Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Connors (Heated Rivalry), Victor St. Simon, Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais

Additional Tags:

Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Supportive Boston Bears | Boston Raiders (Game Changers), Crack, Fluff and Humor, Sleepovers, Positive Masculinity, Puppies

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-25 Words: 16,490 Chapters: 1/1

The 'Fuck Hollander' Plan and Wishlist

Summary

Ilya Rozanov is on a mission: get Shane Hollander to be DTF. Or fall in love with him, whatever. With the assistance of his helpful team-and-housemates Marly, Connor Connors and Victor St. Simon, many internet strangers via the manipulation of social media, working puppies and a derailed sleepover, Ilya and the boys enact the Fuck Hollander Plan.

Unfortunately, Shane Hollander is perfectly, adorably, infuriatingly dumb.

Ilya is forced to pivot.

Notes

Slamming through the door of their shared house, Ilya was pleased to find Marly, Vicky and CC lazing around together, something uptempo playing from the living room stereo, bright sunlight streaming through the open plan space. His housemates looked up as he joined them, unsurprised by his dramatic entrance, and Marly used his foot to shove a chair out opposite from himself at the table in invitation. Ilya slumped down into it and then dropped his face into his hands. Marly traded a look with the others; this was different.

“Alright, Rozy?” Marly asked.

“No,” Ilya groaned, voice muffled by his hands.

Another shared look and CC and Vicky were abandoning lunch prep to come sit at the table, too. “What’s up, man?” CC asked.

Ilya groaned again, then sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I have a problem.”

Marly kicked him beneath the table. “For fuck’s sake, Roz, ‘being too sexy’ isn’t actually a real problem.”

Even in the midst of his own misery, Ilya smirked at him. “Clearly not one you’ve ever had, you ugly asshole.” He grinned, wide and white, when Marly flipped him off. “No, my problem is Shane Hollander.”

“Booo,” Marly, CC and Vicky immediately chorused.

“No, no, shut up,” Ilya told them when they started to laugh. “He is not the problem, not exactly.”

“Okay?” Vicky said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Then what is the problem, exactly?”

Ilya sighed. “The problem is, I want to fuck him.”

There was a resounding silence before the others all began to talk over each other.

“What the fuck, Rozy?” That was Marlow, eyes huge and shocked.

“Are you fucking kidding, Cap?” Vicky, this time.

“You have got to be kidding,” CC added, the assembled collective outrage bright and sharp.

“What?” Ilya asked innocently.

“Cap, come on,” Vicky pleaded. “You can do so much better!”

Ilya shook his head vehemently. “No, is not true.”

“Is so true,” Marly countered, getting up and grabbing a six pack from the fridge to crack open and share around. “Hollander’s a fucken square, man.”

CC nodded rapidly. “He’s so weird, like… the dude is obsessed with hockey.”

After a moment of processing that Ilya looked slowly around the shared space, gesturing broadly and obviously. From the fridge with its collection of Bears-related magnets, walls adorned with framed jerseys and photos of the team on various rinks, planes and buses, hotels and on group holidays, the insanely plush Bears blanket thrown over the back of the sectional, to the Rozanov, Marlow, St. Simon and Connors Funko Pops lined up in front of the enormous tv, the hypocrisy was obvious.

Connors scowled. “No. We’re, like, fun-obsessed. Hollander is pathological-obsessed.”

“You can do so much better,” Vicky said loyally.

“Hollander is pretty, man, but Vicky’s right,” Marly agreed. “There’s plenty of pretty out there.”

Ilya pouted. “But I want him.”

Vicky muttered something in French, and it made Ilya think of Hollander. “I just know this is one of those things that you’re going to obsess about unrelentingly until you get it.”

It was Marly’s turn to groan. “Oh fuck, you’re going to derail all of our lives over this, aren’t you? I can’t do another Month of Malört,” he protested weakly, all three of them turning slightly green with the memory of last August.

“Ah, you see?” Ilya said happily, clapping CC on the back where he was sitting to his right. “Is good for all of us for me to have him, yes?”

Marly just flipped him off again and let his forehead thunk down onto the table.

The problem with this plan was, of course, Hollander.

The man was maybe a little bit… well, dumb. Not about hockey, obviously. About hockey he was terrifying. It made Ilya want to bite him. About everything else, though?

Deeply, tragically DUMB.

Stage 1 of the Fuck Hollander plan was to actually spend time with him outside of a game. Which, given their scheduled time in the same places, should have been easy, right?

It was not.

Ilya skated up to meet Hollander at the end of their most recent game in Montreal, an unfortunate win for the Voyageurs. They had gotten into the odd habit of sharing a few brief words and a handshake at the end of their games, a little ritual that Ilya was very fond of. Hollander only did the same with Hunter, but their conversations were usually punctuated with smiles and wide gestures from Hollander, his dark eyes shining with amusement. That was not usually the way his conversations with Ilya went.

“You sucked a lot less than usual tonight, Hollander,” Ilya called as he skated up. Marly and Vicky were waiting for him as they pulled on their skate guards, very obviously not-watching the interaction. “Maybe I can help you suck your usual amount later?”

The look Hollander levelled at him could, at best, be described as exasperated. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Rozanov?” he asked, biting the finger of his glove to pull his hand out of it.

It was a devastatingly sexy move, made so much worse by how beautifully his freckles glowed on his flushed skin. “Wherever you put me, Hollander, just say the place.”

Hollander frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“It means-“ Ilya began, but was rudely interrupted by LeClaire shouting for him from the tunnel. He scowled and shoved his own glove beneath his arm to free up his hand to shake Hollander’s. “Maybe I’ll see you out tonight?”

The shake of his head broke Ilya’s heart. “No, I’m driving to Ottawa as soon as I’m done here.”

“God, why?” Ilya asked as he extended his hand, because: Ottawa. His stomach fluttered when Hollander took it, his palm wide and warm, and his long fingers wrapping confidently around Ilya’s.

“My parents live there. I only have an optional skate to miss, and two days free, so we’re going to catch up. Have some… family… time.” His words trailed off as Ilya held onto his hand and stared intently at him. “What?” he asked self-consciously.

“You are family man, then, yes?”

Hollander frowned and gently attempted to tug his hand free. “Yes?”

Ilya wasn’t having that, just held on a little tighter. “This is good to know.”

“Why?”

Knowing the effect it had on people, Ilya lowered his head a little and looked up at Hollander through his lashes. “Future planning.”

Hollander’s eyes were big and dark, and steady where they caught and held Ilya’s. He began to frown again a little, but they were interrupted.

“Rozanov,” LeClaire called again, closer this time. “Press.”

Despite Hollander using the distraction to finally get his hand free, Ilya still managed to drag his fingertips along his palm as he did so. “See you in a few weeks, then.” Seven weeks and one day, Ilya knew.

“Yeah, see you then,” Hollander called, skating away.

Ilya watched him go, waiting for him to look back, but he didn’t. Weird.

“Future planning?” Marly began laughing when Ilya eventually joined him.

“For when we have many beautiful, dark-haired hockey babies. I now know I must give Hollander something to come home to.”

“So, is Hollander the pregnant one in this scenario?” Vicky asked, and Marly laughed so hard when Ilya visibly bluescreened at the thought that he stumbled into the wall.

“Alright, stage one of ‘Fuck Hollander’ wasn’t as successful as we hoped,” CC announced over dinner a few nights later, the four of them home from Washington that afternoon. “But we will persist.”

“Still not a fan of the plan name,” Vicky said, serving everyone up a generous portion each of roast pork.

Marly snorted a laugh. “Yeah, well, plan ‘Seduce Hollander Into Loving Rozy and Marrying Him At the Lake House and Having a Million Babies and Dogs’ is too long. ‘Fuck Hollander’ is concise.”

“How you know this word ‘concise’, Marly?”

“How do you know it, you communist fuck?”

“I am very smart,” Ilya told him.

“Pfft.”

Ilya smirked at him. “Spell it, then.” Cliff flipped him off and began buttering a mountain of bread rolls for the table. “Yes, Marly’s plan is more accurate, but ‘Fuck Hollander’ is both plan and wish list also, so it is okay,” Ilya told them, stealing extra roast pumpkin from the tray and passing CC the microwave container full of gravy when he returned to the table with drinks.

“I really don’t get the appeal,” Vicky said, opening his beer and taking a swig.

“Are you blind, Victor?” Ilya demanded. “Is this why you missed the pass in the second period tonight?”

“Fuck off, Roz, you know Pike was responsible for that-”

“ANYWAY,” Ilya interrupted loudly, “not only is Hollander the most beautiful man I have ever seen, he is brilliant and knows multiple languages and is like magic on ice. He has smile like sunrise and little face stars I want to put kisses on,” he said wistfully, brushing fingertips across the bridge of his own nose and cheeks. “And his body I want to lick all over, and he likes dogs, and-”

“Actually, I have a thought about stage two,” Marly interrupted, cutting across Ilya before he could really get going.

Momentarily distracted, Ilya perked up. “Tell me.”

Marly pulled out his phone, in clear violation of dinnertime rules, but held his hand up to forestall the complaints. “It’s relevant to the plan, okay, just hold on a fucken sec.” He scrolled for a moment before finding what he was looking for, then turned the phone around so everyone could see. The photo was of a pretty young woman with riotous gold curls sitting on grass and surrounded by a dozen labrador puppies.

“Oh my god,” Ilya gasped. “Who is this? How did she get all these puppies? How do I get all these puppies?”

“Her name is Lindsey-”

“Ooh, Lindsey,” Ilya, CC, and Vicky all cooed.

“-fuck you guys, she helps train guide dog puppies.”

“What is this?” Ilya demanded. “Guide dog?”

“You know, the dogs that lead blind people around?” CC explained.

“They don’t ‘lead blind pe’- you know what, no,” Vicky said, and pulled out his own phone to show them all a video from the Guide Dogs of America YouTube channel that explained, properly, what an invaluable service guide dogs were. 

“So this is what your Lindsey does?” Ilya asked once the video was done and they all got back to eating.

Marly blushed bright pink, it was very cute. “She’s not ‘my Lindsey’, she’s just a friend of mine. But yes, she does. And since we all know- thanks to you, and Hollander’s social media- that Hollander loves a charitable cause and puppies, I was thinking I could ask Lindsey-”

“Ooh, Lindsey,” they boys chorused again.

“-if she could maybe show up to our next home game against Montreal with a couple of the puppies. For their training. Which you can then promote with Hollander.”

Ilya grinned so widely he felt his face might crack. “Marly, if you weren’t so horrendously ugly I would kiss you on the mouth.”

Marly recoiled, mildly disgusted. “Save it for Captain Canada, you fucken weirdo.”

“This is brilliant idea!” Ilya forged onwards with great enthusiasm. “Puppies, me, charity… Hollander will be powerless to resist!”

They waited until after dinner and the dishes were done for Cliff to send Lindsey a message with the suggestion, Ilya almost beside himself with glee when Lindsey responded immediately with a promise to speak with her boss about it and contact the Bears team in the morning with some contact information. Marley tucked himself deeper into the couch for a bit after that, presumably continuing to text with Lindsey, but Ilya’s mind was racing ahead too fast to tease him about it.

“How do I get Hollander?” he mused, stretched out on the couch with his head on Marly’s thigh as he stared up at the ceiling and ignored Legally Blonde on the tv, his own pick for movie night.

“We’re working on it,” CC laughed.

“No, I mean, how do I get Hollander to promote cute working dogs with me? I don’t want whole Voyageurs team there with us, so I do not want to contact their management people. But I will not have chance to speak with Hollander before game, and after game he might have plans already.”

The boys sat with that for a minute. “Anyone got Hollzy’s phone number?” Marly asked, and Ilya looked up at him with an expression that heavily implied that ‘Fuck Hollander’ wouldn’t even need to be a plan if he did.

“You could slide into his DMs,” Vicky suggested, “although I doubt Hollander actually keeps his own social media accounts, they’re too… corporate.”

“Tweet at him. Something vague and insane,” CC said, staring at Elle Woods’ best friend on the screen, only to scowl irritatedly when Ilya paused the movie.

“What do you mean?”

CC shrugged. “Just tweet something like, ‘Hey Hollander, feel like helping me out with something Very Top Secret after our next game?’ Fans will lose their minds and drag him into it for you,” CC explained. “Let him come to you.”

“Hollander can come wherever he wants,” Ilya said reflexively. Popcorn hit him from three directions at once. “Okay, okay,” he laughed, “I’m sorry for saying this very true and obvious thing. Now help your captain make this tweet.”

CC huffed a huge sigh but crawled up to lie across the back of the couch while Vicky sat on Ilya’s thighs so the four of them could huddle around Ilya’s phone and workshop a suitably intriguing but not offputting tweet. It took the better part of an hour, arguing back and forth about specific word placement, the cost-benefit analysis of innuendo, and a minor treatise from Vicky on How Many Emojis Is Too Many.

“What if you just write ‘I am in love with you’?” CC suggested at one point.

“No,” Vicky said immediately. “We are trying to attract him, not alert his security team.”

What they eventually settled on was this:

Hey @ShaneHollanderOfficial I’ve got an idea for how we can both be winners after next week’s game- Just you, me, some cameras and hopefully a whole lot of money… #forcharity

“And in three, two-”

Vicky didn’t get to one before the notifications started alerting on Ilya’s phone.

Rozanov’s starting an OnlyFans, I’m calling it, one comment read.

Hi, my name is now Charity, said another.

Fucking WILD to proposition your archrival on socmed, but go off king. That one made Cliff laugh. “If they only knew,” he said, tugging on Ilya’s hair until Ilya smacked his hand away.

“‘I need @ShaneHollanderOfficial to reply to this IMMEDIATELY and PUBLICALLY’,” CC read over Ilya’s shoulder. “Reply to this one, something like, ‘you and me both’. This is how you get him.”

Ilya did as instructed and couldn’t help but laugh when his reply immediately prompted a string of replies that were just tagging Hollander’s username. They replied to a few more tweets, getting a real laugh from the online speculation before putting his phone on silent so they could return to the movie.

Then picked it back up fifteen seconds later.

And about a half an hour after that made an inarticulate sound of joy. “‘@realilya I’d be happy to collaborate on a charitable initiative. Let me know the details!’” he read out to the room, basking in the whoops he got back. He stared at the reply happily, clutched the phone to his chest. “Oh, he is so into me.”

Marly shifted a little beneath Ilya’s head. “Uh, Rozy, not that I want to rain on your parade or anything-”

“Thank you,” Ilya said immediately, taking the declaration in the manner he was sure it was intended.

“Um, I think maybe what Marly means to say is that maybe Hollzy doesn’t realise that you’re into him quite yet,” Vicky said carefully.

“You would literally have to carve ‘WANNA FUCK??’ into a hockey stick and give it to him for Hollander to realize that,” CC cheerfully agreed. “I can absolutely guarantee you that the dude thinks you literally just want to be charitable with him.”

But Ilya barely heard them, too busy planning how he would attach the ring to their own future dog’s collar when he proposed.

The next day was absolutely insane, every sports news outlet picking up the Hollander-Rozanov collaboration as their top billing item.

Rivals Tease Surprise Collaboration, the headlines announced.

Is This the NHL’s Strangest Partnership Yet?

Rozanov, Hollander Hint at Post-Game Private Project. This one in particular sparked a lot more suggestive fan responses, which Ilya pored over between sets in the gym.

He received an email from Hollander’s PR team later that morning, but rather than reply to them he returned to Twitter. @ShaneHollanderOfficial, he tweeted, you are so boring- I want to see YOU on Friday night, not your PR people. Check your DMs.

I know Rozanov is Russian, but surely he knows what this implies??? one of the first comments said.

Ilya, honey, ur not supposed to announce when you’re sliding into your ARCH RIVAL’S DMs! said another.

Get you a man who wants a Friday night date with his full chest like @realilya. Ilya liked that one.

It was only a couple of minutes later that he received a DM from @ShaneHollanderOfficial. I honestly can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not, the message came.

I would not fuck with you, Hollander, Ilya replied, grinning to himself at the intentional emphasis, then added, not like this, at least.

Great? If that’s really the case, tell me about this collab, Hollander sent back, and over the next several hours they made plans for the post-game period, to be confirmed with Lindsey’s people.

When Ilya was mobbed by the press on arriving at that evening’s game against Tampa Bay, Ilya paused and answered the first question he heard.

“So what exactly will you two be doing together after the game?” the reporter called out.

He and Hollander had decided to keep the collab a secret to continue generating interest, so he just smiled mysteriously. “I am easy guy, we will see where the night takes us.”

“I think you meant ‘easygoing guy,” Marly chirped as soon as Ilya reached the dressing room.

“I didn’t,” Ilya assured him, changing out of his arrival suit.

“And sadly, I think CC may be right,” Vicky said, turning his phone around so they could watch a clip of Hollander being asked essentially the same question before his earlier game. “Rozanov and I are taking advantage of our being in the same place to promote a very worthwhile charity, and I think you guys are going to be excited to see it.”

“Oh, he’s so professional,” Ilya sighed, admiring the sharp cut of his suit.

“Oblivious,” Vicky muttered to Cliff, who just shook his head and sighed.

“They’re a perfect match.”

When Ilya stepped out onto the ice for warmup before Friday’s game, Hollander was already there practicing some tight around the world stick handling drills. Ilya glanced around the arena to his and Marly’s seats and found what he was looking for. Lindsey and her colleagues Amy and Jess were sitting with two puppies each, all doing their best to sit patiently, wearing their adorable harnesses and vests.

“Hollander,” Ilya called urgently as he skated for the red line.

Hollander’s head snapped up and he warily came to meet him. “Rozanov,” he nodded, reflexively jerking back when Ilya grabbed him by the front of his jersey to pull him close, their faces side-by-side, and pointed up into the stand. Lindsey waved, and thanks to their proximity Ilya actually felt the moment Hollander saw their guests. “Oh,” he murmured, his body relaxing and leaning ever so slightly forward, as though he wanted to go right over to say hi.

“Come,” Ilya said, for once not intending the innuendo, and just led Hollander over to the glass, hand still fisted in his jersey. “Look at the babies, Hollander,” he said, pressing his hand to the glass with a big smile on his face.

“Oh my god, look at that one!” Hollander exclaimed when the puppy on the far left yawned hugely, red bowtie askew and tongue curling in his mouth. His big hand curled around Ilya’s forearm to ensure his attention, and Ilya’s entire world narrowed to that single point of contact.

“They have working uniforms,” Ilya pointed out, his breath catching a little when Hollander pressed in a little closer, seemingly not yet noticing that he hadn’t let go of Ilya’s arm.

They spent a few quality minutes together like that until they were joined by some of their teammates, and then they were distracted by the game that they had, nominally, shown up for. It simultaneously flew and dragged, every moment Ilya was on the ice with Hollander feeling like fleeting seconds, and his time on the bench drawn out interminably. Still, the game did eventually end, this time with a Boston victory, and Ilya was allowed to skip press in favour of his and Hollander’s planned joint venture.

When Ilya returned to the rink, this time in casual clothes and with his hair still damp from the showers, it was to find a large area set up at the end of the tunnel, the ice still lit up behind it, and a collection of puppies gambolling about on a big blanket. The press and a whole bunch of cameras were focused on the puppies, and Ilya was pleased to see tall corflutes with the Guide Dog Association’s information on them. He approached to greet Lindsey, Jess and Amy, thanking them for coming and for bringing the puppies, and asked if they were on duty, or if he was okay to pat them now.

“I feel like if we say no you might cry,” Jess, Lindsey’s boss, said with a wry smile.

“Definitely possible,” Ilya agreed, but made his way through the press and cameras to approach the puppies when he got the okay to do so. “Hi, there,” he said, sitting down on the blanket and feeling like he might cry with happiness when the puppies swarmed him, crawling all over him to lick and chew whatever of him they could reach. “It is hard to be dignified and also this happy, yes?” he asked the assembled press corps. “Obviously you know what Hollander and I are here for now, but if you have questions about the game, I will answer until Hollander arrives.”

There was one particularly fat puppy, whose name Ilya was beyond delighted to learn was Marley, who crawled into his lap and promptly went to sleep, somehow able to ignore being jostled and stepped on by his friends. Ilya wanted to steal him. Instead, he smoothed dog-Marley’s silky ears between his fingers and thumb, and laughed when the others tripped over his extended legs and chewed on the laces of his insanely expensive shoes. He answered a question about the Bears’ new third line roster, glancing down when Marley shifted to bend his neck back at an almost ninety-degree angle so he could rest his chin on Ilya’s belly, looking up at him if his eyes weren’t still closed in sleep.

“I would never say ‘who cares about third line’,” he lied blatantly, making the reporters laugh, “but I am finding it very difficult to care right now.” Movement to the right caught his attention and he discovered Hollander standing there, looking delicious in dark jeans and a slightly oversized hoodie, watching him. “Hollander, get over here, there are so many of them! Look!”

Hollander shook his head and greeted the press, then introduced himself to Lindsay, Amy and Jess before joining Ilya. He looked a little awkward until Ilya reached up to tug him down by his hand to sprawl gracelessly beside him, and with great reluctance Ilya scooped up a sleeping Marley and deposited him in Hollander’s lap. Hollander looked delighted as he, too, was swarmed.

“This one’s name is Marley,” Ilya told him, which made Hollander’s eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement. “And that one’s Mimi, Teddy, King Julien, Daisy and Lucky.”

“You remember all their names?”

“Of course!”

“Excellent use of your English language skills,” Hollander complimented, which made the reporters laugh again.

Daisy climbed up onto Hollander’s thigh, wiggled her butt and made a truly terrible attempt to leap onto Ilya. He caught her up and held her close for a cuddle, copping a tongue to the face for his efforts.

It was maybe the best day of Ilya’s life.

Both the Voyageurs’ and Bears’ social media managers set up to ask some pre-screened questions, initially professional but leading into fun personal facts that Ilya had absolutely in no way whatsoever suggested Carrie ask in order for him to surreptitiously get to know Hollander a little better.

*

“Savoury over sweet,” Hollander said in answer to one of the questions.

Ilya gasped. “You are an animal, this is not the natural order of things.”

Hollander smirked at him. “Sometimes I have dessert first, just to finish on a savoury note.”

Ilya stared back at him. “You are freaky, Hollander. Usually I like this, but…” He shook his head, pleased to see a faint blush colour Hollander’s cheeks.

*

“You did not,” Hollander protested when Ilya spun a story about skating before he could walk as a baby. “That’s biomechanically impossible.”

“Word you mean is implausible, Hollander- you should know better than to use ‘impossible’ where I am concerned.”

“Oh my god,” Hollander groaned, rolling his eyes with a smile as he swayed over to gently bump Ilya’s shoulder with his own.

*

Shifting to roll onto his belly and let the puppies crawl onto his back, Ilya knocked his forehead against Hollander’s knee. “Is embarrassing, but I was terrified of… how you call it, novoluniye? Dark night with no moon?”

Hollander considered. “Novo means ‘new’, so, new moon, maybe?”

“Da, yes,” Ilya agreed, scooping Teddy in towards himself, the puppy rolling right onto his back for belly rubs. “My brother told me this is when Baba Yaga, witch from Russian fairytales, would come out and find youngest sibling to eat unless I sleep in closet. So I did this for many new moons, until my Mama found out. She was upset with Andrei for this, but helped make comfortable hiding place in closet for us to sleep in sometimes after that.”

Hollander smiled at him, then reached over and patted Teddy’s belly too, their fingers brushing together and Ilya forgot what he had been saying. “It’s hard to imagine you ever being small like that. Or scared of anything.”

Ilya swallowed down the urge to kiss him, or offer his hand in marriage, maybe. “Yes, is true, I am very big and brave now.”

Hollander just laughed, and Ilya discovered that falling in love felt kind of like dying.

*

“That happened to me, too! I fell through the ice on the lake near my parents’ place, maybe when I was eleven or twelve?” Hollander was lying on his side now, head propped up on his elbow, and Ilya watched a full-body shudder ripple through him at the memory. “Thank god there were a lot of people around; I still remember how much the ice water hurt.” He looked suddenly uncomfortable, either at the memory or having admitted something so personal, so Ilya distracted him by lifting up the hem of his hoodie and stuffing puppies underneath it to wriggle excitedly against his stomach and chest.

“Ilya, stop,” he laughed protestingly.

“I don’t think is really what you want,” Ilya disagreed, catching Lucky and trapping her in the hoodie’s hood, where she nestled in before chewing on Hollander’s hair.

“That can’t be good for her.”

Ilya caught Mimi, kissed her head and then shoved her under the hoodie too, his fingers brushing the bare skin of Hollander’s hip where his shirt had also ridden up. “They lick their own butts, Shane,” he said, thrilled at how delicious Hollander’s first name tasted in his mouth as he pulled his shirt back down to protect the soft skin there from sharp puppy claws. “I think they will survive.”

*

Ilya stared at Shane, aghast. “What do you mean you have never ridden rollercoaster? No adventure park, no Disneyworld? Never?”

Shane bit his lip. “Tell you a secret?”

“All of them, please, yes,” Ilya agreed immediately, sitting up with his legs folded, like being back in school.

Hesitating, catching his lip between his teeth for a moment, Shane glanced sideways at him before committing to the truth. “Things with big heads freak me out.”

It took him a moment to parse the admission, but when he did his face split into a beaming grin. “You hate Mickey Mouse!”

“No!” Shane protested, “I don’t hate Mickey Mouse! But the big suits they wear at Disney World? I’m… not necessarily a fan of those.”

“No, is okay, you are allowed to be scared of this.”

“Ilya.”

“No one will think less of you for being terrified of cartoon character, I am sure.”

“I’m not terrified,” Shane protested as he began to laugh.

Then a thought occurred to Ilya and his hand shot out to wrap around Shane’s bicep. “Shane- Shane, tell me your thoughts on… Gritty.”

Shane shuddered violently, and Ilya laughed so hard he woke Marley up. “Do not worry,” he said, squeezing the muscle beneath his hand reassuringly, “we will work through this trying time together.” Then he squeezed it again, just because the thick muscle there was a huge turn-on.

“You two seem very comfortable,” a reporter called, solidly interrupting their moment. Ilya tried not to feel resentful. Failed.

Shane’s eyes flicked briefly to their point of contact before looking up at the press. “Yeah,” he said, and Ilya was sure he wasn’t imagining the soft surprise that coloured the words, “we do. Who’d’ve thought, eh?”

The expected polite laughs followed, and Ilya shrugged, dropped his hand in a way that let his fingers drag down Shane’s arm and across the back of his hand.

“He said yes to me, didn’t he?” Ilya said, grin turning sharp. “That’s all that matters.”

Their presser was a success, and Ilya was pleased to hear that they’d helped raise a phenomenal amount of money for the association. And while he hadn’t been able to convince Shane to have dinner with him that night, they had exchanged phone numbers, and so Ilya and the boys were considering Stage 2 a success. Of course, that meant that Stage 3 needed to be planned. So, in between away games, they planned.

Ilya and Vicky were folding the mountain of fresh laundry they’d dumped on the couch, CC was tidying the kitchen and Marly was mopping the floors as they discussed their next move.

“Wait, are you saying you haven’t even texted him yet?” Marly asked, leaning on the mop and staring at him. “Never knew you had that kind of self control, Cap.”

Ilya graciously accepted that for the compliment it wasn’t. “My Shane is worth patience.”

“At least you have his number now, right?” CC said from where he was stacking the dishwasher. “A direct line to Hollander himself is, like, ninety percent of the battle won, yeah?”

Vicky snorted and added a folded shirt to Marly’s pile of clothes. “Only if you approach it the right way- come on too strong and I get the feeling Hollander will run for the hills.”

Ilya nodded slowly, thinking. “My Shanya is sweet, deserves seduction.”

“Oh no, boys, Cap’s breaking out the diminutives,” Marly teased. “Shit’s getting real.”

“Actually, maybe you’re onto something,” Vicky agreed, tossing yet another sock into the basket halfway full of mismatched singles. “Maybe the issue isn’t that Hollander doesn’t get what you’re doing- maybe it’s that he doesn’t get the way you’re doing it?”

“That tracks,” CC said, his voice muffled where he was rooting beneath the sink for the surface spray. “Hollzy’s a good Canadian boy, right? Like, maybe he’s just unused to Rozy’s particular brand of… enthusiastic flirting.”

Ilya frowned. “I have never had to think this hard about flirting before,” he mused.

“We know,” his housemates said together.

“Roz, are you sure Hollzy’s worth all this?” Marly carefully asked. “I mean, I know you’re into him, or whatever, but I’ve never seen you twisted up over someone like this before.”

It was so outlandish a question that Ilya could barely comprehend it. He pulled a photo up on his phone of Shane in a gym somewhere, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, abs and tight waist on full display, and turned it so Marly could see. “You have seen this photo, yes?” He swiped, the next photo of Shane in profile, his perfect ass on display in obscene gym tights. “Or this one?” Swipe: Shane looking down at something on his own phone, face relaxed with a small smile on his mouth. “Or this one?”

Marly laughed. “Okay, man, I get it.”

“Wait, do you have those photos saved to your phone?” Vicky asked despairingly.

Ilya looked at him like he was an idiot, and declined to answer. He turned his phone back around and swiped to his favourite photo, one from their presser, that even the boys didn’t know he had, one where Shane was smiling sweetly at Ilya as Ilya held a puppy in either arm, laughing with his head tilted back to avoid dual enthusiastic tongues. The look on Shane’s face was almost unbearably fond, and made Ilya’s belly do weird things whenever he looked at it, eight or nine times a day.

“Oh, shit,” Marly said, and Ilya silently despaired that this was the calibre of help he was working with as he watched Marly pull out his phone and slide down the wall to sit on the floor in the corner that he’d managed to mop himself into.

*

“So,” Vicky said later that night as they sat around the coffee table to play canasta, “how much do we actually hate the Voyageurs?”

“Like burning,” Ilya said immediately. “Except for Shane, of course.”

“More than a kid forced to eat overcooked vegetables,” Marly added.

“Eh,” CC shrugged, “they’re not as bad as Buffalo.”

Which was true, but also beside the point. “Why do you ask this?” Ilya asked, closing a red canasta for five hundred points, making Vicky and CC groan and Marly reach over to meet his crisp high five.

“Because I was thinking,” Vicky said, eyeing the melds he and CC had out, “for Stage 3 of the plan, why not invite Hollander over for a movie night, in the name of League sportsmanship, or whatever.”

“A sleepover,” Marly said, flat and disbelieving. 

“We can definitely make ourselves scarce for a night,” CC agreed immediately.

Ilya thought it over. “This could be very good,” he said slowly. “Give Shane a chance to get to know me better. Opportunities to snuggle, too.”

“And you can live-tweet the night, photos and clips on social media or whatever, get the fans involved,” CC suggested.

“Well, it worked before,” Marly shrugged, flicking a glance at Ilya as Vicky finished his turn.

Ilya nodded and Marly laid down another meld to their stacked side of the coffee table, two naturals, a mixed and… the red three Ilya dropped like the period at the end of a sentence. “Out.”

There was a moment of silence. “Oh, fuck right off,” CC groaned. “You can’t just-”

“Oh yes I can,” Ilya grinned as he placed his last card down with relish.

“Told you we had it,” Marly smirked.

“Fucking insufferable,” Vicky sighed. “Rematch?”

“Obviously,” Ilya said, already shuffling. “Dibs Marly.”

“Fuck,” CC cursed.

“Hey,” Vicky protested, but it was weak, and everyone knew it.

*

Hey @ShaneHollanderOfficial, sleepover at my place next time you’re in town? All in the name of inter-league relations? they collaborated to tweet later. An easy, low-stakes invitation that had the added bonus of inviting pressure for Shane to say yes from the fans who interacted with Ilya’s suggestion.

@ShaneHollanderOfficial if you don’t, I will, someone commented, to which Rose Landry of all people retweeted with ‘girl, same!’ Ilya blocked her on principle.

Is this an invitation just for @ShaneHollanderOfficial, or can anyone join? another user asked.

If you’re lucky, and if Shane says yes, I will live-tweet the night, Ilya replied to that one.

Someone with the username @HollanderSexual suggested matching pyjamas, which Ilya was very on board with, and then a robust discussion in the comments debated the merits of various board/drinking games to include. Ilya asked the boys if screenshotting a Google search of ‘is spin the bottle a good sleepover game?’ would perhaps be too much when Shane replied.

@realilya this seems like a trap, he retweeted. At the same time he messaged Ilya directly, the notification making all four Bears stop what they were doing to read it.

“‘Are you serious about the sleepover?’” Ilya read out loud, a wide smile crossing his face. “Of course I am,” he typed back. “I’ve been dying to sleep with you for-”

“No,” Vicky declared, plucking Ilya’s phone from his hands and mashing his hand against Ilya’s face as he tried to grab it back. “God, you really have no chill,” he said, deleting the last part of Ilya’s reply. “Hmm. How about ‘I think it would benefit our teams to spend more time together outside of the rink’?”

Marly nodded. “Flirty, but not unhinged. Good balance.”

Ilya pouted and crossed his arms across his chest. “But I don’t care about team benefit.”

“You might not, but I’m sure Hollzy does,” Vicky chided as he sent the reply.

“Because he’s a good captain,” CC added.

“Fuck you,” Ilya scowled. “I am best captain, everyone knows this.”

“Um,” Marly said.

“Yeah… of course,” CC said.

“El oh el,” Vicky said, deadpan, then, “Oh shit, he replied! ‘Could be a fun idea, especially if we live-tweet like you said’,” he read out.

Ilya lunged forward and retook his phone, rolling across the living room floor and commando crawling beneath the entertainment unit to reply. “I told him we should explore our off-ice chemistry,” he announced when he was done.

Marly snorted a laugh. “Even Hollzy should be able to pick up on that subtext.”

CC grinned. “And hey, you can’t spell ‘subtext’ without ‘butt-’”

“He says, ‘I agree’,” Ilya cut across him,  “‘that’s something teams don’t prioritise enough’.” He frowned slightly. “What?”

“This is actually, physically painful,” Vicky sighed.

Not super promising, but Ilya was nothing if not persistent. “Let’s discuss that,” he said slowly in time with his typing. “Just you and me. Somewhere comfortable. No distractions.” He stared down at the typing bubbles as he waited for the reply.

The other three waited with him, fully invested.

“‘Just us isn’t exactly ‘team benefit’, though. You live with a couple of your teammates, right? How about I bring a couple of mine and we make a real night of it?’” Ilya made a sad noise of disappointment and flattened himself entirely on the floor, idly noting that they really needed to do a better job of vacuuming. 

Then Vicky started to laugh, and Ilya shot him A Look. “Oh my god, you tried to sext Shane Hollander into a team building exercise!”

“What do you mean ‘tried’?” Marly asked, Judas that he was. “He’s clearly succeeded!”

“How have you accidentally invented a leadership retreat?” Brutus CC demanded to know, looking equally as confused as Ilya felt.

“I have no idea,” Ilya groaned. He was starting to suspect he was never going to catch Shane for himself.

“Do you think one carrot and one cucumber will be enough?” Ilya fretted the day before the Voyageurs returned to Boston, standing on the end of the giant Costco trolley he had made Vicky push, finishing the last of the four cocktail weenies he had scored from the young girl handing out free samples. The name had made Ilya laugh hysterically for a full minute before he’d capitalised on the cow eyes she had been making at CC and stolen three more than she’d initially given him, but it had worked; there were now three bulk packs of cocktail weenies in the trolley, along with a three kilogram bucket of Nutella, bags of chips, big tubs of dip, four turkey-sized roast chickens, a platter of pre-made sandwiches, some of the mini muffins Vicky liked, three dozen eggs, and a four-pack of My Little Pony collectibles that had cutie marks that appeared in water, according to the box. Ilya loved American consumerism.

“Why are we even buying vegetables?” Marly demanded.

“For Shane,” Ilya said immediately, like this was obvious, adding blueberries and a bag of something called kale. “He eats… clean.”

“He eats normal,” Vicky corrected. “That’s just normal eating.”

Ilya frowned. “No, I have seen his Instagram. He has bowl of green things with quinoa. No sauce. Very upsetting.”

“I cannot believe you’re trying to seduce a man with a cucumber,” CC said.

“You can’t?” Marly asked with a smirk.

Ilya scowled. “It is not for seduction, it is for balance. What if he comes here and thinks I live like animal?”

With raised eyebrows, Marly looked pointedly  into the trolley. “You bought four whole chickens, Rozy.”

“Yes. Protein and emotional carbohydrates. Balanced.”

“Complex carbohydrates,” Vicky corrected, to which Ilya just shrugged.

“I think it will be too much; no one is eating that shit except Hollander, I can guarantee it,” Marly snorted, tossing in three of the one-kilogram bags of nuts that he preferred. Unsalted, because he was a heathen.

“Oh, and we need ginger ale,” Ilya reminded CC for the fourth time since arriving.

“Canada Dry, we know,” CC sighed, then got distracted by the range of saunas in the middle of the store.

“We do not need another sauna, you barely use the one we have at home already,” Vicky chided, hooking the back of CC’s collar and dragging him away. “Do we need more toilet paper?”

“Yes,” Ilya, Marly and CC all said together.

“Ooh, candy,” Marly said suddenly, and diverted them over to the next sample counter. The employee looked suspiciously like the cocktail weenie girl, and Ilya suspected it might have actually been her if the way she blushed and stammered at CC was any indication. Then Ilya had a mouthful of sweet yet somehow flavourless red twisty things masquerading as licorice, if the signage was to be believed, which it clearly wasn’t.

“These have no flavour,” he said, deeply offended.

“They’re raspberry," the girl told CC wistfully.

Ilya frowned disparagingly. “Are the raspberries in the building with us?”

“Maybe I need contact lenses?” CC mused as they wandered on, oblivious to the poor girl’s heartbreak, attention captured by the optical counter.

“Do you wear glasses?” Vicky sighed. “No? Then no, you don’t need contacts.”

“Not with that attitude,” Ilya muttered, pointing imperiously from the end of the trolley. “Rice.”

Marly stared at the twenty-kilo bag. “For what?”

“For stability,” Ilya said.

“Of what?”

“Our home.”

Something about the reverent way he said the word ‘home’ made the boys trade a long look.

“Rozy,” Vicky said slowly, “are you… creating a home for Hollander?”

“No,” Ilya said defensively. Then, after a beat, “Maybe small one.” His eyes flicked over his friends, all staring at him with something uncomfortably like realisation, until he reached out and grabbed an industrial-sized floor squeegee and began using it like a kayak paddle to awkwardly roll up the aisle and around the corner.

“Huh,” Marly said, watching him go.

“So this is… serious?” Vicky asked, sounding vaguely disbelieving.

“Reckon we could get matching customised Bears coffins?” CC asked, trailing after Ilya without waiting for an answer.

Ilya had somehow managed to paddle back around to the aisle with spreads by the time the others caught up, a huge jar each of both crunchy and smooth peanut butters in his hands as he perused the nutritional information.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Marly demanded. “I thought we had all voted and decided crunchy is the superior choice.”

Ilya very obviously didn’t meet his eyes. “Well, what if my Shanya wants crunchy one day and smooth the next? I am being a good host, Marly, get off my jock.”

“Being a husband, you mean,” Marly shot back, but Ilya ignored him

“You are not allowed to repeat things Cadyn says to you,” Vicky reminded him instantly. “We voted on that too, remember?”

“This one Kohn tells me,” Ilya murmured distractedly as he compared sodium contents, then shrugged and dumped them both in the cart as Marly and Vicky traded another glance.

*

One of the things Ilya loved most about Boston was how much Boston people didn’t give a fuck about anything, especially fame. Celebrities were a dime a dozen, but Boston showed their love by heckling and insulting rather than fawning. This meant that they got through their trip unmolested by the public, with the exception of a couple of kids who went ballistic when they discovered their favourite Bears players in the same aisles as them, and who managed a few rounds of trolley jousting with pool noodle lances before their parents caught up to them. It also meant, however, that Twitter became invested:

-Overheard the following conversation between one Ilya Rozanov and one Cliff Marlow just now in Costco:
R: Do you think he will feel safe here?
M: It’s a couch, Rozy
R: Yes, but emotionally
Anyone else think this might have something to do with the upcoming #BearageursSleepover?

Beneath that someone commented, Oh my god, shut UP SHUT UP Rozanov preparing everything for Hollander to ensure his comfort is TOO CUTE! #BearageursSleepover

What else did he have in his cart? someone else asked, and received a startlingly clear photo as a reply of Ilya perched on the end of the trolley with a Costco-branded hoodie on (tags still attached) and half a Twizzler hanging out of his mouth, CC carrying a pack of dog toys shaped like Costco takeaway foods, and Marly with a pair of reflective orange snow goggles on while Vicky just continued chauffeuring Ilya around, all business as usual.

Do they even have a dog???? #BearageursSleepover someone responded, and the conversation devolved from there.

Ilya and the boys were not aware of this at the time, however, as they were busy having an argument over the superior choice of movie night comfort attire.

“I am already picking up matching Bears pyjamas before game tomorrow, this is for snuggles,” Ilya insisted, pointing at the display of hooded blankets, sinfully soft to the touch. “See? Pink, blue and purple; bi-pride colours for me, and blue for Shane, because blue is his favourite colour.”

Vicky narrowed his eyes. “How do you even know that?”

Ilya shrugged. “Buzzfeed article. What colour you guys want?”

Resigned, Vicky added grey, green and pink for himself, CC and Marly, respectively, before tilting his head. “Better get two more, I guess,” he said, thinking of their other soon-to-be guests.

“No, we only need five,” Ilya said, rocking back and forth to try and generate some forward momentum of the increasingly-heavy trolley.

“There will be seven of us.”

“Yes. Five is enough,” Ilya told him stubbornly, sighing heavily when Vicky rolled his eyes and tossed two more in black in with the others.

Finally done, with far more than they needed or had planned to procure, he gestured in the direction of the checkout, served by the cocktail-weenie-Twizzler girl once more. Ilya admired her chutzpah as she attempted one last time to engage an oblivious CC in conversation, which he derailed with a series of strange questions about the pallets of kikuyu turf stacked outside the main entrance.

As Vicky was stacking everything on the conveyor, Ilya made an inarticulate noise of joy and snatched a grey plushie from a tall cardboard display bin near the registers. “Look! Is Hollander!” he exclaimed delightedly, holding up the angry grey kitten with almost as much joy as he had the Stanley Cup. “Angry little kitten like Shane when he loses! Is perfect sleepover gift.” He then paused before laughing to himself. “Purrfect. Heh.”

“Oh my god, he’s officially lost it,” Marly muttered to Vicky.

“Bold of you to assume he ever had it,” Vicky sighed as Ilya handed over his Costco membership card with all the solemnity of a man who had just signed a ceasefire with a crayon, kitten plushie clutched to his chest.

In the weeks between the invitation and the Voyageurs’ next game in Boston, Ilya had had plenty of time to think. Shane had confirmed that he, Hayden Pike and JJ Boizeau would be coming to the sleepover, and while that made Ilya vaguely nauseated to think about, he was confident that Marly, Connor and Victor would be enough of a distraction that he would be able to spend plenty of quality time with Shane. With that in mind he made sure that everything was as Shane-friendly as possible, thanks to some light internet stalking. Thanks to Costco he had plenty of healthy snacks, ginger ale, and proteinaceous options for all meals. Ilya had noticed that Shane seemed occasionally bothered by the overly-bright lights in the media rooms during their post-game interviews and swapped all the bulbs in house out for lower-wattage eco bulbs instead. A very interesting subreddit had included a list of Seventeen Examples of Shane Hollander’s Texture Aversions, and on the off chance that some random, very overly-invested fans were correct, the couch now had a selection of sinfully soft cushions and throws from Costco. Ilya steadfastly ignored the boys cooing at him about his nesting tendencies, whatever the fuck that meant, and he ignored his own insane pride at providing for Hollander like he was a fucking animal caring for his mate. Unless Shane was into that, in which case Ilya was prepared to be all about it.

Then, suddenly, it was two p.m. on a random mid-season Saturday and there was a knock at the door. Ilya’s heart leapt but he just accepted the thumps to his back that the boys provided in moral support, and went to greet their guests. 

“Remember: subtle,” Vicky said.

“I do not know this word,” Ilya replied, yanking the door wide open with the most charming smile he could manage. “Welcome,” he began, only to falter a little in the face of Shane Hollander on his doorstep.

“Hi, Ilya,” he smiled, and he was so fucking pretty he actually stole Ilya’s breath away.

“Your hair is longer,” Ilya said stupidly. He hadn’t noticed it beneath the helmet during their game.

Shane’s hand made an abortive move as though to touch his hair, then dropped as he stood straighter. “Uh, yeah. I’m growing it out a little, I guess.”

Between the eyes, the freckles, the muscles, and now the hair, Ilya was a goner. “Pretty,” he murmured to himself, but also maybe not only to himself, given the way Shane’s eyes crinkled and he ducked his head a little before smiling shyly at Ilya.

“Are we just going to stand here and look at each other, or what?” Pike demanded.

Pulling his attention away from Hollander like that was probably some kind of hate crime, Ilya suspected, which he would investigate further once he had the wherewithal to do so. Still, he was technically the host, so he simply stood aside and swept an arm out to indicate that his guests should proceed ahead of him. He watched, vaguely amused, when all three Voyageurs toed off their shoes before heading further into the house.

“You see?” Ilya told his friends as he led everyone into the kitchen. “This is what polite guest behaviour looks like.”

Marly rolled his eyes. “I have literally seen you cartwheel through a screen door upon arriving at a party.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t wearing shoes when I did it,” Ilya told him stroppily. “Ah,” he added, accepting the case of beer that Boizeau thrust into his hands as Shane unpacked a cooler bag onto the counter that contained two big white boxes. “Thank you, very thoughtful of you. What is this?” he asked, putting the beer in the fridge and hooking his chin over Shane’s shoulder to read the sticker stuck to the lid of the boxes. “What is-” He hesitated, unfamiliar with the word, let alone the pronunciation.

“Boulangerie Cheskie,” Shane told him in fluid French, the ridiculous words slipping sexily from his mouth. “It comes from the French word for baker- boulanger- usually specialising in bread. I remember you saying you liked sweet things, so I brought some things from one of the best bakeries in Montreal.”

Whatever was in the boxes couldn’t possibly be as sweet as Shane taking the time to provide a judgement-free explanation, let alone that he remembered Ilya’s preference for sweet things. “I had better keep you close, then, make sure you don’t get into them first, yes?” he grinned, and Shane looked over his shoulder at Ilya, startled that he had remembered the same conversation seemingly as well as Shane had.

“Guess you’d better,” he murmured, and Ilya felt something take flight in his belly.

Eventually regaining enough of his faculties to play host, Ilya offered drinks even as he pressed a perfectly-chilled glass of ginger ale into Shane’s hand, their fingers brushing ‘accidentally’ enough that a beautiful blush flooded his cheeks, much to Ilya’s delight. He somehow managed to refrain from doing something stupid like calling attention to it, or pulling out his phone to take a photo of it, but it was a close thing. 

Thankfully, Marly had his back and did just that, snapping a photo of the moment in the name of live-tweeting the evening, not that Ilya cared about that. Still, once everyone was settled with drinks and a selection of snacks laid out on the coffee table, Ilya offered Shane a tour of his home as CC and Boizeau began arguing in the living room about which video game to play first. 

 Shane followed Ilya out of the kitchen with his ginger ale in hand, pausing only to glance back when Boizeau let out an offended squawk at something Connors had said about his aim. Whatever it was, it was immediately drowned out by Marly’s cackling, and Shane shook his head with a small smile before turning back to Ilya.

“You live like this all the time?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the open-plan space, the low lighting, the soft clutter of blankets and cushions thrown artfully across the couch.

Ilya glanced around, trying to see it through Shane’s eyes. “Like what?”

“Like…” Shane hesitated, searching for the word. “Comfortable.”

Ilya preened a little. “Yes. I am very comfortable person.”

Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “I can see that.”

They moved slowly through the house, Ilya pointing out things that didn’t need pointing out, like the fact that the hallway led to the bedrooms, and that the main bathroom was, in fact, a bathroom. Shane nodded along like this was all deeply fascinating, which Ilya appreciated.

“And this is where I sleep,” Ilya said, pushing open his bedroom door with his foot and waving Shane inside.

Shane stepped in without hesitation, looking around with open curiosity. The same soft lighting carried optimistically through here, a lamp glowing warm in the corner instead of the bright overheads, the bed made with what could only be described as an aggressive amount of pillows. There was a throw folded neatly over the end, one of the softest ones. For optimistic texture reasons.

“You redecorate recently?” Shane asked, wiggling his socked toes into the plush rug as he came further into the room, apparently without even thinking about it. “I’m sure I’ve seen photos of in here on Instagram before, and it didn’t look like this.”

Ilya’s heart did something strange in his chest at the thought of Shane making himself familiar with Ilya’s home from the distance of another country. “Maybe small changes,” he said carefully.

Shane reached out, brushing his fingers over one of the cushions, then the throw, his expression thoughtful. “It’s nice,” he said. “Feels… easy to be in.”

Ilya watched him, utterly transfixed. “Yes,” he said softly. “That is idea.”

Shane turned back to him then, still half-smiling, and for a moment they just… looked at each other. The room was deliciously quiet and the noise from the living room felt far away, muffled by walls and distance and something else Ilya didn’t quite have a name for. Shane was close, closer than he had been before, standing just inside the space of Ilya’s room like he belonged there, like this wasn’t insane.

Ilya drifted forward a step without really thinking about it.

Shane didn’t move back.

“Shane,” Ilya said, low, testing the shape of his name again now that he had him like this, soft and quiet, his attention undivided.

Shane’s gaze flicked down briefly, then back up, something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I-” Ilya started, and then…

“HOLLZY!” CC bellowed from the living room. “Tell your bestie he cheats like a fucking-”

There was a crash, followed by Vicky shouting something in rapid-fire French and Marly yelling, “That frame was expensive, you asshole!”

The moment, like whatever it was in the living room, shattered.

Shane blinked, then laughed softly, shoulders coming up a little as he hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “Sounds like they’re doing great out there.”

Ilya stood there for a second longer, staring at him, then exhaled sharply through his nose. “Da,” he said flatly. “Thriving.”

Shane grinned at him, bright and easy, like nothing had just almost happened. “C’mon, we should probably go stop them before someone dies.”

“And that would be… a shame,” Ilya said reluctantly, because what else could he do, and turned to follow him out of the room. He paused only long enough to grab the soft throw from the end of the bed and drape it over his arm. Just in case.

*

Half an hour into the #BearageursSleepover and shit’s already getting rowdy, Marly tweeted with a picture of a an XBox controller lying next to a broken photo frame containing a photo of the household on an airboat, Ilya in the middle holding an alligator up beneath the forelegs like a baby, all of them soaked and sporting beaming grins.

-Excuse me @realilya, can you please introduce us to your new swamp puppy? 🐊 #BearageursSleepover 
-this is foreplay somehow i just know it #hollanov #bearageurssleepover
-I think the question we all want answers to is WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK #BearageursSleepover 
-you know what? even though i’ve literally never given it any thought, this is somehow exactly what i imagine these guys get up to during the offseason
-JJ tweeted that they had arrived 20mins ago… let that sink in… they’ve been in the same house for TWENTY MINUTES and already the lore is out of control #BearageursSleepover 
      -@ShaneHollanderOfficial are you okay? Blink twice if you need help…
-Wait, is this from the 2017 AllStars game? Didn’t @ConnorCConnors post a live from the Everglades like, the day after the game??

*

Mario Kart 8 may have been a tactical error.

CC had the most incredible ability to snipe everyone else on the field with blue shells and take the win, which Ilya, Marly and Vicky were all used to and used as the basis to refuse to play with him. Unfortunately for Boizeau and Pike, they were not privy to this information before they had selected the game. Ilya took an unholy amount of pleasure watching Pike get more and more frustrated as he continued to lose to the same strat, his eyes narrowing in concentration until they were narrow enough Ilya wasn’t even sure he could still see.

“Hayd, maybe just… relax?” Shane suggested.

Pike’s inarticulate cry of rage as he spun out and crossed the finish line last again suggested he would not be doing that.

Marly just kept recording.

-If @ShaneHollanderOfficial, the most competitive mfer on the ice, is telling you to chill out, maybe you should @MontrealPike35 👀
-Jesus, that scream was PRIMAL @MontrealPike35 #BearageursSleepover
-Did you guys peep @ShaneHollanderOfficial laughing on the couch right at the end? Has anyone else ever seen him laugh like that before? #BearageursSleepover
-@ConnorCConnors coming in for the win like it ain’t no thing #BearageursSleepover

*

Mario Kart became StreetFighter became another thrown controller, and Vicky subsequently banned them all from playing for an hour as a time out.

This then turned into the most aggressive game of Uno known to man, the seven of them sitting on the floor around the coffee table. It was fast, mean, and cheating was not only allowed, it was encouraged by everyone bar whomever the loser was at any given time. Ilya took a photo of his winning hand moments before playing it, a Blue-Eyes White Dragon card with a blank Uno card stuck to the back of it for camouflage, and posted it.

-@realilya Elite tier strategy, 10/10 no notes #bearageurssleepover
-Is this a Russian thing? An Uno thing?? A @BostonBears thing??? A Yu-Gi-Oh thing????
-omg @ShaneHollanderOfficial to the right with ten thousand cards and the scowliest face ever seen 😂😂😂 #bearageurssleepover
-The table flip that is about to occur will be heard across the nation #BearageursSleepover
-not shane hollander sitting cross-legged on the FLOOR like a well-adjusted human while chaos unfolds around him??? #Bearageurssleepover

Marly recorded the absolute pandemonium Ilya’s play created, Ilya’s cackling laughter overlying the whole clip as Shane pelted him with whatever he could reach from where he was sitting.

-How’s chilling out working for you now, @ShaneHollanderOfficial?? 🤔 #BearageursSleepover
-that is NOT regulation play i am contacting mattel #BearageursSleepover #mattel

*

After a quick internet poll the next game, by overwhelming demand, was Twister. Ilya was in heaven and, simultaneously, hell, because Shane was flexible as fuck. It was for this reason, and this reason alone, that Ilya was determined to stay in until they were the last two on the mat.

“Right hand red,” Marly announced gleefully, entirely unsurprised when Ilya chose to lean right over Shane’s back to follow the direction of the spin, his chest pressed to Shane’s back where he was flawlessly holding the Twister-version of Downward Dog, only with his right foot on blue and his left foot far enough forward on yellow that he was almost doing the splits. He leaned his weight down just enough for Shane to feel it, but not so much as to knock him off balance, because that would be unsporting.

“Do your worst, Rozanov,” Shane goaded, grinning. “I can hold this pose all day.”

“I don’t need all day, Hollander,” Ilya smirked back. “An hour or so to start with, should do.”

It took a second, but Shane’s pretty, pretty blush came roaring back.

So did the Xbox controller thrown by Pike, smacking solidly into Ilya’s forearm, causing him to lose his balance and crush Shane to the mat, the two of them laughing breathlessly, and neither of them hurrying to move.

-Jesus, this is the gayest game of Twister I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve watched the gay porno version #BearageursSleepover
-I don’t know what’s happening, but I like it #BearageursSleepover
-’inter-league relations’, huh? i see you babe 😏 @realilya #bearageurssleepover

*

Vicky called time on the games for a bit, tempers starting to flare in a distinctly un-fun way.

“Shane, come help me in the kitchen?” Ilya said as Marly reluctantly packed Twister away. He held his hand out for Shane to help pull him to his feet, scowling when Boizeau caught him beneath the arm just as he reached out and dragged him up instead.

“Food?” JJ asked hopefully.

“There’s heaps,” CC told him. “We went to Costco yesterday.”

“Oh man, that place is a lifesaver with four kids,” Hayden said, trailing after them, the rest following him.

Ilya sighed to himself as he decanted the fridge and pantry onto the kitchen island and dug out some serving platters to arrange snacks onto. He chose his favourite plate, a smaller white one with an internet-style review on it that said ‘10/10 chef was cute, would eat here again’, and arranged a selection of neatly sliced veg, small bowls of hummus and Greek yoghurt tzatziki, seaweed crackers and cheeses on it just for Shane.

Shane accepted the plate with a surprised lift of his eyebrows before beaming a smile at Ilya and dipping a snap pea in dip and crunching into it as the rest of their friends fought over the mini-muffins. Ilya was immediately and violently ready to die for that smile.

-fuck, rozanov making a plate of hollander-approved snacks specially for him is KILLING ME #bearageurssleepover #king 
-WAIT WHY IS THIS ONE LOWKEY INTIMATE??? #BearageursSleepover
-Literally watching these two hockey idiots fall in love in real time, what is this timeline? 😍 #BearageursSleepover
-Am actually DYING, @ShaneHollanderOfficial if you don’t marry that man I WILL #BearageursSleepover #Hollanov #TrueLove
-shane hollander accepting a specially made plate and just smiling like that is INSANE behaviour actually #bearageurssleepover

Marly then caught Shane’s laugh when he read what the plate said once he was done, and caught a photo of him pointing to the review on it as he handed it back to Ilya.

-Lord, I see what you do for others… 🙏 #BearageursSleepover
-may this love find me anY DAMn TImE nOW #bearageursSleepover
-Feral Swamp Rat Rozanov romancing the absolute shit out of Human Spreadsheet Hollander? It’s more likely than you think! #BearageursSleepover

*

After snacks they migrated out onto the back patio for an impromptu game of sewer ball. Pike was predictably terrible, Boizeau and Marly somehow ended up shirtless, Vicky required three layers and a scarf to brave the cold, and Ilya and Shane got hyper-competitive about it, shoving and jostling each other to foul each other up. They all then migrated onto the snow-covered lawn for an ad-hoc game of 3 v 3 with Vicky as ref so he could huddle beneath the outdoor heater as they tried to murder each other in the face with the rock-hard partially frozen ball. Ilya managed a tricky shot by kicking the ball up and forward over his own shoulder, only to find himself lifted into the air by Shane’s insanely strong arms wrapped around his thighs and carried away from his team’s goal.

Ilya laughed… then didn’t, breath catching when Shane didn’t immediately put him down. When he finally did, there was a moment of pause, Shane’s arms wrapped around him as he let Ilya slide back down and onto his own feet, the two of them sharing a frosted breath in the frozen backyard before they were called back to ‘centre field’ for the next round of play.

-JESUS CHRIST @ShaneHollanderOfficial is a BEAST 🔥🔥🔥 #BearageursSleepover #sweating #DemBicepsDoe
-No one save Rozanov, he’s clearly exactly where I… I mean HE wants to be #BearageursSleepover #Hollanov
-@JJJJJMTL and @SpliffJarlow with their shirts off is my Roman Empire, holy hell 😳 🥵 #BearageursSleepover
-why are the bears acting like this is normal and the voyageurs are just… adapting in real time #bearageurssleepover
-If @ShaneHollanderOfficial picked me up and ran off with me the way he just did with Rozanov is2g you would never hear from either of us again #BearageursSleepover

*

Once they were back inside, Ilya congratulated himself on accidentally manufacturing the perfect excuse to have Shane curled up with him on the sofa. He didn’t give the freshly washed hooded blanket- still warm from the dryer- to Shane so much as wordlessly drape it around him before encouraging him to sit, maybe taking liberties with the way his hands smoothed over Shane’s shoulders and arms, ensuring the one-size-fits-all blanket actually did as advertised.

“Oh,” Shane murmured with a little shiver, immediately wrapping his arms around himself to hug the warmth close, hands smoothing over the soft blue fleece. “My favourite colour,” he told Ilya, as if Ilya didn’t already know.

“I have matching one,” Ilya just told him instead, slipping his own over his shoulders. “Bisexual flag colours.”

Shane stared at him for a beat, his beautiful eyes wide and startled. “Oh,” he said again. “Uh, well.” Ilya’s heart began to sink. “Let me know if you find a green, white and blue one, then,” he added softly, “so we can really match. Okay?”

It took a moment, but Ilya’s smile grew until it felt like it was going to tear free of his face. “Yeah, sure,” he said, aiming for casual and certain he missed it by a mile, if the blush and returned smile he got from Shane was any indication.

-Someone tell me what @realilya said to @ShaneHollanderOfficial that made them both smile like that or I swear to glob I won’t be held responsible for my actions 🔪 @JJJJJMTL @ ConnorCConnors @MontrealPike35 @SpliffJarlow @VicStS #BearageursSleepover
-Not Rozanov in a bi pride blanket??! The rep we didn’t know we needed!!! #BearageursSleepover #BisexualPride #BiPride #LGBT #representation
-@NHL: No homo! ✋ 🛑 @realilya: PRO HOMO ✨🏳️‍🌈 🌈 ✨#BearageursSleepover #LGBT

Ilya sat against the arm of the sofa, and Shane was about to sit next to him when Pike barged in between them, propping his feet up on the coffee table as he relaxed back to watch the movie Marly was queueing up.

“Hayden,” Shane hissed, seemingly mortified by his friend’s behaviour.

“Shit, sorry,” Pike said, making an idiotic ‘my bad’ face as he put his feet back on the floor.

Ilya congratulated himself on his heroic restraint when he caught Shane’s apologetic expression and somehow managed to refrain from rolling his eyes at Pike's social ineptitude. Then Vicky presented Boizeau and Pike with their own unapproved-by-Ilya hooded blankets, and Ilya had to suffer through Pike pulling Shane in close and taking approximately forty selfies of the two of them, one for each of his children, probably.

-@MontrealPike35 living on borrowed time if he don’t get his hands off @realilya’s man #BearageursSleepover
-@realilya and @ShaneHollanderOfficial trading looks over Pike’s head like parents waiting for their kid to fall asleep 😂 #Hollanov #FERAL #BearageursSleepover
-he didn’t just GIVE him a blanket he TUCKED HIM IN I SAW THAT #BearageursSleepover
-hayden pike you will begin to cough in seven days 🪦 #BearageursSleepover #Hollanov

Still, it was almost worth it for the way Shane stretched his arm along the back of the couch behind Pike, his fingertips accidentally grazing Ilya’s shoulder like it meant nothing at all, as they watched the cinematic marvel that was the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice.

*

The plan had been to barbeque for dinner, but the increasing wind that had begun to howl along the house and the increasing snow soon made that a kitchen job instead. Ilya let his boys have the pleasure, sliding the marinated salmon into the oven before joining Shane at the table to watch the mayhem unfold.

“This has actually been a really fun idea,” Shane told him.

“I like to see you here, in my home,” Ilya told him honestly.

Shane tilted his head, looking at him consideringly. “I didn’t expect to feel so…”

“Comfortable?” Ilya asked wryly, unable to look away from Shane’s freckles.

“Yes, exactly that,” Shane told him. “I-” he cut himself off, bit the inside of his cheek uncertainly.

“You?” Ilya prompted gently, knocking his foot against Shane’s beneath the table where they sat perpendicular to each other.

Shane hesitated, then smiled a little and shook his head, but his foot nudged back against Ilya’s and stayed there until Ilya’s timer went off and he got to his feet to check the salmon.

Dinner around the table was a lively affair once a timed group photo was taken and posted to social media.

-not shane with another special meal?! ilya u r such a romantic ❤️ #bearageurssleepover
-Five hours in and no one’s been murdered? Miracles really DO happen! #BearageursSleepover
-So, just to recap: swamp puppy lore dropped, Xbox assault, @MontrealPike35 screaming like a banshee, the cheatiest game of Uno ever played, gay twister, Hollanov snacks, BeastModeHollander, Cock-Block Hayden Pike, custom Hollanov dinner… am I missing anything? #BearageursSleepover
      -don’t forget shirtless #Boizow! #rarepair #Bearageurssleepover

*

After dinner Shane made Ilya sit and carried the pastry boxes to the table along with the dessert plates and forks he had found that Ilya, CC, Vicky and Marly had no idea they even owned. “I hope it’s okay that I chose these desserts for you,” he said, only the slightest hint of nervousness betraying him as his fingers flexed around the hilt of the knife he held, just a fraction too tight. “But I thought you might like a small taste of home.”

With that cryptic announcement he opened the boxes and Ilya leaned forward to peer inside, his mouth dropping open a little in pure shock when he eventually realised that he was looking at a chocolate babka in one box and a rulet s makom, or poppyseed roll, inside the other. He’d had neither in years, not since he’d moved to America, and not since he’d been a child.

“Hollander,” he said, voice scraped raw, and the table fell silent.

“Is it… should I not-”

“No, is perfect,” Ilya said, falling even more in love with his thoughtful Canadian. “Is… is like you said, taste of home.” He looked at Shane and smiled, small but achingly sincere. “I love it. Thank you, Shanya.”

Shane blushed, pleased, and cut a generous piece of each, serving Ilya first.

-Crying over a big, burly Russian hockey player making heart-eyes at his arch-rival over traditional Russian desserts was NOT on my bingo card for this millennium #BearageursSleepover
-okay what gave you the RIGHT, @ShaneHollanderOfficial??? You owe me for fucking emotional damages #BearageursSleepover
-No but why is this the sweetest, most considerate thing I’ve seen all year?? #Hollanov #Bearageurssleepover
-The amount of love and respect going on here is reaching critical levels, holy shit #bearageurssleepover
-WHAT? I am FERAL because this means he REMEMBERS things about ilya and ACTS on them what do you MEAN #BearageursSleepover
-Rozy’s face as he realises that oh. oh this one’s different 🥺 #bearageursSleepover

The desserts were delicious, and watching Shane’s eyelashes flutter closed as he took a careful bite of the small slices he allowed himself was, somehow, even sweeter.

*

CC humming to himself as he and Boizeau did the dishes somehow turned into a sing-off as Marly and Pike made cocktails from the extensive liquor collection, which then turned into karaoke, which turned into drunken karaoke, much to the internet’s delight. CC’s incredible air guitar rendition of Sweet Child o’ Mine went viral almost immediately, followed rapidly by Marly, Pike and Vicky smashing Love Shack out of the park. Hollander even got in the spirit, managing a slightly out of tune but huskily sincere version of House of the Rising Sun, and Ilya had them all in fits of laughter with Denis Leary’s Asshole, word-perfect.

Context was important, but not essential.

He and Shane then duetted Ice Ice Baby, Ilya forgetting half the words while watching Shane grin through the chorus, and retired back to their new blankets when Pike and Marly sang Hotel California together. Boizeau butchered something by Britney Spears, Marly campily enjoyed the hell out of It’s Oh So Quiet, and Vicky’s opening lyrics to Outfield’s Your Love garnered ecstatic cheers from the room. CC enthusiastically compiled a dance solo to Tequila that included twerking, the worm, and something that could have been a seizure, could have been breakdancing.

Then Ilya was up, and his choice of Laid by James with gender-switched lyrics had Shane’s cheeks flushed prettily and his laughter lighting his eyes as Marly slung a companionable arm around his shoulders and they wolf whistled Ilya through to the end. He reached up and tugged Ilya down onto the couch next to himself like it was the most natural place to be as Boizeau and Pike botched the lyrics of It Wasn’t Me, but Ilya barely heard it given the concentration he was devoting to the way Shane felt pressed against his side.

-This is like every Christmas and birthday and cup final and graduation rolled into one #blessed #BearageursSleepover
-HE CHANGED THE PRONOUNS. HE CHANGED THE PRONOUNS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL #BearageursSleepover
-When people say ‘boys will be boys’ this is the only behaviour I will allow to be explained this way 🎶 🎤 #BearageursSleepover #KaraokeKings
-Hollanov’s chemistry is off the (Billboard) charts!! #karaokekings #bearageurssleepover
-If @realilya went any harder @ShaneHollanderOfficial would be pregnant right now #BearageursSleepover
-i love these idiots so fucking much, how am i supposed to go on having seen this? #BearageursSleepover 😭 #karaokekings

*

Vicky disappeared as karaoke began to wind down, eventually returning with hot chocolate made over the stove. Shane had managed to claim a spot between Ilya and Pike, gradually leaning further and further into Ilya’s space as they shared a mug of hot chocolate that Ilya was sure it was just a matter of time before he was fully in Ilya’s lap. Well, that was the dream, anyway. Then Shane began to shift a little, disturbing Pike enough that he groaned and leaned to the other side, head dropping onto CC’s shoulder as The Fifth Element played on the tv. Ilya watched as Shane tried to pull the blanket more completely around his legs, then remembered something.

“Pyjama time!” he announced suddenly, pausing the movie and carefully separating from Shane to retrieve the Bears-branded pyjamas they’d obtained for the sleepover. When he returned to the living room it was to find Shane waiting for him with a smirk, a stack of blue and red clothing in a neat pile next to him, and expressions of distaste on his housemates’ faces. It took him a moment to realise that Shane had done exactly the same thing and brought Voyageurs pyjamas all the way from Montreal, like the little shit he was. Ilya was overjoyed.

“Give,” he demanded, swiping a pair of red and blue pyjama pants from the pile and tossing a pair of his own black and gold at him in return. “Come,” he said, tossing the rest of the Bears clothing down on the sofa next to Shane’s neatly-folded pile. “You want to wash up and put on comfortable clothes?”

Shane followed him back to his bedroom and through to the ensuite, collecting his bag on the way so he could bring his toothbrush along with him. Ilya let him have the bathroom first, changing into his fleecy Bears top and Voyageurs pants in the interests of inter-league relations. He flopped back onto the bed as Shane hummed quietly to himself in the bathroom, daydreaming idly about the day that this could be his usual everyday normal, just Shane Hollander going through his bedtime routine like usual as Ilya waited for him in bed.

He glanced up when the bathroom door swung open, inviting. Ilya was never one to turn down an invite to something worth being a part of, and soon found himself meeting Shane’s eyes in the wide mirror as they brushed their teeth together, startlingly intimate, making use of the dual basins that had never seen more than a single person at a time in the years since Ilya had moved in. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, eyes meeting in the mirror before darting away and then coming back like swallows swooping over a lake, both of them brushing for far longer than necessary just for the simple pleasure of doing it together.

It was Shane who eventually finished first, but he used his own phone to take a mirror-selfie of the two of them, arms around each other’s waists and wearing matching mismatched team PJs as they smiled at each other.

-if married hollanov doesn’t happen soon i will combust out of sheer UST #bearageurssleepover
-SHUT THE FUCK UP WHYYYY 😩 #BearageursSleepover
-This is their normal bedtime routine and you can’t tell me otherwise #BearageursSleepover #boyfriends #pyjamaparty
-that is some serious commitment #BearageursSleepover #InterLeagueRelations #PyjamaParty #BearsAndVoyageurs #MTLvBOS

They returned to the living room to find everyone else in their respective teams’ clothing.

“Cowards,” Ilya said mildly, snorting a laugh at the five sets of middle fingers aimed in his direction from where their teammates were sprawled out on the couches and floor, soft new cushions put to good use. He retook his previous place with Shane at his side, dragging the softest blanket that had previously lived on the end of his bed and draping it across both his and Shane’s legs. He then inhaled a fortifying breath and reached out to pull Shane in close against his side, radiating heat like a furnace, an arm around his shoulders and Shane’s head resting on his chest and fingers hooked in Ilya’s Bears shirt as he settled in without a single noise of complaint. He was certain Shane could hear the rapid flutter of his heart beneath his ear, and was eternally grateful that he said nothing about it at all. On Shane’s other side Pike shifted and Ilya froze, but Shane just let his weight settle more obviously against Ilya’s side until he relaxed once more.

-Who gave them a blanket? Who allowed this? This is a crime against me personally. #BearageursSleepover
-tell me ur in love with ur archrival without telling me ur in love with ur archrival #hollanov #sleepover #bearageurssleepover #truelove
-Watching Ilya kiss Shane’s hair like he’s not even thinking about it is watering my crops rn #BearageursSleepover
-THEY ARE BOYFRIENDS YOUR HONOUR, in this essay I will #BearageursSleepover #Hollanov4eva

*

The FIfth Element had ended and they were halfway through the first Lord Of The Rings move (extended cut, or why even bother?) when Marly finally dropped off to sleep in the armchair closest to the kitchen, his ridiculous frame somehow curled up entirely beneath a blanket of his own. He was the last one to drift off apart from Ilya and Shane, the former of whom felt more awake than he had ever been at two a.m. in his life, not wanting to miss a single second of Shane Hollander sleepy and warm against his side. Then, just as the Council of Elrond was about to convene, Boizeau began to snore. Shane shifted a little and sighed.

“Mmm?” Ilya hummed softly, unsure if Shane was actually awake or just getting comfortable.

“Between JJ and Hayden both snoring it’s a wonder I ever get any sleep when we’re on the road,” Shane murmured back, careful to pitch his voice low enough that he wouldn’t disturb anyone else’s sleep.

Not that that was an issue, Ilya thought. Boizeau was dead to the world on the floor with one leg up on the couch across Pike’s lap. Pike’s head was tipped back against the back of the sofa, mouth open and arms thrown out wide like a child. CC was lying with his head on the one foot Marly had left on the floor, a stack of cushions piled on his face like a demented game of sleepover jenga. Ilya took a moment to make sure he was still breathing. Which he was. Good. And Vicky was asleep on his belly, head pillowed on his folded arms and draped in their Bears throw.

Lazy and perfectly comfortable, Ilya considered just staying where they were but eventually let his concern for Shane’s comfort dominate. He got to his feet, carefully disentangling himself from Shane who sat up, adorably rumpled, to frown at him. “Bed,” he said quietly. “Leave these idiots here,” he said fondly, “and come and get some restful sleep.” Shane nodded, paused for a jaw-cracking yawn, then got to his feet and followed Ilya sleepily.

Ilya reached back, meaning to catch the sleeve of Shane’s blanket and pull him back down the hallway but stopped, startled, when Shane caught his hand with his own and they just kind of… froze. Ilya looked down at their joined hands, honestly fucking delighted, and carefully closed his fingers a little tighter around Shane’s, pleased when he didn’t attempt to get free. That simple point of contact made sparks zing up and down his spine.

Marly cocked an eyebrow and slitted his eyes open to watch them go. This time, though, he kept his phone locked, closed his eyes again, and tried not to kick CC in the head as he fell properly back into sleep.

For all his reputation implied, Ilya was somewhat close to something that might, on a good day, be considered in the area of gentlemanly. He had intended to offer Shane his own bed and then go sleep in Marly’s, but given that he was only gentleman-adjacent, when Shane took his hand that plan rapidly evolved until they were both in Ilya’s bed, hooded blankets laid across the end of the bed, bodies bracketed like sleepy parentheses. Their feet tangled comfortably together as they waited for the soft, cool sheets to warm around them, and Shane reached out to lace his fingers with Ilya’s once more, their hands resting comfortably on the bed between them.

“Okay?” he asked, impossibly soft and somehow simultaneously both shy and assured of his welcome as his thumb smoothed slowly over Ilya’s knuckles beneath the blankets.

More than, Ilya thought, barely enough light coming through the snowy weather outside to catch in the dark of Shane’s eyes. Perfectly. Indescribably. Completely. He didn’t say any of that, though; instead, he just reached out to capture Shane’s chin gently between index finger and thumb and tilt his face up for a gentle, tentative kiss. He could feel Shane smile against his mouth, the way he shuffled across the bed to get even closer, to get more.

I am half in love with you already, he also didn’t say. The only way I could be more okay was if you promised to stay here with me, just like this, forever, he didn’t add.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Shane whispered against his lips, reading his mind because why wouldn’t he be able to? He was the Hollander to Ilya’s Rozanov; that was just how they worked.

Ilya laughed quietly and reached out to pull him all the way in.

Shane was gone by the time Ilya woke the next morning, and if it weren’t for the delicious ache in his abdomen and thighs he might have thought the entire night the most vivid, perfect dream he’d ever had. He eventually made his way into the kitchen for coffee, only to find Shane adding the fattest, fluffiest pancakes he’d ever seen to a plate that he slid into the oven to keep warm.

“Morning,” he rasped, glancing back over his shoulder to check that everyone else was still asleep before curling his hands around Shane’s hips from behind and kissing the sharp cut of his perfect jaw.

To his surprise, Shane just turned in his arms and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck to kiss him thoroughly, tasting of sugar and coffee and satiation. “Good morning, Ilyusha.” Ilya drew back a little, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I googled it, after you called me Shanya last night,” Shane admitted. “I- is it wrong?”

Ilya shook his head. “Is absolutely perfect. You call me this always, now. Or Rozanov; I like that too.”

Shane, his Shanya, laughed beautifully and turned back to the pan, though he kept a hand over one of Ilya’s to hold him in place. Ilya managed to pour a cup of coffee like that that they then shared, and which Shane rewarded him for with bits of crispy-edged, perfectly fluffy pancakes. When sounds of life began to filter in from the living room Ilya reluctantly stepped away from Shane to share half the stove and begin cooking up a huge stack of fried eggs and bacon, with Shane adding toast to the pancakes warming in the oven.

Before they were done Marly came over in search of caffeine. He froze by the table, took one look at them, and silently backed away. He returned thirty seconds later with his phone already recording.

-Not even 12 hours later and Hollanov is CANON??! #BearageursSleepover #HollanovIsCanon #Hollanov #WHAT
-Ilya getting kissed in his own kitchen like this is a romcom I am SICK #BearageursSleepover

No one was hungover, exactly, but they were all tired and breakfast was initially a sedate affair as they all waited for the coffee to hit. Ilya and Shane held hands beneath the table, and they were fooling no one. Pike seemed to regard this development with resignation, Marly and CC with ill-concealed glee, Boizeau and Vicky with shared looks of commiseration. Shane just looked quietly content, and Ilya didn’t even care what his own face looked like as they began to make plans for the day.

*

Their first stop was Clearway street, Ilya leading the way into a small bodega.

“I don’t think we need snacks for the day, we’ve got plenty already,” Pike said doubtfully as he gestured at the knapsack Marly carried what was, indeed, crammed with snacks, and referred to by the boys as The Snack Pack.

“Obviously,” Ilya said, flicking a glance back over his shoulder at Shane as he approached a Snapple vending machine… only to slide it to the left and reveal a streetwear boutique hidden behind it. “But you need appropriate clothing for day out.”

Boizeau exclaimed something in French and darted into the hidden space behind the store, disappearing like he’d been activated. Pike crept in, suspicious, eyes darting around like he suspected a weighted net was about to drop on his head. CC didn’t go in at all, and spent the entire time they were there trying to buy actual cleaning supplies that Ilya was pretty sure were just there as camouflage. Shane let Ilya buy him a shirt with BODEGA screen printed across the front.

-Uh, are you guys not allowed to film here, or has Rozy lured you into a secret fashion dungeon? Scream loudly if you need help #BearageursSleepover
-Did @JJJJJMTL really buy two pairs of shoes and then proceed to wear one of each out of the store so he didn’t have to choose?? 😂 #bearageurssleepover #sneakerhead #wtf

*

From there they meandered along Massachusetts Ave to the Mapparium, a three-storey tall stained glass globe. Ilya hooked his finger in the pocket of Shane’s jacket to keep him back from the rest of their party as they wandered through, then bade him wait as he crossed the bridge to stand directly opposite him, far enough away to be seen, but not easily heard. They were the only two in the perfect glass sphere for the moment, and Shane’s eyes on him across the beautifully coloured space were steady and patient.

“I’m so glad you are here with me,” Ilya whispered, and Shane shouldn’t have been able to hear him, ordinarily wouldn’t have been able to from the distance they were separated by, but the remarkable acoustics of the perfectly spherical building made his voice sound as clear to Shane’s ears as though they were standing close enough to touch. Ilya watched as his face absolutely lit up at the magic of it.

Which was prompt ruined by Marly and CC running back in, pausing in the middle of the bridge and assuming the poses of Goku and Vegeta about to go super saiyan, and screaming "GET IN THE FAHKIN’ CAAAAHHHH” in the strongest Bostonian accents Ilyah had ever heard, then running back out again.

-The Bears really be out there running on Dunkin’ and rage #bearageurssleepover #bostonbears
-AT LEAST WE’RE NOT NEW HAMPSHIRE #boston #bearageurssleepover #youknowthatsright

*

They had an early lunch of tapas at Toro before continuing on to the Museum of Bad Art, a place which delighted and fascinated Ilya and Shane both. Shane found a little plaster sculpture of a humanoid figure lifting a barbell particularly amusing. “‘The artist celebrates the winning can-do spirit of athletes who, eschewing the advice of coaches, trainers and chiropractors, accomplish impressive physical feats while using unbelievably poor technique’,” he read on the description plate. “Ilyusha, this masterpiece was salvaged from curbside trash,” he exclaimed, laughing bodily.

Cliff lost his shit laughing at a portrait of Bill Clinton, accidentally painted so that his tie looked like he was holding a blue dildo. CC stood beside him, elbow in hand, fingers to chin, and nodding sagely. “Modern genius,” he said with sincere gravitas. “A searing critique of the modern sociopolitical climate.” Cliff doubled over with laughter as CC gazed upon the painting.

“I don’t get it,” Pike said, looking around in bewilderment. “That one has chicken bones stuck to the canvas? Like, it’s not even biologically accurate!” Vicky just rolled his eyes and dragged him on through the exhibits, hissing at CC to stop touching shit as he passed them.

Ilya and Shane took great pleasure in following Marly and CC around as CC offered his frankly-unhinged commentary on the art, life and society in general, Marly in fits as he spurred him on to even greater introspection.

Ilya’s glee at the SHOT DOWN!...YETI PERSISTS masterpiece, complete with shotgun blast, was unholy. They shared their appreciation with a sizeable donation on their way out.

-@ConnorCConnors the man that you are 😆😆😆 #bearageurssleepover 
-Holy shit @SpliffJarlow losing the plot is the best thing to have happened all week #bearageurssleepover #MOBA
-@MontrealPike35 has never looked more confused, and that’s saying something #MOBA #BearageursSleepover
-Not Rozy and Hollander just wandering through like that ain’t some first date behaviour #Hollanov #BearageursSleepover
-Petition for @ConnorCConnors to be listed as a heritage treasure #BearageursSleepover #Boston
-@VicStS has never been More Done (™) in his life #toddlerwrangler #bearageurssleepover

*

They caught the bus to Franklin Park Zoo. Shane stood at Ilya’s side for a long time just watching the African painted dogs, and they stood in the centre of Raptor Ridge, heads craned back and little fingers linked between them as they watched the huge Steller’s sea eagle fly overhead.

“What the fuck?” CC blurted as he looked at a brown bird standing innocently beside a pool of water. “Hamerkop? What kind of name is that? It doesn’t have thumbs to hold a hammer, and I highly doubt it’s ever been a cop.”

Marly got yelled at twice, once by Vicky and once by a keeper, for trying to feed the wallabies Doritos. 

Boizeau made a kid cry by speculating out loud how many pairs of dress shoes he could have made out of the green anaconda. “Why would you, though?” CC asked curiously. “It’s not even green. We should go look at the emerald tree boa, now that fucker is green.”

Vicky had Ilya laughing with sly commentary beneath his breath about which animals looked like which league players.

Shane displayed a previously unknown talent for mimicking birdcalls, a confused aracari hopping closer and closer as Shane talked to it, head tilting side-to-side as Ilya laughed so hard his video blurred.

-Okay, can someone euthanise me, this is so fucking funny I’m DECEASED 💀😂 #BearageursSleepover
-@ShaneHollanderOfficial hiding his true talents is the biggest surprise about this whole thing, tbqh #BearageursSleepover
-I need @ConnorCConnors to provide his opinions on everything in the world ever, please and thanks #thenextcolbert #bearageurssleepover
-Connors and Boizeau discussing which snake would make better shoes, SIRS PLEASE #BearageursSleepover
-Is it even a day at the zoo if a kid doesn’t cry? #BearageursSleepover
-FUCK OFF VICKY DESCRIBING PLAYERS AS THESE ANIMALS I CAN’T BREATHE @VicStS #BearageursSleepover 

*

From there it was another short bus ride to the subway station and then back to Ilya’s house, Ilya and Shane sitting together again as they travelled. CC and Boizeau started a game of slapjack across the aisle, Marly, Vicky and Pike goading them on. The only thing stopping them from getting kicked off when they got too rowdy was Marly bribing the driver with a bag of Costco-sized skittles and a bottle of Coke from The Snack Pack.

 Ilya watched them with resigned fondness until Shane pulled a slightly crumpled envelope from his pocket. He handed it to Ilya, who was beyond amused to find a card inside with a spotted turtle on it, and bright yellow words overlaying it declaring ‘I’m turtle-y smitten’. Inside was a printed sheet of paper detailing the donation Shane had made in Ilya’s name, but it was the carefully handwritten Cyrillic that said To Ilyusha, Love Shanya that made itchy heat crawl up Ilya’s throat and into his cheeks.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave tonight,” he murmured.

Shane sighed and took his hand, leaving the other one free to keep a tight hold of the card as they travelled back.

-terrible photo, but saw #Hollanov on the bus this afternoon and i think he made a donation to the zoo in Cap’s name? 😭 Cap looks like he’s blushing about it #screaming #bearageurssleepover
      -OMG THE CARD SAYS I’M TURTLEY SMITTEN WITH A TURTLE PICTURE ON IT!!! 
            -I THINK THEY’RE HOLDING HANDS, and the way Cap is STARING AT HOLLANDER IS EVERYTHINGGGGG 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

*

“So, are you and Hollzy a thing now, or what?” Marly asked quietly, bumping his shoulder against Ilya’s as they walked back to the house from the station. The Voyageurs would have to get ready to go to the airport soon, and Ilya was feeling some kind of way about it.

But he watched as Shane glanced back over his shoulder at him from where he was keeping pace with Pike, not looking for anything, just checking that Ilya was still there, and Ilya couldn’t help his smile, his heart flipping at the shy little smile Shane sent back. “Yes, I think so.”

“Aw yiss, boys, The Plan is a success!” he whooped, much to Pike and Boizeau’s confusion.

“Oh thank god,” Vicky sighed.

“What plan?” CC asked, and offered Boizeau a handful of beef jerky that hadn’t been in their snack pack at the start of the day.

*

They said goodbyes at the door, surprisingly friendly as a group, and Ilya was grateful to their friends for leaving him and Shane to say a slightly more private farewell. They shared several kisses, sweet and lingering, until Pike called back that their ride had arrived.

“Don’t worry,” Shane said softly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll come back.”

Ilya huffed out a quiet laugh, glancing over at him. “You better,” he said. “I have entire Costco membership to justify.”

Shane’s eyes did the crinkling thing Ilya loved so much, and kissed him once more before he was gone, Ilya staring mournfully down the driveway from where he leaned against the door frame.

“Hollander didn’t even have any peanut butter,” CC said from directly behind him, making Ilya startle. “What the fuck are we supposed to do with a kilo and a half of smooth peanut butter?”

Ilya laughed and closed the door.