.

St. Simon: I don’t plan to move till they force us to breakfast in the morning

Connors: you all are old.

Marly: you slept on the fucking bus.

-

Yuna: You got this honey, so proud of you and Ilya right now. Your dad and I can’t wait to see you soon.  Love you. Stay safe.

Shane: Love you too, Mom.

-

Marly: what are you doing for dinner?

Roz: Room service.

Marly: You owe me noise canceling headphones. Expensive ones.

Roz: What pair you have don’t work?

Roz: You could take notes.

Marly: Fuck off.

Roz: Fine.

Roz: Do not tell Shane.

Marly: Dude, I want to win this game. Not embarrass/congratulate your man so much he forgets how to score. But, seriously how the fuck do you two have the stamina after that game.

Roz: Like I would let him forget how to score.

-

Ilya, “So when I score more points than you…”

Shane, “Yeah right. So. Our usual bet?”

Ilya, “Our usual bet. I cannot wait to score more.”

Shane, “Oh no, I get laid either way. However, will I survive.”

Ilya, “Asshole.”

-

Rose: Rooting for you.

Shane: See you after the game.

Rose: I hope you packed a fire extinguisher.

Shane: left it back in Boston in my kitchen where it fucking belongs.

-

BOSTON RAIDERS’ ROCKIN’ NEW RECORD

By Nick Springer @nspringersportsreports for ESPN

Los Angeles- The Raiders have their 18^th win, a historic day for sports. As of 2017 this is the longest consecutive win streak for any hockey team in the NHL. Most of this impressive run can be laid at the feet of the Hollander and Rozanov chemistry on ice, the likes the hockey world hasn’t seen before.

            Now the real question is, what team is finally going to beat them this year. Several players such as Hammersmith and St. Simon are starting to show possible injuries as they play. The level of intensity here is similar to playoffs…see more

-

Rose, “I think Rozanov is in love with you and he hates me. Now that we’ve formally met.”

Shane, “How the fuck do you always get this right? Also, he doesn’t hate you.  Just really really really dislikes you.”

Rose, “HOLY SHIT SHANE.”

Shane, “This is never spoken or written of again without like code names or something. Like, legally it’s not safe for him to be out as a Russian citizen.”

Rose, “OH MY GOD SHANE. You have my word of course. I would never. But we are going to fucking talk about this. Also, congrats on winning the game. Again. Wait when we tried to…when we were together-“

Shane, “Please don’t-“

Rose, “Oh, I’m right again.”

Shane, “I’ll tell you the whole story sometime. When you come to Boston you can come over to our house and have dinner one night. Ilya’s a decent cook. Or we can cater.”

Rose, “Our house?!”

-

Svetlana: I watched him trip over himself. You chirped him in Russian, didn’t you.

Shane: It was fun not gonna lie. I didn’t use the insider info though…

Svetlana: What did you say.

Shane: I said his face looked like a crushed Pirozhki dropped on the street. At least I think that’s what I said.

Svetlana: Thank god you are hot, because you’re an idiot. Tell the other idiot in this relationship, congrats from me and that I’ll call him on his next day off and he better answer.

Shane: the wife leaving him thing was just not right, wasn’t trying to get punched

Svetlana: Congratulations again.

Shane: Thanks.

Chapter 29

“Obviously, both Reebok and Adidas are thrilled, but outside of the sport companies-“

Shane’s parents had been in Boston for less than four hours and while Ilya had been nothing short of an exemplary host to his parents, Shane thinks that Ilya is starting to look very weary around the edges with each word Yuna says about work and sponsorships.

It had been a wild week from breaking records to losing their first game of the season to Ilya meeting Rose for the first time, and the Irina Foundation about to be formally launched and adding in-laws on top isn’t making anything more relaxing for Ilya. Shane’s never going to experience that stress, good or bad, when it comes to in-laws in person, but Ilya’s taking it very seriously.  It’s a different vibe from summer for sure, where Ilya had been more concerned with Shane handling coming out to them and then getting married.

“Mom can we just…”

“Let the boys breathe, Yuna.” His dad cuts in from across the table laden with the food they had catered for the first day of their visit.

Ilya is stiffly eating his food as Shane tries to get his mom to turn off the momager role for the evening.

Between picking his parents up from the airport and practice today and just getting back into town themselves, neither had wanted to attempt to cook.

“They have so many opportunities right now that-“

“That we can discuss some other time, Mom.”

Out of sight, under the table Ilya’s hand grips Shane’s thigh briefly, before weaving between Shane’s fingers to hold his hand.

“Thank you very much for finding me new opportunities.” Ilya’s polite, and almost differential to Yuna as he talks, and Shane wants to ask why the fuck he’s acting like this because Shane is just confused by Ilya right now.  

His mom has always been a driving force for his career in all aspects, years of getting him on teams and to practice, traveling for games, networking to the extreme, managing aspects of his sponsorships, of which he is grateful, but right now, like many times before, he really wishes she’d ease up. Both for his sake, but especially for Ilya’s right now.

As far as he knows, Ilya’s always had to navigate a lot more of his career on his own. He still had an agent and manager from the beginning, but no loving and competent parent was protecting him at the same time. Shane has heard about some of the times he’s sent family in Russia large sums of money, and Shane guesses he hasn’t seen the full extent of the damage. The fact that he’s as successful as he is and despite not having someone like Yuna hunting down every opportunity for him, he’s still managed to scrape up better than average sponsorships and the occasional sports magazine once he hit the USA market. It’s really a testament to how damn ambitious, hardworking, and smart his husband is, he’s never understood how anyone could think Ilya was lazy. And now his mom seems dead set on getting Ilya anything that doesn’t fit Shane’s image.

He hasn’t had a chance to try and talk to Ilya about their talk, though the blank shuttered look Ilya had immediately after the Raider’s narrowly lost their game in New Jersey, followed by cold aloof tenseness when they got back to Boston last night, where he almost flinched when Shane went to touch him is leaving him even more stressed and concerned about Ilya. It’s really not a good time to worry about selling watches or workout magazines or whatever bs drink is popular right now.

“Of course, Ilya. I think we can turn your image-“

“Mom!”

“Shane, you know how important it is to jump on these jobs and sponsorships when they come around. They move on quick. And speaking of image, as much as I think someone needed to punch Kent, it definitely didn’t have to be you.”

Shane had enjoyed hitting back at the physical and mental attacks he’s dealt with his entire career. He gets the need to be perfect, it’s gotten him this far, to follow the rules, but it’s not going to save him. He knows this based on how much rumors alone have cost him. He’s not sure how to turn off the impulse completely to try at the cost of everything else, but getting to just be himself with people like Ilya or Rose has definitely softened his edges bit.

“I think the league and many of my sponsors would prefer me to fight on the ice than admit I like men. Which is apparently becoming more and more common knowledge these days.”

“We have a pr team on-“ His mom starts.

“Which won’t solve the issue, let’s be honest. The league can’t legally fire me, but we know I’m going to lose, in a perfectly respectable way according to various companies, some of my sponsorships. And the ice is going to get 100% more dangerous than it already is for me. That’s if the Raiders as a team are willing to even stand by me like the Admirals did with Hunter, which I have my doubts. So, let’s take a break from discussing work for both Ilya and I for five fucking minutes.”

It grows quiet at the table for a few moments. It’s a relief for Shane who is so tired of all this, but Ilya does a nervous little shift next to him and his eyes track back and forth between Shane’s parents until Dad starts talking about a new employee at his office.  They all make small talk for the rest of the meal.

After dinner Shane double checks with his parents that one of the guest bedrooms has everything they need, before escaping to his own bedroom for the rest of the night. They have a game tomorrow coming off their first loss and Shane doesn’t want to lose on home ice so soon. He knows it will happen eventually, logically, but still…

Shane closes the master bedroom door behind him, crosses the room and kneels at Ilya’s feet where he’s just sat on the edge of their bed. It’s a much more pleasant quiet now, both of them dressed still, Shane pressing his face into Ilya’s thigh. Ilya running his hand through Shane’s fairly long hair. They stay like that for a while, Ilya doesn’t tell him to remove his clothes, or unzip Ilya’s slacks to take him in Shane’s mouth, or to get in any other position for Ilya’s pleasure other than staying just like they are.  

After a bit, Ilya gently tugs him up to sit next to him on the bed. It’s not really the direction Shane was hoping things would go the rest of the evening, but Ilya’s in a weird mood.

“I will play better tomorrow.” Ilya says staring at the empty spot between his knees where Shane is no longer kneeling.

“Instead of the already fucking excellent hockey you normally play?”

Ilya glances up at him affronted by Shane’s sarcastic tone.

“I hate losing probably more than anyone, but we are not even half-way through the season, we are going to lose games, Ilya. That’s not your fault. Half our team is nursing injuries that could easily get worse. That’s just the nature of the game. You are the last person I would ever accuse of not bringing 100% each time you skate out on the ice.”

“Hollander, I…”

“Seriously, do you think I’m mad or disappointed at you for our first loss? You literally scored one of our two points in that game!”

“Hollander…”

“Don’t be fucking stupid about this.” Shane says as he flops back on the bed and crosses his arms across his chest.

Ilya doesn’t say anything just goes back to staring at some invisible spot between his legs. Shane does not know how he’s supposed to respond to this. Ilya changes subjects at whiplash speed and it might even be worse considering Shane had been hoping to have some form of sex before getting some sleep tonight.

“Did your parents need anything else in their room?”

“No, they’re all good.”

“And you are all good? With them?”

Shane frowns and stares at the side of Ilya’s slumped profile. It takes him longer than he wants to admit to figure out what Ilya’s alluding to.  Mainly because naively, he thought when it came to his parents Ilya knew things were different, he seemed to have willingly stayed in touch with them since summer through text and a rare shared call between them all.

“They aren’t mad either, Ilya. Not at me and certainly not at you. Not for something like losing a game.”

He props himself up on one elbow and uses his free hand to rub Ilya’s thigh soothingly. He manfully keeps it tame.

“Did they say something to you to make you think otherwise?”

“Ah, no.”

They were both shit at this talking thing. He knew from stories here and there, rare and often only shared late at night or after a little too much vodka, that Ilya’s family was pretty fucking awful.  And to be fair to Ilya, Shane had also been scared to tell his own parents he was fucking men for almost a decade so, Ilya with that combined knowledge probably came to some worst case conclusions that are hard to put aside now.

“I can move them over to my apartment tomorrow after practice, they don’t have to stay here.” Shane continued offering an out if helped relax Ilya.

That broke through Ilya’s dead stare. His eyes darting back over to stare at Shane like Shane’s the one talking crazy at that suggestion.  

“No Hollander we are not making your parents leave the house.”

“Alright then.”

“Thank you for offer though.”

Shane tries to nod, but it probably looks weird when he’s laying down like he currently is.

Ilya flops down next to Shane on the bed and rolls to cradle Shane close in his arms. Shane’s still a little amazed and bewildered that this is something he gets to do, just touching, to be close to Ilya night after night, day after day. He’s not sure how they’ve survived the past years because this is as intoxicating as winning the Stanley Cup, if not more, and Shane should know he’s fucking done it twice despite all odds and the man currently holding him that’s always given him a run for his money.

They trade soft kisses for a bit, gentle in a way they normally weren’t with each other.  Shane wants to remember each swipe of Ilya’s tongue against his, memorize each breath as his breathing grows heavier near Shane’s ear. It’s nice but it’s not turning off Shane’s brain off like he would like it too.  He’s worried about practice and their upcoming games now that their winning streak is over, especially now that he’s seen how hard it’s hit Ilya. Especially with his parents watching from the stands. Ilya’s hiking up Shane’s shirt now and pressing kisses across Shane’s pecs or tits as Ilya liked to call them in the most annoying possible way. Shane’s gasping at the sensation but also wondering if Ilya’s prepared his speech for the opening of the Irina Foundation.  He hasn’t mentioned one way or another about it yet and they are just days away now from the launch date.

Ilya notices his lack of focus almost immediately. Rolling off of him and giving him space he does not want. Shane whimpers at the loss of contact, which while embarrassing does gain him a small self-satisfied smirk from his husband.

“Shane you are thinking very very loud right now.”

“Well in my defense things are a little stressful right now.”

“Stop.” Ilya orders.

“Why did I never think of that before? You are so right, I’ll just stop stressing. Simple. Fucking genius.”

Ilya’s biting back laughter at him. Which is actually helping Shane relax a bit.

“Yes, very smart. I am genius. Ok, Shane, you prefer to suck my dick now?”

God, Ilya’s a fucking asshole, Shane thinks as he rolls his eyes but relaxes almost against his will as Ilya tangles a hand in his hair and guides him firmly down to his crotch where his other hand is undoing his pants and freeing his cock for Shane. Because this is what Shane wants and can handle with their brutal schedule. Ilya telling him what to do in bed and Shane obeying without thinking.

“Touch yourself.”

Ilya doesn’t give him a chance to respond before pushing into Shane’s mouth. Which does turn Shane’s brain off in the best possible way, hopefully does the same for Ilya. All that matters is the pace Ilya sets as he fucks into Shane’s mouth, the press of Ilya’s large hand on his head, and Shane relaxing his throat around Ilya’s dick and timing his breaths when Ilya pulls out, and the feel of Shane’s own hand on his own dick, stroking and then stopping his own orgasm until Ilya hopefully gives him permission to come.

He’s not thinking about anything but Ilya as his husband spills down his throat with a strangled groan, the familiar salty taste filling his mouth, his vision a little blurry with tears, Ilya’s not been gentle, which is oh so good. Cradles Ilya’s softening cock in his mouth until it becomes too oversensitive for Ilya and he pulls out leaving Shane wet and pathetically hard.

He is much more pliant under Ilya’s mouth now as he kisses along Shane’s jaw line one hand pressed against his throat the other knocking Shane’s hand aside where he’s still touching himself, it doesn’t take Ilya more than two or three strokes before Shane’s spilling over his hand and against the fabric of his sweatpants he never rolled down.  

Ilya uses his pants to help clean them both, before sliding them off Shane and kicking them haphazardly to their bedroom floor.

Shane’s finally relaxed and tired enough to not complain about that, but he’ll probably hate it come morning.

“Better?”

Ilya sounds rightfully smug, but Shane will allow it because he’s already starting to drift off to sleep against Ilya’s chest.

“Fuck off.”

Shane can feel the slight hitch in Ilya’s chest as he laughs quietly at Shane.