Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Anya | Ilya Rozanov's Dog

Additional Tags:

Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Married Life, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Hurt Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Anxious Shane Hollander, Hurt Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander is a Good Husband, Protective Shane Hollander, Public Display of Affection, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussed Shane Hollander, Blood and Injury, Jealousy, Crying, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Ilya Rozanov Whump, Kissing, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Communication, Shane and Ilya talk about their feelings in this one, Autistic Shane Hollander, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Supportive Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Good Friend Hayden Pike, Angst, Homophobia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ilya and Shane are Anya's parents, Anniversary, Marriage Proposal, Insecure Shane Hollander, Autism, So much angst, SO MUCH FLUFF, Panic Attacks, Halloween, Christmas, Mistletoe, Misunderstandings, Valentine's Day, family day, Birthday, Stanley Cup Final, Stanley Cup, Stanley Cup kiss, Tattoos, Grief/Mourning, Ilya's grief of losing his mother

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-25 Completed: 2026-03-17 Words: 39,658 Chapters: 5/5

Shane Hollander's PDA Agenda

Summary

It happens in an instant.

Over Ilya’s shoulder, Shane sees the doctor and Wiebe give each other a look, and in a sudden bout of impatient anxiety, Shane ends up saying the words that come to ruin everything.

“Don’t touch me.”

The effect is instantaneous. Ilya’s hands fly to his sides, and Shane gets a front row seat as Ilya’s heart breaks before his very eyes. Eyes dimming and lips trembling in slow, painful technicolor.

It causes Shane’s heart to break, too, and he vows, immediately, never to see such a look cross his husband’s face again.

OR Shane embarks on a mission to heal his husband’s heart, one PDA at a time.

Chapter 1: First Year of Marriage (Shane's POV)

Chapter Notes

To no one’s surprise, it happens in Toronto. The defenseman comes out of nowhere and before Shane fully registers what has happened, he’s lying on the ice.

There’s a flurry of activity around him, as the play stops and the medics hurry to check him over. He’s vaguely aware of his husband screaming bloody murder from somewhere inside the penalty box, but Shane has little headspace to focus on anything except the excruciating pain across his abdomen.

It’s towards the end of the Third Period, and Shane is carted off the ice and into an adjacent medical room. A few minutes later, Ilya comes bursting through the doors, making a beeline towards Shane’s side.

The doctor has looked him over, by this point, and has concluded that probably nothing serious has happened. Shane is to go to the hospital for further checkups, but most likely the doctors will say the same. The pain, too, has been reduced to little more than a manageable throb and Shane, by all accounts, considers himself to be quite lucky.

Ilya, however, is not so easily persuaded.

He asks further questions, pestering the doctor and fawning over Shane simultaneously, continuing even as Wiebe enters the room, and the doctor relays the same message.

Shane, by now, wants nothing more than to leave the arena, get to the hospital and go home. He tries to tell Ilya as much, but Ilya ignores him. He’s scared, Shane knows, ignoring his words and the doctor’s, too. His fingers keep flitting across him, checking his head, checking his chest, checking his abdomen, whispering soft apologies as Shane lets out a hiss.

Over Ilya’s shoulder, Shane sees the doctor and Wiebe give each other a look, and in a single, sudden bout of impatient anxiety, Shane ends up saying the words that come to ruin everything –

– “Don’t touch me.”

Shane barely recognizes his voice, although it was certainly he that said it. His mouth which formed those words.

The effect is instantaneous. The room goes quiet like someone’d sucked all sounds from it.

As if they’d coordinated it, both the doctor and Wiebe turn away, similar embarrassed-looking hues spreading across their cheeks.

Shane doesn’t notice, all his attention focused on Ilya. His kind-hearted, worried husband who freezes, hands flying to his sides as if he’d been burned.

Shane wants to take it back. Wants to explain that he doesn’t actually mind Ilya touching him, it’s just that he doesn’t want others to see him do it. Doesn’t want others to judge them. To take something that is precious and twist it into something ugly.

Shane, of course, has no idea how to convey this, and gets a front row seat as Ilya’s heart breaks before his eyes. Eyes dimming and lips trembling in slow, painful technicolor.

It causes Shane’s heart to break, too, and he vows, immediately, never to see such a look cross his husband’s face again. He lifts his hand, pathetically, reaching for Ilya, but his husband doesn’t see, his back turned as he asks the doctor another question.

Shane’s heart stutters. He promises that he will do better. He will practice; he will make a plan; he will become so goddamn good at PDA that Ilya will grow tired of his touch once he’s done with him.

Like he does with everything else, Shane throws his head into PDA planning with meticulous finesse. With lists and charts and diagrams. He creates a timeline and a list of potential PDAs, ranking them on a scale from “Small” to “Scott Hunter”, wondering which ones might fit best within which particular contexts. With a burner account, Shane creates a vision board, and then, just to be thorough, he creates three more.

He plans and plans, and yet – he doesn’t really get anywhere. After The Incident^TM, as Shane has decided to call that day in Toronto, Ilya makes sure to keep his hands to himself, and Shane… Shane lets him. And contents himself with the fact that Ilya’s touch is one to indulge in behind closed doors only.

Ilya is, as always, perfect. He never says anything. Doesn’t so much as indicate that he is unhappy with Shane or their life and the way they go about it. Perhaps he isn’t.

Except Shane sees him. Sees the way he looks at their teammates with their partners, and Shane knows that his husband is jealous. To be completely honest, so is Shane. But on the best of days, his anxiety wins out and on the worst… he keeps picturing the Montreal locker room. Their sneers as they realized that his relationship with Ilya was true. As they realized that Shane had fallen in love with the enemy. With Ilya Rozanov.

Shane’s most beautiful, kind-hearted, precious husband.

Shane cannot bear the thought of anyone in Ottawa ever looking at them like that. Looking at Ilya like that. Not when their lives are so much better than they ever have been. Not when Shane gets to play on the same team as his husband. Not when he gets to go home with said husband and fall asleep in his arms. Wake up next to him, too, never having to worry over goodbyes or when they will see each other again.

But Ilya trusts the team, and Shane trusts Ilya, and, so, Shane can be brave for him. Wants to be brave for him. For the both of them.

In the end, it isn’t any of his lists that does the trick. In fact, Shane’s ensuing actions aren’t even mentioned on a list. No, when Shane finally breaks the bubble, it is because he cannot help himself. Because he is helpless in the face of his husband and that magnetic pull which has kept him in a chokehold ever since that cold, snowy day in Saskatchewan.

They are in the locker room, air filled with mindless chatter. The team is celebrating a win against Winnipeg, and it is, in itself, rather an inconspicuous night. The win was expected, and so, they aren’t elated so much as they are content in the knowledge that these wins are now something they can trust in. The knowledge that they can trust themselves to live up to their own expectations and those of the people around them.

When he feels that first pull, Shane has just come out of the showers. Ilya was quicker than him, having been tapped for post-game interviews, and he’s got half his suit on already when Shane pulls open his locker.

Ilya gives him a small smile, a quick acknowledgement of the fact that Ilya sees him. That Ilya is glad that he is here, that he loves him. He’s humming a tune beneath his breath, something Shane doesn’t recognize, but it makes his insides go fuzzy all the same. Reminds him of summers spent at the cottage, and slow mornings cooking breakfast side by side.

Shane returns the smile, a faint blush covering his cheeks, and Ilya’s lips quirk into the smallest of smirks. Shane rolls his eyes good-naturedly, moving to pull on his own suit.

Harris’s head pops into the locker room, asking Ilya and Hayes if they’re ready. Both men nod, yelling out something in the affirmative. Then, Ilya turns to Shane, saying something else as he puts on his wristwatch. It’s a Rolex, a deal he secured after their secret was out.

But Shane doesn’t hear what Ilya says. Doesn’t look at the Rolex, either, even though it is a truly beautiful watch.

No, Shane’s attention is completely and utterly occupied by Ilya’s tie. A tie that Shane’s father gave to Ilya last Christmas, and one that Shane knows that Ilya cherishes. It’s also, Shane notes, completely crooked.

Shane feels his fingers twitch at his sides, urging to reach out and fix it. Except Shane doesn’t move. He feels frozen in place, eyes locked on that one conspicuous piece of clothing.

“Looks good?” Ilya notices Shane’s gaze, fingers coming up to touch the fabric. Ilya doesn’t look down, eyes fixed on Shane, and so, he doesn’t fix it. He gives his husband another smile, and then he joins Hayes, heading towards the door. Towards the reporters.

Towards the cameras.

Shane knows that Ilya will be sad, later, when he sees it. Not due to vanity but due to it being that tie. Worried that he would have hurt Shane’s father, as if Shane’s father would ever take something like that to heart.

Shane feels like he’s watching a movie in slow motion.

Ilya and Hayes join each other at the door, the latter saying something that makes the former laugh. They’re slapping each other’s backs, Ilya’s hand reaching towards the handle, pressing down on it, and then –

“Wait!”

Several heads turn in Shane’s direction, before he realizes that he has yelled the word for all to hear. Ilya turns, too, a small frown appearing between his brows, the telltale signs of worry making their way onto his face.

Shane licks his lips and then, before he has time to second-guess himself, he strides across the room in short, controlled steps, coming to a stop right in front of Ilya. His husband opens his mouth, undoubtedly to ask him whether everything is all right.

But Shane is on a mission. He ignores Ilya, opting instead to reach out, to grab hold of the tie to smooth it out, straighten it, making sure that it is absolutely perfect.

Once he’s satisfied, he looks up, meeting Ilya’s eyes.

His husband looks at him with a carefully controlled gaze. Shane sees a bit of confusion, too, but whatever he sees in Shane’s eyes seems to satisfy him, and Shane watches in real time as Ilya’s face softens, every feature relaxing into one of love.

Shane is nothing short of helpless as he leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek. “It was crooked,” he whispers, and the smile that Ilya gives him is so warm, so open, that Shane thinks the sun would have trouble competing.

Shane leans back, and Hayes lets out an apologetic sound. “We should be going,” he says, but when Shane gathers the courage to look at him, he, too, has a smile playing around his lips.

“I’ll find you after,” Shane says to Ilya, and Ilya rewards him with a wink, before the two disappear out of the door.

Shane gives himself a moment to pause, to prepare, but when he turns around no one is looking at him. Not because they’re ignoring him, but because everyone has returned to their previous activities upon realizing that the matter did not concern them. The air is abuzz with that same mindless chatter, and Shane attempts to copy Ilya’s tune, softly humming it beneath his breath as he returns to his locker.

Later, at home, when Shane and Ilya rewatch the interview, Shane notices that Ilya’s hands keep straying towards the tie before he freezes and lowers them again, opting to fold them across the desk instead.

“Did not want to ruin artwork,” Ilya whispers. He presses a kiss to Shane’s hair, and Shane tightens his hold around him. They’re lying on the couch, legs tangled, Anya snoring softly somewhere behind him.

There are no signs of anxiety sneaking up on Shane.

In this moment, he feels nothing but utter bliss.

It becomes a habit, thereafter, Ilya asking Shane to straighten his tie. More often than not, they’re crooked, and Shane suspects that Ilya does this on purpose, although neither ever comments on it. Shane is only too happy to be given an excuse to touch his husband, Ilya more than happy to be touched. It feels grounding, after games, and Shane comes to look forward to these moments.

It doesn’t take long, however, for Shane to feel that he needs to up his game. He can’t wait for a crooked tie in order to be able to touch his husband in public, and whether or not Ilya has caught on to what Shane’s doing, he knows that he will let him set the pace. It is what he has always done, and this, it seems, is no different.

Shane consults his lists and his vision boards, wondering which action might be appropriate as a next step, but he isn’t able to settle on anything. He doesn’t have to stress for too long, however, as the next moment, like the first, presents itself spontaneously.

This time, they’re in Bood’s backyard. They’ve been playing together for about two months, and although it has turned chilly outside, it’s not too chilly to engage in one last BBQ. They’ve been on the road for two weeks, winning more than even they had dared hope, and it is a cause for celebration.

The space is filled with Centaurs and their partners, and Shane cannot help comparing it to the gatherings with the Voyageurs. Partners had rarely been invited, and a considerable amount of alcohol intake was mandatory. He makes a mental note to talk to Jackie about it, wondering what that must feel like from a WAG perspective.

Shane, of course, is technically a player as well as a WAG, although his situation is rather unique. To be compared with Ilya’s, only. At least as far as they are aware.

Like the first time, it all begins with a piece of clothing. Despite consulting the weather forecast several times throughout the day, the air outside felt colder than Shane had expected. It had resulted in no less than three conversations in the car over whether Shane should have brought an extra sweater or not. He doesn’t understand why he didn’t. He could have left it in the car or draped it across a chair.

Ilya doesn’t say much, seemingly content to let Shane have the discussion all by himself, and, perhaps, secretly knowing that nothing he says will help dispel Shane’s anxiety. He offers to turn around, several times, but Shane is still worried about his impression on the team. He doesn’t want Ilya to turn around, doesn’t want them to be late, doesn’t want to seem like he doesn’t care about Bood’s invite.

In the end, they pull up to the house, and as Shane is about to start the discussion for a fourth time, Ilya takes off his sweater, pulling it over Shane’s head before he has time to protest.

“There.” Ilya says. “Can’t have you getting cold.” He presses a quick peck to his lips and starts towards the house.

Shane splutters. “You’ll be cold,” he says, once he catches up to him, “It’s cold outside.”

“Not that cold,” Ilya says and to him, that seems to settle the matter. He waves to Barrett and Harris who are approaching from the other direction. Shane takes a slow breath. Then, he decides to leave it.

Except, it turns out, Shane is right. Two hours into the gathering, bellies filled with delicious food, Ilya is shivering. He doesn’t show it, in fact, Shane is sure that he is the only one noticing, but to Shane, this is all that he is able to focus on.

He’s in the middle of a conversation with Harris and Haas, but it’s been several minutes since he perceived what either one was saying. His eyes are trained on Ilya across the yard, sitting next to the fire with half a dozen players and their partners.

Again, Shane feels that magnetic pull, and before realizing what he is doing, he excuses himself, making his way toward the fire.

Ilya notices him as he walks around the pit, smile lighting up his face, even as he doesn’t break his conversation with Dykstra. He goes to move, too, to make room for Shane, but Shane shakes his head, stops him.

A look of confusion crosses Ilya’s face, smile briefly faltering, before Shane decides to muster his courage and plops down, not beside Ilya, but behind him. He stretches his legs, thighs coming to circle his husband, one hand sneaking around his front to tangle their fingers together.

Dykstra’s talking, now, replying to something that Ilya has said, and which Shane doesn’t follow. Shane is hyperaware of his husband, feels him stiffen, briefly, against him before tentatively leaning back, weight settling against Shane’s chest.

Shane gives his hand a squeeze, and Ilya positively melts against him, a small sigh escaping his lips as he does. Shane tightens his grip, makes sure his husband is comfortable, before parting his gaze to look around.

His eyes flicker from Centaur to Centaur, but, Shane is surprised to note, no one pays them any attention. Dykstra’s speech never halts, and the others are busy, engaged in their own conversations. Some of the other partners sit like Shane and Ilya do, and no one’s batting an eyelid.

Shane feels a slight rumble against his chest, and his attention returns to his husband. Ilya is talking again, and Shane detects the warmth in his voice. An easiness which wasn’t there before.

Emboldened, Shane lets his free hand trail across Ilya’s arms, reminding himself of his original mission. He moves his hand back and forth in an attempt to warm him. He wants to offer him his sweater, too, but knows that Ilya will refuse.

Once happy that his husband is warmer than before, Shane shifts his attention, hand coming to settle at the nape of Ilya’s neck, fingers twirling around his husband’s curls. Ilya lets out another noise, one most fittingly reminiscent of a purr, and Shane presses a kiss between his shoulder blades. The purr deepens, and Shane has to hide a smile.

Once the conversation reaches its natural conclusion, Dykstra rises and asks Shane and Ilya if they would like anything to drink. They thank him and, when he’s gone, they stay like that for a few moments, silent, Shane’s hand never stopping its small ministrations.

“Are you cold?” Shane asks, words spoken softly, for Ilya’s ears only.

Ilya takes a moment to reply, mouth opening and shutting, before finally settling on a shaky breath.

“I’ve never been warmer,” he whispers, fingers tightening around Shane’s own.

Shane gives him another kiss.

Slowly, it becomes easier, hands touching and fingers caressing as they progress throughout the season. It’s not obvious and never outside the circle of Centaurs, but it’s something. It’s definitely more than before the beginning of the season.

Still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

Ilya has yet to instigate touches himself, seemingly content with whatever Shane is willing to give, and Shane has no idea how to address it. Shane wants to. Wants to let Ilya know that he is allowed to have this, to ask for it when he needs it. But he doesn’t want to make his husband self-conscious. Doesn’t want to make him think that he’s expecting too much.

For the first time, this means that Shane decides to act out an item from the list. It’s not one originally planned in those early days, but it’s one that made its way on there after the BBQ in Bood’s backyard.

It is, however, also a tricky one.

With no other way to explain it, it is a recreation of The Incident^TM.

The trickiness, of course, stems from the fact that it requires for Shane to be knocked down during a game and, so, isn’t really something that is within Shane’s control. He doesn’t want to be knocked down on purpose, in fact, doesn’t particularly want to be knocked down at all. But they are hockey players, and therefore Shane figures that it is bound to happen at some point. And when it does – Shane’s plan is ready to execute.

Like most of Shane’s plans, however, it goes to absolute shit.

To begin with, it happens, of all places, in New York. Against Scott Hunter.

Shane and Ilya are on fire. They’re leading the Admirals 4-1, Ilya’s chirps loud and boisterous and relentless in a way that Shane knows is bound to grate on Scott’s nerves. On anyone’s nerves, really, except the Admiral’s captain looks more than normally annoyed. Shane considers asking Ilya to stop, but Ilya looks so happy, so carefree in a way he didn’t for years, that Shane doesn’t have the heart to do it.

They’re on the power play, puck flying between them, when, suddenly, Shane feels himself being checked into the boards.

He doesn’t think much of it, beyond the initial shock. In fact, for a moment he’s almost happy, ready to be whiny and needy and begging for Ilya to hold his hand – after the game, of course, when the doctor will insist on another check-up. Except, when he looks for Ilya, he has trouble finding him, the entire world spinning as he pushes to sit.

He makes a pathetic grabbing motion with his hand, but when he’s able to anchor himself it is Barrett, there, to steady him and ask him to stay where he is.

Shane scoffs, goes to tell him that he is fine, except Barrett winces, eyes straying towards the ice. Shane takes a moment, then follows his gaze and realizes that, perhaps, he isn’t too fine. The ice beneath him has turned a shocking shade of red, and it turns redder still, as Shane ignores Barrett.

He looks around with renewed vigor, wanting to make sure that Ilya isn’t hurt as well. It takes him a second, but when he finds him, he just about has time to see his husband throwing down his gloves, Scott’s hands raising in an apologetic gesture. Then, the former’s fist connects with the latter’s face, and Shane can’t hold back a wince, even though he’s the one currently bleeding.

Ilya gets ready to strike again, when, head pounding, Shane lets out a whimper.

It is a dumb move on Shane’s part as Ilya stiffens, gaze straying to look for Shane. A defenseman from the Admirals is quick to exploit this as he gets a hook in, and then, Ilya’s the one going down.

Shane lets out a strangled noise, and then he’s on his feet, ignoring both Barrett and Hayes, as they tell him to stay down until the medics arrive. Shane, however, is hyper-fixated on his husband, who’s still lying on the ice.

Before he has time to think through his actions, his gloves join Ilya’s and he makes an absolutely pitiful attempt to hit the defenseman. Scott intercedes, gaze remorseful, and he gives Shane an undeniably gentle push, letting him fall back across Ilya’s prone form.

Ilya, somehow, manages to shield his head from further damage, probably, partly, helped along by Scott’s directions, and the two stay down, the fight decidedly over.

Shane lets out an embarrassed huff which quickly turns into a groan, as he accepts that, yes, he really should have stayed down. He’s just barely aware of Ilya’s fingers flitting across his face, and if Shane had ever had a plan in a situation like this, the memory of it has been successfully knocked out along with a substantial amount of his blood.

“You okay?” Ilya says, voice laced with pain. He fights his way upright, looking Shane up and down. The medics have arrived at this point, and they’re telling Ilya to get out of the way, except Ilya doesn’t move and with a couple of exasperated huffs, the medics begin to move around him.

“’m fine,” Shane mumbles, then winces, “Head hurts.” His words trail off, and then Ilya’s there, closer, gently cradling his head between his hands. Shane lets out a soft hum and feels a short burst of victory although he has trouble remembering why this should be.

Ilya’s asking him to look at him, and Shane realizes that his eyes have closed. He wonders why that is, but things are starting to become fuzzy.

Ilya repeats the words, louder than before, and Shane gathers every ounce of strength to fixate on his husband. Ilya rewards him with a smile, but he is covered in blood and Shane frowns in return, ignoring a stab of pain as he does.

Ilya follows his gaze. “It isn’t mine,” he whispers, fingers trailing across his brows, his freckles, into his hair. “You’re going to be okay,” he adds, “Just look at me. You defended me.”

Shane feels a stab of humiliation. “Very pathetically,” he whispers.

“Oh no,” Ilya shakes his head, a few tears escaping his eyes as he does, “Was very sexy. Most sexy punch I’ve ever seen.”

Shane lets out a laugh, which quickly turns into a cough. Ilya shushes him, tells him to save his energy.

A few minutes later, Shane is placed onto a backboard. He briefly loses sight of Ilya and lets out another pathetic whimper before warm hands interlace with his, soothing words filling the air around him. There’s a kiss, too, he thinks, pressed to his temple, although he might have imagined it.

He’s reminded, inadvertently, of another incident like this. One where Ilya wasn’t allowed to follow. Remembers begging for the medics to let Ilya know that he was okay.

Shane feels a sudden jolt of happiness, however strange, relieved by the knowledge that no one will try to separate them this time. He hums softly, acknowledging Ilya’s words, his presence, silently urging him to continue as he’s wheeled into the back of an ambulance.

No one tries to make Ilya leave, and when Shane repeats that he is fine, he means it.

Despite the team being down not only Shane Hollander but also Ilya Rozanov, the Centaurs win the match, and they continue winning until they make it into the playoffs.

Shane has to stay on bed rest for a few matches, but mercifully nothing is broken, and when, finally, they win that decisive game, Shane is next to Ilya on the ice again.

Shane doesn’t know if they have what it takes to win the Cup yet, but for this one night, no one’s thinking of that. They have taken over a bar in downtown Ottawa, players and WAGs mingling in a happy, mindless cluster.

It isn’t Shane’s favorite activity on Earth, clubbing, but he knows that Ilya wants to go and who is Shane to deny him? Besides, he thinks the experience might have grown on him after he doesn’t have to pretend that he enjoys being flirted with by strange women.

It’s also, he figures, a good opportunity to amp up on the PDA. He’s already seen his teammates do things with their partners which are definitely NSFW, and Shane figures that this is as good an opportunity as any to expand his repertoire.

Except, Shane isn’t sure what to do. He considers asking Ilya to dance, except Ilya doesn’t seem interested in doing this. At least, he hasn’t asked Shane, and Shane has spent around 90 minutes wondering whether this is because he does not want to, or because he figures that Shane does not. So far, Shane hasn’t mustered up the courage to ask him himself.

The problem is that Shane is a terrible dancer. Rose has told him this many times, dating back to when they were dating, and Shane doesn’t wish to embarrass Ilya. He only ever wants Ilya to feel content and confident when they are together, and maybe he hasn’t asked Shane because Ilya shares Rose’s sentiments.

He’s lost in thought when Lisa and Cassie plop down on either side of him.

“Girl.” Lisa makes a gesture with her hand, and it takes Shane a moment to realize that he’s the one being addressed. “You need to go claim your man.”

“What?” Shane is confused.

“Take it from a fellow WAG.” Cassie’s voice is gentle but firm. “Some fans are relentless. Don’t let them get away with it. They’ll start unfounded rumors on Reddit.”

Shane is utterly confused, looking from one to the other. He gazes absentmindedly at the dance floor, but Ilya isn’t anywhere to be seen.

Lisa seems to sense his confusion, and she very gently nudges him to look across the bar, to a cluster of tables where Ilya has been cornered by a flock of women.

Shane gulps, clocking Ilya’s discomfort even from across the bar.

Cassie and Lisa misinterpret his discomfort and hurry to reassure him.

“Oh, no, honey.” Cassie speaks and Lisa shakes her head. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about – dude is whipped. That man is in love.” Her voice slurs a bit, although her confidence is not to be doubted. “We have never seen him so much as look at another person since he moved here.”

“Most of the time, he used to stare at his phone,” Lisa supplies, “And now we know why.” She gives him a playful nudge, and Shane attempts a smile which, he is sure, looks more like a grimace.

“However,” her voice sobers, and she leans in again, waiting until she has his full attention before speaking, “You need to show those fans that they cannot get away with this. Not with the two of you.”

“Not with a married man,” Cassie scoffs, “Not with a Centaur. That shit might work in Toronto or Montreal, but it does not work here.”

Shane looks at Ilya, again, and he can see him disappear further into his seat, too polite even as he itches to get away. For a moment, Shane doesn’t move. Then, a bout of protectiveness overtakes his instincts, and he downs his drink, Lisa and Cassie both whooping as he rises.

He’s oddly reminded of that time in the locker room, when he went to fix Ilya’s tie and felt an almost otherworldly determination overtaking him. It’s the same determination that he feels now, as he crosses the dance floor, not stopping until he’s reached Ilya’s table.

His husband looks at him, sends him a mildly panicked look, but Shane ignores it. Ignores the women, too, as he walks around them and straddles his husband’s lap.

Shane sees it again, that brief look of confusion, but it doesn’t stop Ilya from securing his arms around him, one going around to rest on his ass, to keep him from falling.

“Hi,” Shane says. It’s all he says, before he leans forward, catching Ilya’s lips in a searing kiss. The sort of kiss that would make Scott Hunter blush.

For a moment, Ilya is frozen. It’s almost enough for Shane to pull back, doubt starting to creep into the corners of his mind, but then, Ilya makes an appreciative noise, moving to deepen the kiss. A few more seconds and he’s matching Shane’s fervor, the latter panting to keep up.

Both men ignore the offended sounds of the women, even as one of them goes so far as to attempt conversation.

Shane lets out an exasperated huff, fingers tightening in his husband’s curls.

“Sweetheart.” Ilya tries to make a soothing noise, pulling back even as Shane’s grip grows tighter. “I love you for this but – everyone can see.”

Shane knows that Ilya isn’t thinking of himself, when he says this, but of Shane. Shane, however, is also slightly drunk, and so, he lets out a confused moan, chasing his husband’s lips as they disappear. When he doesn’t find them, he presses his mouth against his neck, and Ilya lets out a tortured groan.

The women are leaving, by this point, but Shane has no intention of stopping. He doesn’t want to share Ilya with anyone else. Doesn’t want anyone in this building to think that they have a chance. They came here to celebrate – together – and no one gets to ruin that. No one gets to make his husband feel uncomfortable.

“Moya lyuobov …” Ilya is breathless, fingers trailing up and down Shane’s back. “Let me take you home,” he whispers, “I cannot do here the things I want to do to you.”

For a moment, the scrape of Shane’s teeth grows stronger.

Then, he pulls back. Considers Ilya’s words.

It’s a tempting offer, and a few months ago, Shane would have already been moving. But now… Now, Shane is settled with the knowledge that Ilya isn’t going anywhere. The two of them are going to go home, together, be it now or another three hours from now. They don’t have to rush out, don’t have to make the most of every single moment before the sun rises. Tomorrow, Ilya will still be there. In the same city, in the same house. The same bed.

“Dance with me,” Shane says. He watches the look of surprise as it crosses Ilya’s face, but it’s a positive one, Shane thinks. His mouth is twitching as if he doesn’t dare believe what Shane has just asked him.

“You mean that?” he says, eyes shining in the glow of the bar.

Shane nods, shyly. He can feel a blush spreading across his cheeks, but he repeats the question, Ilya’s smile growing bigger as he does. “I mean it,” he says, “Unless you do not want to. I know I’m not as good as –“

Shane doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Ilya hauls them both up, Shane’s legs going around his husband’s hips, before they’re standing, and he can slip down without falling. He doesn’t get the chance to say much else, however, before Ilya’s hands are dragging him towards the dance floor.

There’s a moment of hesitation, as they join the throng of bodies, Shane not sure what to do with himself. He doesn’t recognize the song, but Ilya, as always, doesn’t let him falter for long. He raises his hands, indicates that he should clasp them around his neck, and Shane follows the directive without pause. Once his hands are secure, Ilya lets out yet another smile, hands coming to rest, safely, around Shane’s hips.

Ilya is gentle with him, as they begin to sway, making sure that Shane is with him, that he is comfortable.

Shane is inadvertently hit by a stark contrast, mind flitting to a memory of him and Rose, together, in a club, and Ilya’s arms around someone else. He’d cried, that night, after he’d left Rose, big ugly sobs racking his frame as he’d imagined Ilya with someone else. Imagined someone else with his arms around them, his kisses across their skin.

Shane raises his gaze and without either of them speaking, he swears he can see Ilya thinking of that same night. He knows, now, that Ilya didn’t leave with that woman. That he, too, fell asleep with thoughts of Shane haunting his mind.

In the present, Shane presses closer, arms tightening around Ilya’s neck. He isn’t sure which one of them makes the first move, but another beat, and they’re kissing, exchanging breathy moans beneath the flashing lights.

Shane knows that they’re in public. Knows that anyone can look at them, knows that anyone can record them. But Shane doesn’t think about that. Doesn’t think about all the things that could go wrong.

In this moment, he thinks only of his husband. His love. He thinks of his arms around him, thinks of the safeness that ensconces him.

He might be crying, he thinks, soft tears trailing down his cheeks. They’re tears of joy, but Ilya notices them all the same. He leans back a bit, lets his lips trail across his cheeks, catching them as he goes along. He whispers sweet nonsense against Shane’s skin, Shane not entirely sure what he’s saying, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except that Ilya is here, in his arms, and Shane is never letting go.

And if anyone’s looking at them? They can keep looking for all Shane cares.

In the end, the Centaurs don’t win. They make a good run for it, but the Admirals clinch a surprising win in the final round. In some way, Shane is happy for Scott, happy that he got to have more than one Cup. With his talent, he deserves it.

He thinks that Ilya is happy for him, too, although he doesn’t verbalize it. He still hasn’t forgiven him for the check against Shane, although it was a clean one.

When the season finally ends, all Shane and Ilya want to do is escape to the cottage. The year has been nothing short of incredible, although not without its challenges.

Shane, however, convinces Ilya to hold off a little longer. Ilya has been nominated for the Hart Memorial Trophy, and Shane wants him to enjoy it. Wants him to go to the awards and soak in his much-deserved attention. What he has done with the Centaurs is nothing short of incredible, and Shane wants to remind him as often as possible. Wants the world to see it, too.

It takes a while, and Shane has to pull out more than his fair share of tricks, but eventually they fly to Las Vegas. They enter the building, clad in similar tuxedos and hands intertwined, ignoring the paparazzi as they do.

Once inside, Ilya attempts to let go, but Shane doesn’t let him. To prove a point, he grasps Ilya’s hand in both of his, and Ilya gives him a peck to the lips.

Shane is happy to note that Ilya has finally gained the courage to instigate PDAs himself. They still haven’t discussed that first night in Toronto, but Shane likes to think that Ilya knows what Shane is feeling. Likes to think that Shane wants to do this for the both of them. Needs to do this for the both of them, even as he struggles to convey why.

The night itself passes mostly without incident. They know by now who’s safe to talk to and who’s to be avoided. To Shane’s continued sorrow, most of his former teammates fall within the second category. Every time they come near them, however, Ilya is quick to distract him. He makes him laugh and blush and fluster in an endless loop so that Shane doesn’t have time to be sad.

They talk to Scott Hunter and his husband, although Shane does most of the talking. He’s slightly mortified to discover that, yes, Ilya plans on ignoring the Admiral despite the numerous apologies that he has sent Shane’s – and Ilya’s – way. Even despite the fact that he’s signed up to coach the camps in Ottawa as well as Montreal this year.

Shane fully plans on confronting Ilya except shortly after, they run into the defenseman who’d hit Ilya, when Ilya had turned to check on him. Then, it’s Shane’s turn to go quiet, as Ilya turns up the social skills. He teases Shane for it, afterwards, and Shane finds that he doesn’t care. No one gets a free pass to hurt his husband.

Eventually, it’s time to sit down. They’re mercifully surrounded by their teammates and their partners, and somehow, they manage to have a good night.

It becomes all the better when it’s time to announce the Hart Memorial Trophy, and the presenters call out Ilya’s name. For a moment, Shane can feel him stiffen beside him.

Shane knows that Ilya didn’t really believe it. Didn’t believe he’d ever win another trophy after moving to the Centaurs. Believed that that part of his career was over.

And Shane knows, too, that Ilya wouldn’t have cared. That he would choose Shane over hockey any day of the week. Would let himself be sent down to the AHL if that was what it required for them to be together.

Shane forgot that once, but he has vowed never to forget it again.

As the applause overtakes them, Ilya turns to him, happy confusion clouding his face, and he leans forward, cradling Shane in his arms. Shane returns the hug, happy tears welling in his eyes, for his husband, for the both of them. For the fact that they get to share this moment together.

Their teammates are clapping Ilya’s back, and then he rises, remembering that he has to go on stage and deliver a speech. He pauses for a second, turning to give Shane one final, dazzling smile, eyes so soft that Shane wonders, for the umpteenth time, what he did to get so lucky.

What he does next is pure instinct. It has nothing to do with lists or charts or vision boards. It is done, perhaps, a little defiantly, but Shane thinks that Ilya will forgive him.

He rises, and when his eyes lock on Ilya’s, they are finally, blessedly, free from that confusion which has overtaken them since that day in Toronto.

His husband smiles as their lips meet, barely able to return the kiss, but Shane doesn’t care. It is, without comparison, one of the best ones that they have ever shared. It might look terrible, but that is all right. Shane will try to outdo it next year when they win the Stanley Cup.

For a second, Ilya’s fingers tighten around Shane’s. Then, he lets go, gives him another peck to the cheek and turns, taking in the thunderous applause as he mounts the stairs.

Ilya’s looking at Shane as he gives his speech. He barely hears a word of it, attention focused solely on the glow of his husband beneath the lights.

He’ll watch it tomorrow, Shane tells himself. He’ll watch it until it is forever ingrained in his brain. He’ll frame the photo, too, and show it off to anyone who’s willing to watch.

Chapter End Notes

My last fic was filled with Shane whump so I figured it was Ilya’s turn. I hope you like it.

Chapter 2: Interlude #1 (Shane's POV)

Chapter Summary

I want to thank you all for your very kind responses to this story. As promised, here is the second part which includes a much-needed conversation between our favorite husbands.

Chapter Notes

Ilya finds the papers on a Tuesday.

It’s pre-season again, and the no-longer-newlyweds have spent a long, glorious summer coming off of the high of finally being able to play together. It has been somehow better than either of them could have imagined, and things have only grown all the sweeter with Shane’s growing confidence in terms of PDA.

At least, this is Shane’s own opinion on the matter. He still hasn’t actually discussed the topic with Ilya. He has, however, noted that Ilya’s smiles appear warmer and that they seem to stay on his face for longer periods of time. There’s an easiness that Shane doesn’t remember being there at the beginning of the previous season, and at night, when he goes to work out the knots in Ilya’s shoulders, Shane imagines them being smaller, too.

It’s not that everything is easy now. There are still outside forces working to sour their relationship. But the voices have grown more subdued. They are easier to ignore. Easier to shut out.

Shane is content with the knowledge that he and Ilya are happier than they have ever been, and he hopes that they will grow happier still in the coming year. And maybe, if they are lucky, next season will end with their first shared Stanley Cup. Lord knows that Ilya deserves to win another one. Shane still feels bad, knowing that his husband would have had at least one more if he hadn’t given up playing for Boston to be closer to Shane.

Ilya, of course, never mentions this. Maintains that a Stanley Cup was a small prize to pay if it meant more mornings waking up with Shane safe in his arms. It doesn’t dissipate the guilt, however, and Shane vows to do everything within his considerable power to let Ilya lift that trophy once more. Preferably more than once, but Shane doesn’t want to be too greedy. Not when he’s secured the greatest prize of all. The most perfect spouse on planet Earth.

Hayden will claim that that’s Jackie, but Hayden is wrong. Shane is quite confident about that.

On the morning that Ilya finds the papers, however, Shane doesn’t think of any of this. In fact, he doesn’t think of anything at all. He’s asleep, one of those rare occurrences on which Ilya is up before him. Usually, his husband must pull out all of the tricks in order to keep Shane in bed for another hour, but one year of marriage has softened Shane. Not a lot, but a little bit.

He’s learning, slowly, that there are things to be gained in slow mornings spent next to Ilya. That unhurried quality time with his husband can be beneficial in ways that morning runs cannot. They’re still learning, both of them, that they have time now. Time to indulge in each other’s company in a way that they couldn’t before. Back when time spent together was a luxury, not a given.

Unbeknownst to Shane, Ilya has risen early on this particular morning due to a troublesome night of little sleep. Ilya is still occasionally haunted by memories of his family, particularly of his mother. Ilya swears that Shane’s now-permanent presence has done wonders in terms of decreasing his nightmares, but it hasn’t managed to dispel them completely.

Once the sun had started rising, Ilya had therefore done so as well, heading down to their home gym in the hopes of quelling some of the uneasiness. Shane has been successful, lately, in convincing him to try yoga, and for the first time, the thought had seemed appealing, even without Shane’s well-intentioned nagging.

What Ilya didn’t know, however, is that Shane uses the cupboard with yoga mats to hide the things that he doesn’t want Ilya to see. Things such as his folder with PDA plans. So, while Shane stays in their bed, catching up on much-deserved sleep, Ilya rifles through every single piece of paper, every vision board, every timeline, every list of PDA suggestions that Shane has made throughout the last year.

Shane hasn’t spared much thought as to what Ilya would do if ever he was to find the papers. This, for the very simple reason that he had never intended for his husband to find them in the first place. However, if he did, he doesn’t think he would have imagined the realization starting with the smell of coffee.

The sweet aromas spread throughout the bedroom, as Shane begins to stir. He’s confused, at first, since coffee-making is usually one of his self-declared morning chores. Ilya likes a cup first thing in the morning, and Shane likes to be the one to make it for him. Occasionally, Shane will indulge in a cup himself, but mostly he just makes the one for Ilya. Rarely, however, do they serve each other coffee in bed, preferring to spend time downstairs in the open kitchen.

Shane sits up, eyes quick to land on Ilya sitting at the foot of the bed. His hair is wet, and he’s dressed in casual clothing. He’s obviously been up for a while, and when the two lock eyes on each other, Ilya offers him a soft, “Morning love,” along with the coffee which Shane takes on auto-pilot.

“Is something wrong?” Shane asks.

Ilya’s expression shifts. “Wrong?” he asks. “Can’t husband bring other husband coffee in bed?” His expression is disturbingly neutral.

Shane’s brow furrows. He takes Ilya in. He looks nothing short of stunning in the light that filters in through the window. He’s opened the doors to the balcony, as he knows Shane likes, but there’s a restlessness about him. Something that Shane can’t quite put his finger on. And when Shane maintains eye contact, Ilya eventually breaks, looking down at the bed instead.

“Baby.” Shane’s voice is soft, soothing. He places the coffee on the nightstand. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

Ilya looks up at the pet name. It’s another thing that Shane has been trying out recently. Shane loves it when Ilya uses endearments to address him and he had figured that his husband might appreciate it, too.

Shane had thrown out the first one earlier in the summer, and Ilya’s reaction had been one of pure ecstasy. It made Shane feel bad for not thinking of it sooner. He’s still working up the courage to do it in public, but he’s added it to the plan for the upcoming season.

“Do you like calling me that?” Ilya’s question is quiet, unsure. So much so that it takes Shane a moment to realize that he didn’t just imagine it.

Shane’s first instinct is to brush it off, to tell him that it is a silly question. Of course he likes it, otherwise he wouldn’t do it. But there’s something so vulnerable in Ilya’s face, as he looks at him, that Shane takes the time to think through his answer.

“Why do you ask that?” he settles on.

Shane can see Ilya’s jaw working, like he’s considering what to say. Eventually, however, he reaches behind him, pulls forth a binder that he’d kept hidden until now. Shane immediately realizes what it is, ice filling his veins as Ilya begins to open it.

“You weren’t meant to see that,” he blurts out, Ilya only momentarily pausing, before he pulls out the rest of the papers. He spreads them out between them, every careful file that Shane has spent hours pouring over spread before them, every vision board, every timeline laid out in the open.

“Moya lyubov,” Ilya’s voice is quiet, gentle, eyes searching for Shane’s, “What is this?”

Immediately, Shane begins to feel the tell-tale signs of panic clouding his vision. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what to think. Can’t tell what Ilya’s thinking.

“Sweetheart.” Ilya seems to sense his discomfort. “Please don’t hide from me. I’m simply… what is word… curious?” He reaches forward, grabs Shane’s hand in the comfort of his own. “I don’t know what this means,” he says, nodding towards the pile of papers, “What is this PDA?”

“You didn’t google it?” Of all the things to say, that is what Shane settles on.

Ilya shakes his head, once, shortly. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

“It means –,“ Shane pauses, takes a moment to wet his lips, “It means public display of affection.”

Ilya makes a soft noise as if he’d guessed as much. “And you’ve been working on this?” Another nod towards the papers, “Since last year?”

Shane gives a curt nod. “Since Toronto,” he whispers.

Shane feels immense guilt as he thinks back to that day in the medical room. Back to The Incidence^TM. To that day when he’d hurt Ilya so badly. Ilya who’d wanted nothing except to comfort him, to be with him while he was hurting as he’d vowed to do at their wedding. As they’d both vowed to do.

Shane doesn’t want to hurt him again. Doesn’t want Ilya to think that calling him baby is somehow a chore that Shane grinds through like he does any other training session.

Except, Ilya doesn’t look hurt. In fact, his brow scrunches adorably, not seeming to understand the meaning behind Shane’s words. “Toronto?” he repeats. “What does Toronto have to do with this?”

Shane tightens his fingers around Ilya’s, seeks comfort in the warmth of his husband against his skin. “I told you not to touch me,” Shane whispers, “I – I didn’t mean it, but I was scared… I hurt you.”

Shane meets Ilya’s eyes, terrified of what he’ll see there.

For a moment, his husband doesn’t react. Then, his eyes widen in understanding, his entire body tightening as he realizes what he’s saying. “Shane,” he breathes, voice filled with pure devastation. “This is because of that?”

Shane nods, once, mortified as he begins to feel tears welling in his eyes.

Ilya clicks his tongue, clearly unhappy with whatever Shane has just told him. Then, he rises, and for a terrifying moment, Shane thinks that he is going to leave. Except, Ilya doesn’t walk towards the door. He walks towards Shane’s side of the bed, and suddenly he’s sitting, warm arms pulling Shane against his chest.

For the briefest of moments, Shane is stunned. Then, he lets out a sob, fists coming to curl around the material of Ilya’s shirt. Ilya plants small kisses to his hair, his temples, whispering sweet nothings that Shane can’t catch through the ringing in his ears. Ilya’s hands rise to brush the tears from his cheeks, hands lingering against his freckles.

“I hurt you,” Shane cries, “I never meant to hurt you.”

Ilya shushes him, hands drawing comforting circles against his back, trying to get him to calm down. “You haven’t hurt me,” he whispers, “You could never hurt me, sweetheart, understand? You’re the one thing that never hurts.”

“But you –“ Shane pulls in a breath, “You looked so sad. I did that to you. To us. Your face that day –.”

“Ssshh…” Ilya’s lips have come to rest against his cheek, breath warm and comforting against his skin, “Don’t ever think that,” he whispers, “Don’t you ever think that I’m sad because of you.”

“But I told you to go,” Shane protests, “I did that. I pushed you away.”

“You did.” Ilya nods. “But…” He quiets down, seems to consider his words carefully before continuing. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop the comforting ministrations across his back. “I’m sad because you were scared, do you understand?”’

Shane isn’t sure that he does, and Ilya lets out a frustrated noise. He pulls back a bit, lifts Shane’s chin so that he’s sure Shane hears him, that he understands him. “You were hurt,” Ilya says, “And I could see in your face that you wanted the comfort, but… you were scared to ask for it. To take it. I was angry because the world has made you scared to let me comfort you. Your own husband. I was angry at the world. Not at you. Never at you, my love.”

Shane’s breath hitches and Ilya lets his fingers trail through his hair, lets him process the words.

For a while, none of them speak. Then, Ilya takes a slow breath. “I know…” he starts, then stops again, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. And then – “I know that Montreal hurt you,” Ilya whispers, carefully gauging Shane’s reaction as he speaks, “I know they left scars. Scars that will probably never go away. And you are so brave –,“ Ilya continues when Shane starts to shake his head, “So brave for leaving them, for coming here, for marrying me, but I need you to know that I understand. Understand that this is scary, this – PDA – you call it.”

Shane’s lips tremble, once again awed by how well Ilya knows him, how well he sees him, better than anyone else has ever done, even his parents.

“And sweetheart, my love,” Ilya lets his fingers brush against his freckles, lets them settle against his cheeks, “I don’t ever want to be the source of your discomfort, you hear me?” Ilya’s gaze burns, insistently, as he looks at him. “I don’t ever want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable because you think that it will please me. That would not be pleasing to me, you understand?”

“I – wait.” Shane cuts him off, but Ilya isn’t done.

“Promise me,” Ilya says.

Shane lets out a shaky breath, fingers tightening against Ilya, “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, Ilya – baby, don’t ever think that - ”

“Promise me, Shane, please. I need you to.” Ilya sounds absolutely wrecked.

“I – yes, okay, yes, I promise,” Shane says, gently, soothing, “I promise, okay?” He lets his fingers trail up and down Ilya’s arms, comforting, trying to dispel some of his apparent distress, suddenly realizing the root of his uneasiness. Shane lets out a shaky breath before continuing. “But then you must promise to listen to me, too, okay?” He raises his hands, wipes away a stray tear as it escapes Ilya’s eye, “Nothing, do you hear me? Nothing that we have ever done has ever made me uncomfortable. Nothing. And when I call you baby, it’s because you are –“ Shane’s voice breaks, “You are the most important person to me on this planet. Do you understand?”

Shane’s eyes meet Ilya’s broken ones, “I have done all of this because I wanted to. Because I – I didn’t want to hide anymore. Because we have spent eleven years hiding and that hurts more than anything that Montreal has ever done to me.”

Ilya doesn’t seem convinced, and so, Shane grabs hold of Ilya’s hand, squeezes it between his own. “I hold this hand because I want to,” he says. He leans forward, presses a kiss towards his cheek. “I kiss you because I cannot help myself,” Shane whispers, letting soft lips trail across his husband’s skin, “I touch you, baby, because sometimes it feels like I’m going to die if I don’t.”

It’s Ilya’s turn to let out a sob, lips meeting his in a messy kiss. They stay like that, for a while, exchanging soft reassurances as the sun rises. It doesn’t escalate, neither one ready to break the moment between them. Both wanting to stay within their bubble for just a little while longer.

Shane feels somehow easier than he has all year. Even after so many years together, it still surprises him how easy it is to communicate when they remember to do it. He supposes that this, too, is a byproduct of all those years they spent denying their feelings. He makes a mental note to work on this as well. He’s mature enough to know that half their problems would be solved quicker if only they weren’t so scared of hurting the other due to ungrounded fears.

Shane knows that it isn’t going to be easy, but he’s willing to do the hard things for his husband. Willing to always put in the work if it means that Ilya is there, smiling, when they go to bed at night. Shane has spent too many nights alone to ever want to take that for granted. Too many years listening to Ilya’s voice through tiny speakers, both trying to mask how much they missed the other.

When they finally do break apart, Ilya is the first to look around, to take in the mess of papers around them. Shane feels another stab of self-consciousness, but Ilya is, as always, quick to dissipate any uncomfortableness he might feel.

“You really did all of this?” he says, “Because you thought you’d hurt me that day?”

Shane doesn’t miss the wonder in his voice. “I thought you knew,” he says, sheepishly, “I thought you’d realized what I was doing.”

“I noticed… something,” Ilya says, “Noticed you were being more affectionate, but I didn’t suspect… well… this.” He lets his hand trail across the papers, fingertips stretching towards them but never quite touching. Almost as if he’s afraid to ruin them.

“But you like it?” Shane asks, wanting to be absolutely sure, “I haven’t made you uncomfortable either?”

“I love it,” Ilya assures him, tone of voice leaving no room for misinterpretation, “And I suppose I should have realized that you would do something like this. Is very… Shane-like.” He gives him a fond smile, and Shane hums, once again wondering how he came to be so lucky as to be loved by this man.

“One thing I don’t understand,” Ilya says, catching hold of his hand again, tangling their fingers together, “Not everything is on the lists,” he says, “I read them,” he adds, “Twice, to make sure. But the ties and the bonfire cuddles and the awards kiss… None of that was on there.”

Shane feels heat rise to his cheeks, and Ilya’s brow furrows, briefly, before he lets out an incredulous laugh. “Spontaneous?” he asks, his answer confirmed as Shane turns, impossibly, even redder. “My spontaneous husband,” Ilya coos, tackling him onto the bed, as Shane shakes his head, attempts to hold in his own laughter.

“Is very hot,” Ilya reassures him, as Shane tries to hide his face, “My husband can’t keep his hands off me even in public.”

Shane scoffs, but Ilya isn’t done. “Can I help you?” he asks, eagerness overtaking his expression, “I think I saw some things that you haven’t tried yet. Putting hand in back pocket when walking through airport? I can help with that. Maybe try it out for you first.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Shane lets out an embarrassed groan, but he’s too happy to stop Ilya as he continues.

“I crossed out Hunter’s name,” he says, suddenly much more serious, “Hunter should not mark the top end of the scale. I added yours.” Ilya gives him a quick peck. “Kiss at NHL awards beats Stanley Cup kiss.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Shane protests, but Ilya shakes his head.

“Am sure,” he says, “And when we win Stanley Cup next year, we will beat Hunter’s kiss. They’ll have to cut away to commercials before I’m done with you.”

Shane’s toes curl in anticipation, and he leans forward to crash his lips towards Ilya’s. “I’m looking forward to it,” he whispers.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you liked their conversation. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Chapter 3: Second Year of Marriage (Ilya's POV)

Chapter Summary

You people are absolutely amazing. THANK you for your mind-blowing response to this story. Also, I'm having way too much fun with this, so here is their second year of marriage along with a shiny new list of PDA attempts on Shane's part. He's growing in confidence despite not always getting the results he's aiming for. Thankfully, Ilya is in the know now and ready to step in whenever Shane stumbles. For this reason, I also figured it'd be fun to follow along from Ilya's POV this time. Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter Notes

Spending Saturday night in a house filled with Voyageurs players is not, as one might put it, Ilya’s idea of a good time. This, despite the fact that he’s spent most of it so far hiding away in Hayden and Jackie’s kitchen.

They are in Montreal to celebrate Hayden’s 32^nd birthday, and for some reason, unbeknownst to not only Ilya and Shane but also Hayden himself, Jackie had insisted on throwing him a bigger-than-usual party.

Due to Shane’s complicated relationship with the Voyageurs, Shane and Ilya had considered declining the invitation. In the end, however, their friendship with Hayden and Jackie had won out.

Ilya knows it hasn’t been easy for them either, suddenly having to deal with such a hostile work environment, and Ilya continues to appreciate their unwavering support. Neither of them has ever said anything, but he sees it in their faces whenever Shane asks. To be honest, Ilya is surprised that Hayden even agreed to this party in the first place. If he is not entirely mistaken, he thinks Hayden might be considering a trade in the not-too-distant future.

“Babe.” Hayden tries and fails to catch Jackie’s hand as she flies through the kitchen. “Don’t you want a drink?” He gestures at the table where he’s standing with Ilya. Shane has disappeared upstairs, not that Ilya blames him, but he figures that one of them, at least, should try to hold down the fort.

Jackie gives Hayden a look not unreminiscent of the one Shane gives Ilya when he suggests skipping morning practice.

“Can’t drink,” Jackie tells him, “Busy.”

When she’s gone, Ilya raises an eyebrow and it takes Hayden a moment to realize what he’s suggesting. “No way,” he says, “She’s just stressed out with party planning.”

“Hmm.” Ilya accepts his explanation. For now. “You don’t want another baby?”

“Oh, I would.” Hayden lets out an easy laugh. “It’s Jackie who refuses to – and I quote – give birth to an entire team of hockey players. Which is extremely fair,” he adds, “She’s the one who has to do all the hard work.”

Ilya hums. “A whole team of Pikes,” he muses, “Must be nice.”

Hayden’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

Ilya feels the onset of a blush as he realizes what he’s just said. He responds with a shrug in an attempt to hide the longing in his voice. “Been a long time since I shared my name with someone I love.”

The look on Hayden’s face suggests that he’s not entirely successful. He’s mercifully spared from a response, however, when a warm set of arms sneaks around his middle. Immediately, the smell of his husband overflows his senses, soothing his emotions.

“Hello.”

Shane’s greeting is quiet, comforting. It’s something meant just for him, and Ilya can’t help leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

Shane rewards him with a smile that makes Ilya’s insides go fuzzy. He still has trouble comprehending the lengths that Shane has gone to, to become comfortable with this, with showing his love in front of others.

Nonetheless, Ilya searches his gaze to make absolutely sure that Shane is fine. He finds nothing but warmth, however, shining forth from his husband’s eyes. Ilya lets out a small hum in response and gives him another kiss, this time on the lips.

“You two are sickeningly cute.”

Hayden’s voice cuts through the moment, and Ilya is only partly annoyed. When he looks at him, his face shines with amusement, and Ilya knows that he’s secretly pleased to witness Shane so carefree.

“You’re just jealous,” Ilya chirps, knowing that Hayden more than lucked out with Jackie.

“You wish,” Hayden scoffs, “Although I probably should go find my wife.”

“We’ll join you,” Shane says, although Ilya doesn’t miss the lines of worry making their way onto his face. He sneaks his hands around Shane’s and gives them a comforting squeeze.

“I’ll be right next to you,” he whispers, and Shane hums in acknowledgement.

The next hour passes mostly without incident. Shane and Ilya stay next to each other, and they make sure to converse mostly with Hayden and Jackie’s non-hockey friends. A few of the Montreal WAGs are safe to talk to, too, more than a few of which have reached out to Shane to apologize for their husbands’ behavior. It’s not enough to heal Shane’s scars, but it helps, and Ilya takes careful note of who is supportive and who is not.

They are nearing midnight when things take a turn for the worse.

Somehow, Shane and Ilya end up around a table filled mostly with Voyageurs players, Comeau leading the conversation. Ilya is only half listening, most of his attention trained on Shane. His husband is nursing a half-empty glass of champagne, doing his best to nod along, his eyes straying every so often. For this reason, it takes Ilya a few seconds to realize the shift in conversation.

Comeau has ended whatever story he was entertaining them with, and now he’s addressing Ilya. “Notice I haven’t gotten any invites for Hollander’s birthday celebrations,” he says.

Beside him, Shane stiffens, and Ilya levels Comeau with a tight smile. “We usually keep our celebrations private,” he notes, “May is the middle of the playoffs, as you know.” He isn’t sure where Comeau is going with this, but Ilya refuses to be an active participant.

Comeau cocks his head to the side. “That explains it, I suppose.” There’s a beat of silence before he continues. “I was afraid you might have forgotten it or something.”

Ilya feels his jaw tighten. “I don’t know about you, Comeau, but I’m not usually in the habit of forgetting my spouse’s birthday.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Ilya knows it even before the words leave his mouth, but there’s something about the other player that rattles his composure.

The smirk that spreads across Comeau’s face is downright evil as he continues. “I’m not saying you’d do it intentionally,” he says, “It’s just that we all know about your other – exploits.” His tone of voice leaves no room for misinterpretation. “It must be hard to keep the dates straight sometimes.”

The table around them fills with laughter, and Ilya freezes with the shock of the insult. He doesn’t get the chance to respond, however, as a loud crash interrupts all sounds of amusement.

It takes Ilya a moment to connect the noise with the sound of glass breaking. It takes him another to realize that Shane has crushed the champagne glass with his bare hand.

“Sweetheart.” Ilya watches in horror as blood begins to trickle from between Shane’s fingers. “Don’t move,” he tells him, reaching out to steady the injured hand, trying to keep Shane’s grip from tightening further. He looks around, frantically, trying to find something to stem the flow, but he doesn’t find anything, and no one offers to help.

Ilya is so occupied with Shane that he misses Comeau’s mockery of the endearment. Shane, in turn, does not, and lets out an honest-to-god snarl.

“You say that shit about my husband again, and it’s the last thing you ever say to me.”

Shane’s voice is loud, and for a moment, every single person in the room freezes, Ilya included.

Shane’s hands are curled into fists, his knuckles deathly white against the flow of blood. Ilya is inadvertently reminded of his husband’s, admittedly few, on-ice fights. He’d looked half as intimidating then as he does now.

“You hear me?” Shane is seething. “You say that shit again, Comeau, and I’ll personally get you kicked out of the NHL!”

His breaths are coming in small gasps now, fingers continuing to clutch the broken shards. Ilya lets out a wounded noise. He coaxes him to slacken his grip, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. Shane, apparently, is not done yet.

“Have I ever – ever,” Shane breaks off as he lets out a gasp, “- ever said shit like that about your family, huh? I was in your fucking wedding. And you just – you say something like that to my – to mine – my …” Shane trails off, seemingly unable to verbalize the magnitude of the affront. Ilya’s hand hovers weakly at his side, not wanting to overstep in the current setting, yet dying on the inside at not being able to provide his husband with the comfort he so desperately needs.

By this point, thankfully, Hayden has appeared on Shane’s other side. He takes one wide-eyed look at Shane, another one at Ilya, and then the two of them lead him away, quickly but kindly, not stopping until they’ve crossed the hall and closed the bathroom door behind them.

“Jesus Christ, buddy.” Hayden winces as Shane’s injuries become visible beneath the lights. “What did you do to your hand?”

Shane is shaking, and Ilya isn’t sure that he’s entirely aware of where he is right now. Ilya keeps one hand clasped around his wrist, letting the other trail softly up and down Shane’s back.

“You have an – what is word – emergency kit?” Ilya asks, the question directed at Hayden. His voice sounds muted even to his own ears, but he is spared having to wait for a response, as the door clicks open and Jackie rushes through.

“Shane,” she says, eyes going wide at the sight of blood filling up the sink. “I have gauze,” she adds. She deposits it on the counter and lets her own hand settle against Shane’s back, missing Shane’s flinch as she does. “I am so sorry, honey. J.J.’s kicking him out right now, don’t you worry. You’ll never see him in this house again. And Ilya –”

She looks at him, and Ilya shakes his head. “Can you –?“ He trails off helplessly, and Jackie wastes no time unfolding the gauze. It’s the sort of efficiency that comes with having four kids, Ilya supposes.

“I want to clean it,” Jackie says, “But I think maybe we should leave that to the ER personnel.” She sounds uncertain. “There’s a lot of blood…” she trails off.

“I’ll take him as soon as his hand’s wrapped.” Ilya gives his husband a reassuring look, but Shane immediately starts to shake his head.

“I want to go home,” he says, “We shouldn’t have come here. I just – “ He lets out a hiccup, “I want to go home,” he repeats.

Ilya lets out a soothing noise as Jackie begins to wrap his hand. “We’ll go home afterwards,” he whispers, ignoring the fact that Ottawa is two hours away and that they were meant to spend the night in Jackie and Hayden’s guest bedroom. Ilya is sober. If his husband wants to go home, he’ll take him home.

“I’m sorry.” Shane lets out a gasp. “I ruined your birthday,” he says to Hayden. Hayden protests but Shane ignores him. “I ruined everything. And now – now…” He trails off again, hands shaking.

“You’re all right,” Ilya whispers, “We’ll go to the ER, and your hand will be as good as new.”

“That’s not – “ Shane’s face twists in frustration. It takes him a few tries to get the words out. “I don’t like it when people say that stuff about you.”

“Moya lyubov…” Ilya’s heart tightens in his chest. There’s nothing he wants more than to smooth out the lines across his face, to reassure him that all is well. “I can take care of myself,” he whispers.

“But you shouldn’t have to!” Shane’s voice rises, and Ilya resumes the patterns across his back, calming him as best he can.

Both Jackie’s and Hayden’s eyes are trained on Shane’s injuries, attempting to give them as much privacy as possible. It is admittedly an impossible task in the bathroom, and Ilya doesn’t miss the look of heartbreak that crosses both their faces.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with those – insults,” Shane spits out the words, “All they do is lie about you. They don’t – they don’t know you. The real you.” Shane’s ensuing look is so sad, so devastated, that Ilya is barely able to stand it.

“Honey,” Jackie’s voice is firm, but kind, “You need to keep your hand still for me.” She sends Ilya a pleading look as red spots begin to bleed through the fabric.

“Shane.” Ilya’s voice is firmer now, more insistent. “I am going to say something, and you are going to listen to me.” He lets his fingers trail across Shane’s chin, tilting his head, until his husband has no choice but to look at him. “You are the most important person to me in the world,” he says, “No one else compares, understand? Yours is the only opinion that matters to me, the only one I care about. And the only thing that’s able to hurt me? That’s the sight of you hurting.”

Shane lets out a sob, and Ilya shushes him. “I love the way you love me,” he whispers, “I love the way you protect me. But your pain, my love? That will never be the savior of mine.”

Ilya presses a kiss to his cheek, and then two more. He continues until his eyes are dry, and nothing but freckles adorn his husband’s face.

By this point, finally, Shane’s hand is wrapped. Ilya lets his arms encircle Shane, meeting Jackie’s gaze across his shoulder. She gives him a small nod, and Ilya rewards her with a grateful smile. She shakes her head. It’s nothing, she mouths, and Ilya presses his mouth into a thin line. It’s definitely more than nothing, but he won’t fight her on it now.

“We should get going,” he whispers, briefly tightening his arms, as he feels Shane stiffen beneath him.

“I’ll go check that the coast is clear,” Hayden mumbles. He, too, receives a grateful look from Ilya before disappearing from the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he reports that the majority of the Voyageurs have cleared out. The only one left is J.J., and he stays uncharacteristically quiet as Ilya leads Shane across the living room floor.

Ilya knows that Boiziau regrets his initial reaction to their relationship. Regrets his reaction in the locker room, too, after Game Seven. Back when everything went to shit, and Shane was so deeply betrayed by the teammates that he had come to regard as family.

Yet, Ilya has difficulty forgiving Boiziau even as he encourages Shane to salvage the friendship. His husband needs friends, and Boiziau is trying, but that doesn’t mean that Ilya isn’t on his guard around him. That, however, is another fight not meant to be fought tonight, and Ilya settles for a small nod as they pass him. Boiziau looks like he wants to say something but stays mercifully quiet.

Another moment, and Ilya leads his husband out into the night. It’s just them now, in their bubble, mercifully free from the judgment of others. He feels Shane relax beneath him, and Ilya takes comfort in that, even as he’s unable to take comfort in little else.

Shane grows more careful after that night. It’s not that he stops touching Ilya, but there’s a carefulness to it now, one that wasn’t there before. It’s like he’s afraid that his touch will subject Ilya to more harm than good.

It makes Ilya’s heart break, to put it frankly, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Doesn’t know how to convince his husband of the thrills he feels, whenever Shane is near him.

For this reason, their next trial comes sooner than Ilya would have liked, and despite being surrounded by their own teammates this time, Ilya is left to watch his husband suffer in silence.

They’re flying home after a game against Buffalo when their flight is unexpectedly cancelled. There’s a festival in the city and between that and the hockey game, there are no rooms to be had within a ten-mile radius.

The airport offers them a secluded room in which to spend the night, and management begrudgingly takes the offer.

With the exception of a few chairs, the room is empty, and the players spread out, leaning against walls or sprawling across the floor. Their coats and bags act as makeshift pillows, and all in all, it is a truly terrible night.

For Ilya and Shane, it becomes all the worse when Shane hesitates before settling down against a wall opposite Ilya. It’s about fifteen feet away, but it might as well have been measured in miles.

Ilya, for his part, doesn’t hold it against him. He knows of the internal struggle taking place within his mind. It doesn’t matter that more than a few of their teammates quirk their brows at the sight of their separation. He knows that none of them would bat an eye at Shane and Ilya lying next to each other.

Not for the first time, Ilya curses the Voyageurs. He casts another look at Shane, sees the sadness etched across his face, and closes his eyes, readying himself for a night of little sleep.

About an hour passes before his phone vibrates, signaling an incoming message.

Shane: It’s the first time

Ilya waits for Shane to elaborate except nothing else comes through. Ilya looks up to find that he is looking at him expectantly across the room.

Ilya: The first time…?

Shane: It’s the first time since our wedding

Ilya’s brow furrows. He can’t decipher his meaning however much he tries.

Ilya: ???

Across the room, Shane lets out a noise of frustration. He returns to typing, attracting the attention of more than a few of their teammates, who are trying to sleep.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Are you two texting each other right now?”

Ilya ignores Dykstra’s question as his phone vibrates again.

Shane: It’s the first time since our wedding I’ll fall asleep without your arms around me

For a moment, Ilya just stares at the screen. Then, he wonders whether his husband is trying to kill him. Whether he has done something he shouldn’t, something unforgivable, and this is Shane’s twisted attempt at retaliation. Otherwise, how dare he write something like that and expect Ilya to stay away?

Except when he looks up, there’s nothing but sorrow painted across Shane’s face. Ilya sends him a desperate look, and Shane’s expression morphs into one of regret.

Ilya lets his head fall back against the wall, wondering, not for the first time, how he’s meant to survive this night.

They’d tried to spend one other night away from each other, their very first on the road together. Shane had insisted it’d be good for him to room with others to get to know his new teammates. He’d barely made it through his dental routine, however, before Ilya had come crawling with a knock on his door.

Shane had been mortified, of course, face resembling a tomato, and freckles looking downright delicious against his flaming cheeks. He had, however, also helped Bood pack his bags, so Ilya figured he hadn’t been too sorry about the turn of events.

Since then, they hadn’t attempted to sleep apart, and no one had commented on it.

“Roz… Hollzy… Go outside to talk, will you? Either that or turn off those screens.”

Young’s lying with an arm slung over his head, so Ilya doesn’t know why he, of all people, is complaining. They do, however, put their phones away, although no more than a few minutes pass before another complaint is directed their way.

“Hollander – for the love of god – stop fidgeting.”

Shane squeaks out an apology, embarrassment clear in his voice. Ilya stays where he is. This is Shane’s boundary to cross, not his.

He settles for leveling an unimpressed look at Holmberg, who has the decency to look at least a little ashamed. Ilya loves his teammates, but anyone who upsets his husband walks a dangerous line.

When he looks up, he catches Shane looking at him again. There’s longing in his eyes, but when Ilya gives him a reassuring smile, his husband looks away. Shane turns in an attempt to catch some sleep on his other side, and Ilya ignores the stab of hurt that courses through his body. He aches to reach out, to soothe the tension between those shoulder blades. But he doesn’t. He lets his hands stay where they are, fingers twitching in the space between them.

Ilya lets out a slow sigh and ignores the looks of more than a few teammates who silently beg for him to intervene. He focuses instead on his own attempts at sleep.

Except sleep doesn’t come. And judging by the sounds of Shane’s breathing, his husband isn’t getting any sleep either. Ilya recognizes it, even across the throng of hockey players, like a beacon, begging him to come home.

Another twenty minutes and Ilya almost gives in when, suddenly, there’s a sound of footsteps pattering across the floor. Ilya holds his breath until the sounds come to an abrupt stop next to him. He’s still leaning against the wall but opens his eyes, only to be met with the warmth of his husband’s.

Shane opens and closes his mouth a few times, no sound escaping him. Then, he inclines his head, and Ilya opens his arms to him, no questions necessary. Shane nearly stumbles in his haste to reach him, and Ilya suppresses a sigh of relief as the familiar smell of his husband washes over him.

Shane’s arms come around his middle, one leg moving to tangle between Ilya’s outstretched ones. Shane leans his head against his chest, right above his heart, and emits a moan that’s borderline indecent in the quiet of the room.

“Thank the lord.”

The words are spoken by Barrett, but Ilya won’t deny that he shares the sentiment. “Shut up,” he says, doing his bit to discourage more teammates from voicing their opinions. He doesn't, however, miss the relieved whispers murmured in the room around them.

He moves one hand to tangle in Shane’s hair, letting his fingers draw soft patterns across his scalp. Shane lets out a small hum. Then, his breathing evens out, and Ilya presses a soft kiss to his temple.

“Did he just – ?”

Chouinard, this time, leans forward to stare at Shane.

“I think he did,” Dillon replies, voice equally in awe, “Can you show me that trick?” he asks, directed at Ilya.

Ilya tightens his grip, a protective look taking over his face as he tries to shield his husband from their prying eyes. “Go to sleep, will you?” The words are spoken, not unkindly, but firmly, telling them that enough is enough.

“You heard the man.” Bood, this time, speaks up from the opposite side of the room, “One more word and you’re all doing shuttle sprints tomorrow.”

“But –“

“I don’t care how little sleep you’ve gotten. One more word and you’ll regret it.”

All voices go mercifully silent after this. Ilya sends an appreciative look Bood’s way before looking down to take in the sight of his husband. His face is turned inwards, nose scrunched adorably against his chest. There’s a bit of light coming in from the window, accentuating his freckles, and Ilya resists the temptation to trail his fingers across them.

Ilya wouldn’t mind staying up all night, he thinks, if this is the sight he gets to take in. He’d even take Bood’s shuttle sprints and consider it a fair prize. Eventually, however, he feels his eyes begin to droop, lulled to sleep by the even sounds of his husband’s breathing.

Being in the know now, Ilya is aware of most of Shane’s attempts at public affection. The incidents at Hayden’s house and the airport both being cases in point.

Sometimes, however, his husband manages to catch him off guard.

An example of this is the next effort of the year, which prompts a call from their local police station. Ilya, of course, doesn’t know that this is a PDA attempt on Shane’s part and – quite justifiably – spends the next thirty minutes losing his mind.

In Shane’s defense, it wasn’t meant to involve the police, a fact he’ll apologize for many times in the months to come. This, despite Ilya’s assurances that the ensuing chain of events happened through no fault of his own.

The call itself happens on a Friday.

Leading up to the phone call, Shane has left on a morning errand run, leaving Ilya home alone with Anya. It’s a reasonably warm morning, and so, the door to the garden is open, letting in some much-welcome fresh air.

When the phone rings, Ilya almost declines the call. As a rule, he doesn’t pick up unless he knows the number, but since Shane is not at home, there’s that ever-present worry that something might have happened, and Ilya, God forbid, declines a call from the hospital informing him that his husband has been in an accident.

Of course, unknown numbers usually turn out to be telemarketers or journalists, but on this morning, Ilya flies up off the couch when an Officer Keys from their local police station requests to know whether she is speaking to Ilya Rozanov.

Ilya swears that his heart stops beating in his chest. Theoretically, he knows that this is impossible since he’s still conscious, but he has no better words to describe the feeling.

He’s not sure what he says but he must have said something because after what feels like a lifetime of terror, the officer informs him that she is in possession of his dog.

For a moment, Ilya freezes, a rush of overwhelming relief coursing through his body as he realizes that Shane is safe. He’s probably cooped up in their local Loblaws, antagonizing over which brand of protein powder to buy after his favorite one went bankrupt.

Then, the words register and – “What did you say?” The words escape Ilya in a confused jumble, and he must repeat them before the officer understands him.

There’s a rustle of papers on the other end of the line. Then, the officer continues. “I have a dog here, by the name of Appelby’s Shooting Star, registered to one Ilya Rozanov. That is you, correct?” It takes a moment for Ilya to remember that Appelby’s Shooting Star is Anya’s official Canadian Kennel Club name.

Ilya’s mouth has gone dry, and so, it takes him a few tries to confirm that this is correct.

“And you are Ilya Rozanov?”

Not a hockey fan, Ilya surmises. Out loud, he tells her that there must be talk of a misunderstanding. “I am home with my dog right now,” he says.

There’s another rustle of papers, before Officer Keys’s words sound through the speakers. “You can confirm that you have eyes on your dog right now?”

Ilya looks around to do just that, except… Anya’s dog bed is empty. This doesn’t deter him, though, and he walks around the couch to check out her other hiding spots only… these are empty as well.

“One moment,” Ilya says, and he exits the door to the garden, calling her name.

He ignores a sigh on the other end of the line, as well as the pit of unease that’s beginning to form in his stomach. “She must be upstairs,” he declares.

He doesn’t know if he says the words for the sake of the officer or the sake of himself, but a few more seconds, and he’s running upstairs, two steps at a time.

Sometimes, when Shane isn’t home, Anya will sneak into their bed for a nap, and Ilya will let her, except now, the bed is empty.

“Sir…” Officer Keys is quite noticeably losing her patience, “You are the owner of Appleby’s Shooting Star? A fluffy, little thing?”

Ilya bites his tongue before answering that her name is Anya and that, despite being unseasonably fluffy, she is most certainly not a thing.

Unwittingly, his mind goes to her previous owners, those who’d left her out in the cold. If Anya really is gone… Ilya bites his thumb. He can’t stand the thought of Anya thinking that he and Shane would do the same thing.

 “She is okay?” he manages to choke out. Then, he calls out her name again, half-heartedly, slowly accepting that Anya is not, in fact, in the house with him.

“According to the vet, she is safe and sound,” Officer Keys informs him.

Despite the assurance, Ilya feels deeply uncomfortable.

How did someone manage to kidnap Anya? Did they take her from the garden? Did someone enter the house? Did Ilya forget to lock the door? The gate? More importantly, why would anyone want to kidnap her? What if someone had entered their house when Ilya wasn’t home? What if someone had entered the house when Shane was home and taken him?

A terrible thought strikes Ilya. What if someone has taken Shane, and Ilya doesn’t know?

“If you could come down to the station, sir, you can pick up your dog and take her home with you.” The officer’s voice cuts through the phone, and Ilya nods, too dazed for words, before realizing that Officer Keys can’t see him. He emits an unintelligible noise and hopes that she understands the sentiment.

Once they hang up, Ilya calls Shane, frustrated when it goes to voicemail. He tries him two more times while searching for his wallet and keys. Then, he leaves him a voicemail, and, for good measure, a text too, explaining what has happened.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s bursting through the doors to the station, just barely restraining himself from rushing the counter. He waits impatiently while the people in front of him complete their business. Then he dashes forward, puts both hands on the desk and requests to see Anya.

“Ah yes.” The clerk looks up. “Stolen dog, right?”

Another non-hockey fan.

Ilya nods, and the clerk picks up the phone to call someone. A few minutes later, a female officer appears from a hallway. Officer Keys, Ilya supposes.

She shakes his hand and asks him to follow her down the hall. Ilya does, looking anxiously around for any signs of Anya. When they finally come to a stop outside an office, Ilya can hear the excited padding of paws on the other side.

“She’s right in here,” Officer Keys says, before opening the door to let him inside.

The dog is unmistakably Anya, and Ilya just about manages a sigh of relief before she rushes towards him, tail wagging so enthusiastically that Ilya’s heart breaks a little.

“What happened?” he asks. He tries to comfort Anya who, quite frankly, is too excited considering the circumstances. Poor thing has no idea she’s just been dognapped.

“Vet flagged it,” Officer Keys replies, “It’s quite common, actually. A man entered the practice about an hour ago and tried to change her name and contact info. It is unfortunately a common way to steal a dog. Thankfully, the man was unsuccessful.”

“A man?” Ilya’s voice trails off. “What man? I don’t –“ Ilya is still confused, “How did he even get to her?”

He tries to tighten his grip on Anya, but Anya darts away, tail wagging. She runs to a door at the far end of the room and makes a little twirl in front of it. Then, she looks imploringly at Ilya.

The trick does nothing to lessen the fracture in Ilya’s heart. Shane taught her that trick over the summer, and she’s been proudly showing it off ever since. What if he’d never gotten to see it again?

“I assure you, sir, you have nothing to worry about.” Officer Key’s voice cuts through the jumble of thoughts. “The man is being questioned right this minute, and we’re going to ensure that nothing like this will happen again.”

“But I do worry,” Ilya says, an edge of frustration to his voice, “Anya was home with me an hour ago. Are you saying this man was in our house? What would have happened if my husband was at home with her? How do I know that he wasn’t the target? What if – “ Ilya swallows and tries to temper his panic, “Who is this person?”

As if on cue, a voice rises on the other side of the door, and Anya lets out a small bark.

“Anya.” Ilya calls her name, but Anya doesn’t respond. Absentmindedly, he wonders how quickly a dog might develop Stockholm Syndrome.

Ilya looks at his phone again, wondering why Shane still hasn’t answered him. It adds to his growing feeling of unease, a feeling which doesn’t dissipate as Anya keeps twirling in front of the door. The voices on the other side grow louder still, and if Ilya didn’t know any better…

Before Officer Keys gets the chance to stop him, Ilya crosses the space, gathers Anya in his arms and opens the door. On the other side, he finds a square room, dim with a single light bulb casting shadows across its inhabitants.

It takes Ilya a moment to realize what exactly he’s looking at, and then –

“Shane?” Ilya’s voice sounds uncertain even to his own ears, but it is indeed Shane who turns in his chair, eyes darting between himself and Anya. The latter lets out a content little growl upon seeing her dad, and Ilya has to reel in her excitement as she squirms in his arms.

“Sir…” Officer Keys has followed him, “I understand that you are upset, but you cannot be in here.”

“Anya…” Shane’s voice sounds breathless, shoulders slumping in obvious relief at the sight of her. Then, he turns his attention to Ilya, eyes filled with pure frustration. “Babe,” he pleads, “You need to tell these – people – that I have not attempted to kidnap our dog.”

Ilya blinks a few times, mind reeling. From Anya’s supposed kidnapping to Shane’s apparent arrest to the fact that Shane just called him babe in front of people, he isn’t sure what to say. As troubled as he is by the sight of Shane in here, he’s also immensely relieved to find that a stranger hasn’t forced their way into their home.

“Ilya.” There’s a desperate edge to Shane’s voice. “Get me out of here? Please?”

And that – is something he can do.

Ilya must check himself as a sudden surge of protectiveness overwhelms him. It feels blinding in its intensity, growing only bigger as he takes in the scene in front of him. “What’s going on here?” he asks.

Shane and – an interrogation officer, Ilya thinks – are sitting on opposite sides of a steel table, his husband’s fingers fidgeting in front of him. There’s a single piece of paper clasped within his hand, and he seems to hold on to it as one would a lifeline. He keeps darting nervous looks towards Anya, who has begun to whine, clearly adding to Shane’s distress. This, in turn, does nothing to pacify Anya, who continues to whine, aching to provide Shane with the comfort he so obviously craves.

“Excuse me.” The interrogation officer looks at Officer Keys, eyes darting between her and Ilya. “What is he doing in here?” He raps his knuckles against the table, and Shane flinches.

It takes every bit of Ilya’s self-control not to react. In his arms, Anya lets out a howl, paws moving helplessly in an effort to bridge the gap between herself and Shane. Shane turns to look at her again, a pained look on his face.

Ilya takes a steadying breath before turning towards the officer. “You say this man has kidnapped this dog?” He flinches at the sound of his accent, but caught between Shane’s distress and Anya’s torment, he’s thankful that he manages to get the words out at all.

“That is correct, sir.” The interrogation officer nods. “Although the legal term would be stealing seeing as she is not human.”

Ilya goes to protest but doesn’t get the chance. At the same time, Shane’s face morphs into one of complete indignation, tearing his gaze away from Anya to glare at the officer. “Anya is part of our family.” He lets out an angry huff. “I did not steal her. I took her to the vet. That’s all I did.” Shane sends a pleading look in Ilya’s direction as if he’s afraid Ilya might be thinking the same thing.

Ilya tries to send his husband a reassuring look. It causes him physical pain that he cannot go to comfort him, but judging by the look of the interrogator, he should not move closer right now. Especially not with Anya behaving the way she does. Ilya tries to soothe her, but their fluffball is having none of it.

“Listen.” He keeps his voice neutral in an attempt to appease the officers. “I am afraid you have made a mistake. This man is my husband. This is our dog. Our shared dog. Shane’s, too. He has every right to take her to the vet.”

The man at the table pauses for a bit, lowering his gaze to the papers. “According to the vet’s registry, this dog belongs to you alone.” His eyes look up to meet Ilya’s. “And Mr. – “ He has to consult his papers again, “Mr. Hollander here is distorting the truth. He took her to the vet this morning in an attempt to change her registered name as it is stated in the Canadian Kennel Club.”

Ilya throws a confused look in Shane’s direction, but his husband is still looking at the officer, who continues without preamble.

“This name change would involve not only her official papers but her chip as well. You would have been unable to reclaim her, had Mr. Hollander been successful in his endeavors.”

Ilya is glad that he’s holding Anya, otherwise he might have been driven to tear his hair out. “As I just told you, Mr. Hollander and I share this dog. He is perfectly within his rights to change her name.” He ignores his own confusion as to why Shane would do this and focuses instead on the task at hand. “If my husband is not listed as an owner, then I will change this as soon as possible. Right now, if you’ll let us go.” He puts extra emphasis on the plural pronoun.

The officer seems to hesitate, and Ilya tries a different tactic.

“I am grateful,” he says, surprising himself with how easy the lie rolls off his tongue, “Very grateful that you worry about our dog. But there has been a mistake here. My husband took her to the vet this morning to change her name. That is all. He did not – steal her.” The word sounds dirty in his mouth.

The interrogation officer and Officer Keys share a look. “Does this mean that you won’t press charges?” he asks of Ilya.

Ilya lets out an exasperated sigh, accent thickening with the effort. “Yes, I won’t press charges,” he says, “Now may I please take my husband and our dog home?”

For a long while, no one says anything.

Ilya looks at Shane whose knuckles have turned white with how tight he’s clutching the paper. It makes his scars stand out, and Ilya’s hands itch to reach out and soothe the tension.

Then, just as Ilya’s patience begins to falter, the officer deflates, waving his arm in a defeated gesture. “Very well,” he says, “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. We apologize, Mr. – “ He consults the papers yet again, “Hollander. It seems you have done nothing wrong, and you are free to go.”

Shane rises from his chair so quickly that Ilya has to rush forward to steady him. He wastes no time, either, thrusting Anya into his arms. His husband is quick to tighten his grip around her, ignoring every self-imposed hygiene lesson as he presses quick kisses all over her face. Anya’s tail begins to wag, and Ilya catches more than one apology whispered against the warmth of her fur.

He sends Officer Keys a dirty look, not attempting to mask his thoughts as to who should be doing the apologizing here. She stays quiet, however, and so does he, letting his hand come to rest against the small of Shane’s back. He can feel the anxiety thrumming beneath his skin, and now that they’re free to go, Ilya is quick to coax him out of the room, hand never wavering as he does.

“Let’s get out of here,” he mumbles. Shane lets out a small hum, all his attention focused on Anya as Ilya leads them out of the station.

When they finally reach the parking lot, Ilya opens the door for him and helps him secure his seatbelt as Shane refuses to let go of Anya. Once he’s sure that they’re both tugged in, he closes the door and jogs around to the driver’s seat. He settles in beside them but doesn’t turn on the engine.

He Ilya shifts in his seat so that he can look at Shane. His husband has taken to drawing small patterns across Anya’s back, and even as Ilya tries to catch it, Shane refuses to meet his gaze.

“Sweetheart.” Ilya makes sure that his voice is as gentle as possible, not wanting to add to Shane’s already growing anxiety. “Do you want to tell me what happened in there? Why did – how did you end up in there?”

Unwittingly, an image of Shane being stuffed into the back of a police car enters his mind. He does his best to dispel it, not sure that he can keep the anger out of his voice unless he does. He doesn’t want Shane to think that any of this is in any way directed at him.

“My car is still at the vet’s,” Shane says, in lieu of an answer, and Ilya reaches out a hand to rest on his knee. When Shane doesn’t pull back, Ilya gives it a squeeze.

“Bood or Hazy can help me retrieve the car later,” he says, “For now, I’m more worried about you. Moya lyubov… walk me through it, will you?”

Shane’s eyes are still trained on Anya who is now snuggled contentedly against his chest. She has buried her nose in his sweatshirt, emitting small snores as she dozes off.

“I just – “ Shane’s face screws up in frustration, “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

No shit, Ilya thinks. First thing in the morning, they’re finding another veterinary practice. Then, maybe he can get Yuna to sue their asses. Knowing Yuna, it won’t take a lot of convincing.

Next to him, Shane’s fists clench in frustration, right one still holding the paper, and Ilya reaches out to stop him. “Whatever happened you can tell me.”

“It was meant to be a surprise,” Shane mumbles.

“What was, sweetheart?”

“The name change.”

The name change. It seems the officers were right about that, at least, although Ilya has no idea why Shane would wish to do this in the first place – and without talking to Ilya about it.

However, what Ilya told the officers was also true. Anya is just as much Shane’s as she is Ilya’s, and if Shane wishes to change her name, then he has all the right. Knowing his husband, he must have had a good reason to do it.

Ilya squeezes Shane’s hand between his own. “We can go change the name together when you’re up for it.”

Shane lets out a sniffle, and Ilya’s heart clenches. He’s not in fact sure that it is possible to change a dog’s CKC name, but if Shane went to these lengths to try, then it must have been important to him.

“What do you want to call her?” Ilya asks.

At first, Shane doesn’t say anything. Then, his hand begins to uncurl from around the paper that he’s clutching. He extends his hand, slowly, indicating that it’s all right for Ilya to take it. Ilya does, carefully unfolding it.

There’s a lot of legalese on the page, so it takes him a few seconds to understand what he’s looking at. Once he does, his world comes to a complete standstill.

In his hands, he’s holding a petition to change Anya’s CKC name to Anya Hollander-Rozanova.

It feels like the breath has been punched from his gut. Ilya can’t look away. His eyes stare at the name until spots cloud his vision and he must remind himself to blink.

Quietly, Shane’s voice filters through the ringing in his ears.

“I heard you at Hayden’s birthday party,” he says, “Before – you know. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you sounded so sad when you said you had forgotten what it felt like to share a name with someone you love.”

Ilya looks up to meet Shane’s eyes, and Shane stumbles on. “I went to change our names – Anya’s and mine both. I didn’t want you to feel alone,” he adds, voice small but determined, “I never want you to feel alone.”

Ilya literally has no words. “You – changed your name?”

Shane nods. “A couple of weeks ago,” he whispers, “But the vet didn’t have an opening until today.”

There’s a line of worry, Ilya notes, nestled right between his eyebrows. Ilya wants to obliterate that worry as soon as possible. He opens his mouth to do just that, to reassure him that he has nothing to be worried about, but he finds that he cannot. Words are failing him in both his languages. His chest feels tight. It feels like his heart is expanding. Like it cannot possibly contain all the love that he has for this man.

Shane bites his lip. Then, hands shaking, he reaches for his wallet and pulls out his driver’s license. When he shows it to Ilya, the words Shane Hollander-Rozanov stand out in shiny, black lettering.

For a moment, Ilya stays frozen. Then, he leans forward and presses his lips to Shane’s in an uncoordinated mess. The angle is awkward as Anya is pressed between them, still sleeping after all the excitement of the morning. But Ilya doesn’t want to change a thing. He tries to pour every single emotion into that kiss, letting out an involuntary sob in the process.

“Baby…” Shane whispers the word against his skin, lips picking up tears that Ilya didn’t realize were falling. Ilya raises his hands to tangle in Shane’s hair, letting out a shuttering breath as their foreheads meet.

“I’m sorry I messed it up,” Shane says, and Ilya lets out a wounded noise, “It seems you cannot change CKC names. At the very least not without the owner present.” He gives a hollow laugh.

“You haven’t messed anything up,” Ilya says, “Absolutely nothing, you hear me? You’re perfect, my love, absolutely perfect. And you are Anya’s parent, don’t you ever doubt that.”

Their eyes meet, breath mingling in the space between them. “You’re sure?” Ilya asks, searching Shane’s eyes for any signs of doubt, “You’re sure you want to share my name?” He tries to temper the hope, even as it simmers beneath his skin. He doesn’t want Shane to do this unless he wants to. Unless he’s absolutely certain.

Ilya’s worry, however, turns out to be unfounded. He watches as a determined pout overtakes Shane’s features. “I’m sure,” Shane says, words trailing off before adding, “And so is Anya.”

Ilya lets out an incredulous laugh, happiness bursting forth from every pore.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner,” Shane says, “I should have done it after the wedding. Would have wanted to,” he adds, “If only I’d thought of it.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Ilya whispers, “It was a chaotic time. Wonderful, but chaotic.”

“And you’re okay with it?” Shane asks, that line of worry once again making its way onto his face, “You don’t mind that I took your name without asking?”

Ilya’s fingers rise to smooth the skin across his brow. “What’s mine is yours,” he whispers, “And it’s beautiful. Hollander-Rozanov. Most beautiful name I ever heard.”

Shane hums. “Promise?” he whispers.

“I promise,” Ilya says and presses another kiss to his lips. He lowers his head to give Anya a kiss as well. She settles further into Shane’s arms but doesn’t wake.

“Anya Hollander-Rozanova,” Ilya says, lips curling around a smile, “It sounds like the name of a princess.”

“I think so,” Shane says, a shy smile overtaking his features. There’s a blush spreading across his cheeks, accentuating his freckles, and Ilya thinks he might die with how much he loves him.

“All right.” Ilya leans back and turns on the engine. “We need to go right now.”

“Home?” Shane gives him a hopeful look, and Ilya is only partly apologetic when he shakes his head. “Soon,” he promises as Shane’s face falls. “We need to make a stop along the way.”

Another frown appears on Shane’s face. “I don’t think I’m in a state to drive right now,” he says.

“We’re not getting your car,” Ilya says, as he pulls out of the parking lot, “Bood will do that later. We’re going to city hall.”

“City hall?”

Ilya hums. “I don’t want to be left out of the Hollander-Rozanov household.”

Shane’s breath hitches, and Ilya reaches for his hand. “City hall and then the jeweler’s. I want it engraved on our wedding rings.”

“In that case –“ Shane’s voice shakes, and Ilya tangles their fingers together, giving them a reassuring squeeze, “You need to go to ServiceOntario,” Shane says, “Take the left up here.”

“Left it is.”

Ilya knows that there is a ridiculously big smile taking up most of his face, but he doesn’t attempt to restrain it. He sneaks glances at Shane as he drives, and Shane tells him to mind the road, reminds him that Anya is in the car with them.

That night, when they go to bed, there’s an interim driver’s license folded into Ilya’s wallet. It carries the name Ilya Hollander-Rozanov and it’s waiting to be replaced with a real card. He decided to get rid of his middle name in the process, lifting a weight he didn’t know he was carrying.

Next to the driver’s license, there’s another piece of paper requesting a name change for Anya. He’ll have to see who to bribe in the morning to make it real. Shane wants it, and whatever Shane wants, Shane will get. Ilya will make sure of it.

For now, he tightens his hold around Shane’s middle. He’s not as close as he usually is, Anya nestled safely between them. Shane didn’t want her to wake in the night, scared of being separated from them.

He looks at his husband in the dim light of the bedroom. Tonight, Shane’s nose scrunches in his sleep, not unreminiscent of the way Anya’s does. Both have been asleep for a while, but Ilya is content to lie here, reveling in the fact that his family is safe in his arms. He’s made an emergency appointment with Galina in the morning to talk everything over, refusing to let the fears of the day fester.

For now, though, Ilya lets out a peaceful sigh. He could get used to this, he thinks. And if one day they make room for a crib in the corner, Ilya would not complain about another Hollander-Rozanov taking up space in the room. Preferably more than one, but he’ll let Shane decide on that.

Things calm down after the vet incident. They avoid any further run-ins with the Voyageurs, there are no more flight cancellations, and no one gets arrested again. Shane does, however, end up in the hospital.

For the second year in a row, he sustains an injury right as the playoffs start. This one, thankfully, is less serious than the previous one, but it still means that Shane’s sitting out during their first two games. As there isn’t talk of a head injury, he is, however, allowed at the arena this time, meaning that he gets to cheer Ilya on from the comfort of the team bench.

Shane claims that he isn’t cheering on Ilya specifically, that he’s there to cheer on their whole team, but Ilya knows what Shane looks like when he’s lying.

It still thrills Ilya that he gets to have Shane at his games now. For so many years, Ilya had no one to cheer on him. Svetlana would come, occasionally, but the one person Ilya wanted above anyone else was always painfully absent.

This was, of course, natural due to the nature of their relationship and their conflicting schedules, but it didn’t make the pain any easier to bear. For this reason, seeing Shane sitting on their bench, eyes trained on him, still sends a thrill through him. Later, he’ll tease Shane about forgetting to pay attention to anyone else, and Shane will blush as he denies it.

For now, though, he’s soaking in the attention, making sure not to miss a single play with Shane’s eyes trained on him. He scores two goals during the first two periods, and after each one, he blows his husband a kiss, taking in the dopey look on his face each time.

They’re about to start the third period when Shane beckons him over.

“Any notes?” Ilya can’t help the smirk that crosses his face.

Shane rolls his eyes. “You’re playing a perfect game, asshole, stop fishing for compliments.”

Ilya clicks his tongue, smile growing even wider. “Such a mouth on you, Hollander.”

“You like it.”

“Maybe I do.”

Ilya really hopes his opponents aren’t looking at him right now. His usually cold on-ice exterior is currently replaced by an undoubtedly love-struck expression. He can’t find it in himself to care too much, however, with the way Shane’s looking at him right now.

“Seriously though.” Shane’s voice turns sober. “You’re playing absolutely beautiful.”

For a second, Ilya’s lip begins to wobble, and he knows that that cannot happen before the end of the game. Therefore, he lets his hand rest above his heart, hoping to convey everything that he’s feeling.

Shane’s eyes go soft, and he gives him a small nod, shows him that he understands.

Ilya clears his throat. “I should go back out there,” he says.

“You should.” Shane nods again.

“You need to get better,” Ilya adds, “I miss playing next to Shane Hollander.”

“Again with the Hollanders.” Shane gives him an amused smile. “Did you hit your head when I wasn’t looking?” He makes a show out of checking him over, and Ilya frowns, not understanding what he’s saying.

Then, Shane steps back, turns around and – oh.

There, displayed on the jersey for all to see, is the name Hollander-Rozanov spelled out in the trademark font of the team’s jersey.

“That’s not the one you were wearing earlier.” It’s all Ilya can think of to say. Shane got dressed, before they left for the arena, and Ilya would definitely have noticed if he’d been wearing that earlier.

“I had Harris make it for me.” There’s a pleased expression on his husband’s face, and it doesn’t fade even as they’re beginning to attract the attention of the arena.

Ilya is distantly aware that people are cheering, some of them letting out wolf whistles and catcalls, too. He tunes it all out. Shane looks so proud of himself that Ilya wants to eat him up. Wants to freeze this moment and cherish it until the end of time.

“Can’t believe you’re making me play a whole other period with that on your back.”

Shane’s smile turns, if possible, even brighter. “If you’re lucky, I’ll keep wearing it when we go home tonight.”

Ilya’s mouth goes dry, all coherent thoughts escaping him.

Although they’ve both been Hollander-Rozanovs for a few months now, they’d decided to keep playing under their former names. ‘Hollander’ and ‘Rozanov’ were obviously shorter, and with the two of them on the same team, they didn’t want to add to the confusion on the ice.

This, however, is making Ilya rethink all of their previously laid-out plans. He sees it in Shane’s eyes, too, and his husband shoos him away before Ilya gets the chance to become even more distracted.

“You have a game to win,” he tells him, and then, because his husband is a little brat, he adds, “I want a hat-trick.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

Shane nods, and Ilya wiggles his brow. “Better go score my husband another goal then.”

“You better, Hollander-Rozanov.”

“I’ll do my best, Hollander-Rozanov.” And then, just for good measure, he presses a kiss to Shane’s cheek, ignoring their teammates’ teasing as he returns to the ice.

Two minutes later, he scores the goal.

As they enter the awards for a second year in a row, Ilya tries not to let it bother him too much that they missed their chance at the cup again. He knows it bothers Shane immensely, and Ilya figures that one of them should keep a cool head. At least in public.

It’s a small mercy that Hunter didn’t win it either, and so, Ilya suffers through a conversation with him before they have to sit down. Shane thinks it’s absolutely ridiculous, but Ilya still hasn’t forgiven him for his check against Shane the previous year.

Hunter knows this, and, Ilya thinks, respects it too. He’d revealed last summer at the camps that he probably wouldn’t have forgiven him either, if the roles had been reversed, and Ilya had landed Kip in the hospital, however unintentionally.

“You made one hell of a run for it.”

Ilya glares as Hunter shakes Shane’s hand, and he makes sure to grasp Kip’s for just a little longer. He doesn’t miss the look of amusement that flashes across Hunter’s face, and Ilya’s scowl grows, if possible, even bigger.

“Thank you.”

Shane is, as always, polite, but he doesn’t miss the change in Ilya’s mood. With his other hand, he gives his a reassuring squeeze, and Ilya once again revels in the fact that he gets to hold Shane’s hand in public. A part of him wonders if the feeling will ever go away. A part of him hopes it never does.

Shane continues to make small talk, and Ilya is only too happy to listen. At some point, a few of their teammates join the circle along with Hayden and Jackie and J.J.

It’s nice, Ilya muses, to be in public like this and surrounded by friends.

However, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end, and they do a bit too soon for Ilya’s liking.

It’s the sudden tightening of Shane’s grip that first alerts Ilya to the fact. It gives him a few seconds to compose himself before he looks up and sees that Comeau has joined their circle.

Immediately, the mood shifts. Hayden’s and Jackie’s faces go uncharacteristically tight, and so does J.J.’s although he’s better at hiding it. Shane’s gaze fixates somewhere on his left shoe, and Ilya is the only one of the party willing to look up and meet Comeau’s eyes.

Hunter and Kip along with the Bood and Hayes remain utterly confused as they look between their friends and the newcomer.

“Rozanov.” Comeau gives him a small nod before turning to Shane. “Hollander… Long time, no see.”

Shane shifts his weight so that he’s leaning against Ilya, and Comeau’s lips twist into a taunting smirk. Ilya, in turn, bares his teeth, and Comeau lets out a delighted laugh.

Hunter, who’s quick to realize what’s happening, takes a small step forward. “Comeau,” he says, voice pleasant despite the look on his face, “Bad luck this year, huh? Second year you haven’t made it into the playoffs. That’s rough, man.”

While Ilya’s grateful for Hunter’s attempt at distraction, he also knows enough of Comeau now to know that this won’t help their situation. He can feel Shane’s nails digging into his palm and knows that he’s thinking the same thing.

Ilya is torn. He wants nothing more than to whisk his husband away, to hide him from the pains of their world, but he also knows that this is not going to go away. And as long as Shane stays his ground, Ilya won’t force him to leave.

Beside them, Comeau lets out a humorless laugh. “That’s funny,” he says, “I was just about to say the same to Hollander.”

Ilya is about to retort that his husband has just made it into the playoffs for a fifth year in a row, but Shane squeezes his hand before he gets the chance.

“You think there’s something wrong with my playing?” Shane asks.

Ilya holds his breath as he waits for Comeau’s respond. The man doesn’t disappoint.

“I think you’ve been the best for so long that you haven’t noticed your game’s been lacking,” he says.

“Is that so?” There’s a dangerous lilt to Shane’s voice, one Ilya hasn’t heard since that day in Hayden’s living room. “Enlighten me, will you?”

Hayden and J.J. have started fidgeting, and beside them, Jackie looks downright murderous. Hunter keeps looking at Ilya, silently asking him if he should step in, and Hayes and Bood are still confused, although it’s clear that by now, they have branded Comeau as Public Enemy Number One.

“Well…” Comeau gives an impatient shrug, reveling in his audience. “It’s simple, isn’t it? You’ve played professional hockey for thirteen years now. For eleven of those, you have been nothing short of excellent, but for the last two you have been somewhat…” His eyes cut to Ilya’s. “Softer.” He looks back at Shane. “You would agree, no?”

Once again, Comeau has managed to stun Ilya into complete silence. Looking around, however, he can see that the feeling is mutual. In fact, the only person who appears to be unfazed is his husband.

He straightens beside him and doesn’t so much as quiver as he answers his former teammate. “It is true,” Shane says, voice steady even as his cheeks redden with rage, “I have been playing professional hockey for thirteen years. However…” His voice trails off, letting Comeau stew before he continues, “There’s something else I’ve been doing for thirteen years, too.”

It’s all the warning Ilya gets before Shane grabs his face and presses their lips together.

For a moment, Ilya is stunned. Then, he feels his husband’s tongue press against his lips, and Ilya decides screw it. He snakes his arms around Shane.

If the fucker wants a show, he’ll get one.

Shane lets out a gasp as Ilya replies with like-minded enthusiasm, dipping him in the process. Shane’s hands sneak into his curls, anchoring himself, as he gives as good as he gets. Ilya moans into the kiss, and he is – very distantly – aware that Comeau lets out an indignant sputter. Mostly, he’s aware of Shane though, and the way his fingers trail across his scalp. He’s going to leave marks, Ilya thinks, and he hums into the kiss, encouraging him.

When they finally pull apart, Comeau is gone. They are met, instead, with the stunned faces of those around him. Ilya ignores them all in favor of his husband.

Shane, Ilya notes, looks absolutely wrecked, and he reaches out a hand to wipe at his lips, knowing he’ll be mortified tomorrow if any pictures make their way into the media.

It turns out, however, that the kiss isn’t the reason that their audience looks so stunned, but rather the fact that –

“Thirteen years?”

Hunter looks absolutely stunned as he looks at them. “You’ve been doing that –“ he waves an arm between them, “For thirteen years?” Beside him, Kip puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Hunter doesn’t seem to notice.

His sentiment, it seems, is shared by more than a few people around them, all of whom have paused to listen.

“Well…” Ilya trails off as his trademark smirk makes its way onto his face. “We’ve been doing other things, too.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and Shane has enough presence of mind to elbow him in the ribs.

“On that note…” Ilya turns to his husband, ignoring Hunter and the others around him. “Do you want to get out of here?”

At first, Shane looks at his husband like he’s grown another head. Then, any signs of indignation morph into ones of pure relief, and he nods. “You lead the way,” he says.

Ilya smirks. “Your wish is my command, Mr. Hollander-Rozanov.” He grabs Shane’s hand and turns his back to their audience.

This time, as they leave, Ilya feels nothing but happiness coursing through his veins.

Chapter End Notes

Still no Stanley Cup kiss! Please forgive me.

Chapter 4: Interlude #2 (Ilya's POV)

Chapter Summary

An interlude between their second and third years of marriage, because yes – the third year is officially in the works. While you wait, please enjoy a gratuitous amount of Hollanov fluff.

Chapter Notes

For their second wedding anniversary, Ilya develops a plan of his own. He supposes it’s not strictly a PDA plan considering that it isn’t public by any means, but he hopes that Shane will consider it a DA if nothing else.

In fact, Ilya is quite proud of it, even as he’s sitting at home alone, knowing that Shane is absolutely fuming somewhere in the world.

In order for the plan to work, he’d needed Shane gone from the cottage and had had to rope in Yuna and David to help. Neither had been particularly willing, only too capable of imagining how Shane might react to being called away from Ilya on their anniversary of all days. In fact, Ilya had had to promise them a fully paid vacation, no expenses spared, for the hell that they were bound to endure.

True to form, Shane was only halfway through the phone call with his mother when the smile that had previously adorned his face began to falter. He’d sent his husband a helpless look, and it had taken every bit of Ilya’s self-restraint not to jump to Shane’s immediate defense.

Besides, Ilya had to give it to Yuna. The woman had certainly decided to commit to the bit. Her voice was distinguishable even across the room, screaming that there was a mouse in the house, and that David had sprained his ankle in his attempt to catch it.

To cut a long story short, Shane had left five minutes later, but not before sending Ilya a look of absolute betrayal when he had refused to go with him.

That was almost three hours ago, now, and with the plan now in motion, Ilya has nothing left to do except wait for his husband to return. Looking at the clock above the mantelpiece, he can even admit to growing a bit impatient.

It is, of course, unfair considering the fact that he was the one to send his husband away, but the cottage feels weird without Shane, and Ilya wants him to return as soon as possible. Wants him to dispel the feeling of wrongness filling up the rooms in his absence.

Ilya has never said it out loud, not even to Shane, because rationally he knows that it makes no sense. The house shouldn’t feel different depending on whether his husband is there or not. Except that it does. When Shane crosses the threshold, Ilya feels a shift in the air. The house around him transforms into a home, and Ilya is able to breathe again. It’s like he’s been drowning and Shane is the lifeline pulling him to shore.

Of course, Ilya is not stupid. He knows the source of his unease. He knows that despite calling it as such, the cottage is not actually his home, and neither is their house in Ottawa. Shane is his home, and being separated from him feels as unnatural as holding his breath.

Some days, Ilya feels greedy thinking such thoughts. He knows that he and Shane spend more time together than any other couple they know. They live together and sleep together and work together. Most days, they go grocery shopping together and last month, when Ilya needed to go to the dentist, they went and did that together too.

He’d asked Shane, once, whether he was okay with it. Had told him that it would be all right if occasionally he wanted time on his own. He hadn’t been able to go as far as to say that it wouldn’t sadden him, but it was true that if that was what Shane wanted, then Ilya would suffer the moments of separation, however long.

Shane hadn’t said anything at first, face morphing into an adorable pout. In lieu of an answer, he’d eventually asked Ilya if that was what he wanted. Ilya had told him no, that as far as he was concerned, they’d spent eleven painful years apart, and he wasn’t looking for a repeat performance. Not for eleven years, not for eleven hours if he could help it.

“Eleven minutes,” Shane had mumbled. They had been in bed together, Ilya scrolling mindlessly on his phone and Shane working on a crossword puzzle. Shane’s left fingers were tangled with Ilya’s right ones, and as he spoke, Shane had lifted his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Every minute I spend apart from you is a minute wasted,” he’d said.

It was such a simple statement. Shane hadn’t even looked up as he said it, like he’d imparted a truth of the universe, something so natural that it wasn’t meant to be discussed.

It wasn’t until Ilya’s intake of breath that Shane had looked at him. “Baby,” he’d whispered, eyes immediately filling with such concern that Ilya didn’t know what to say, “Why are you crying?” He’d looked so genuinely confused as if he hadn’t just delivered a shock to Ilya’s poor, stuttering heart.

It still managed to take Ilya’s breath away. For thirteen years they’d loved each other, and yet, the depth of Shane’s feelings managed to floor him again and again and again.

Shane had comforted him that night. Had held him in his arms and told him that as far as he was concerned, they were two parts of a whole, and that he had no desire for them to ever act as anything but.

Ilya was ashamed that after all this time, he still needed the validation, but Shane, as always, laid all such embarrassment to shame. Had told him that he knew his upbringing had hurt him, and that he considered it his husbandly duty to remind him, “every day, if needed”, that Ilya was loved, and that no amount of time together would ever be considered enough, let alone too much.

That particular statement had done little to dissolve Ilya’s tears and Shane had had to hold him until the small hours of the morning. He’d claimed, later, that it didn’t bother him, and Ilya did his best to believe him. He knew it would sadden Shane to think that he didn’t.

In the present day, Ilya is pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a key turning in their lock.

He is on his feet in seconds, only a bit slower than Anya, but both manage to reach the entrance by the time Shane walks through the door. His husband lets out a startled laugh at the sight of them, bending to greet Anya before throwing his arms around Ilya. He spares no time, either, slotting their lips together, and Ilya hums appreciatively into the kiss.

He is just about to deepen it when Shane pulls away.

“Have you been smoking?” he asks. His brow is pulled into a frown, and he peers across Ilya’s shoulder as if Ilya would dare pull out an ashtray and leave the evidence for his husband to find.

He lets out an amused huff. “No, my love, I have not been smoking.”

Shane’s nose wrinkles. “You smell like it,” he says, and then he presses their lips together again, not so much to kiss as to try and taste. Ilya tries to redirect the focus from the latter to the former, but he is unsuccessful.

“Seriously.” Shane looks at him. “You smell like a bonfire. Unless you’ve been outside colluding with the loons, I don’t know where that smell is supposed to come from.”

Ilya bites his lip and resists the urge to reach out, to smooth the line across his brow.

Despite Shane’s claims to the contrary, Ilya knows that his husband’s concern has nothing to do with his hockey performance. He’d confessed once that every time Ilya lit a cigarette, he had felt like a little part of their future was being carved away. Like he was losing Ilya in slow-motion, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Shane’s voice had been so serious, so pained, that Ilya hadn’t touched a cigarette since.

He hasn’t touched one today, either, and decides to put his husband out of his misery. “I have a surprise for you,” he tells him.

“A surprise?” Shane’s eyebrow quirks. “You haven’t burned down our shed, have you?”

“No, my love.” Ilya’s voice is amused. “It’s a good surprise, I promise. At least – I hope it is.”

Shane remains skeptical, but Ilya takes a step closer to him, and he watches as a tiny bit of tension leaves his husband’s shoulders. Then, Ilya presents him with a blindfold, and the rest disappears as well, replaced by curiosity instead.

“Is this a – bedroom gift?” Shane’s voice is so shy that Ilya has to bite back a laugh. It’s unbelievably adorable how bashful he remains after thirteen years of being together.

“Not quite,” Ilya tells him, and a look of surprise is the last thing Ilya sees, before he ties the blindfold across his eyes. “You have to tell me the truth,” he says, “Have to tell me if you can see anything.”

Shane shakes his head. “All dark,” he says, and then – “Does this have anything to do with that mouse?” His voice rises, and Ilya’s non-answer is answer enough. “Ilya! I spent three hours looking for that thing. On our anniversary!”

Ilya quiets him with another kiss, and Shane lets out an indignant huff. Then, he takes Shane’s hand between his own and guides him further into the house.

“You trust me?” Ilya asks, quieter this time, and more nervous than he has any right to be. “Despite mouse?”

Shane shakes his head, but the squeeze of his hand betrays him. “Of course I trust you, you absolute menace.”

Ilya smiles and then he leads them out onto the terrace. The sun has nearly set by now, but light won’t be a problem, not where Ilya is leading them.

He’s only too grateful that today is not a windy day.

It takes longer than usual to reach the dock since Shane is blindfolded, but Ilya is careful with him. Doesn’t want him to stumble on the way.

Of course, Ilya’s fears turn out to be unfounded. Shane’s step is sure beside his, despite not being able to see anything, and it amazes Ilya, the trust that his husband has in him.

The first indication that they’re nearing their destination is the slight twitch of Shane’s nose. It reminds Ilya of Anya, and he suppresses a laugh not to give himself away.

A few moments later, they step onto the dock, and Shane’s breath hitches.

“Baby.” Shane’s voice is barely more than a whisper, and Ilya presses a kiss to his neck as he removes the blindfold. Once removed, he gives it to Anya to play with, and she bolts back to the garden, happy with her newfound treasure.

Ilya watches as Shane’s eyes blink open, taking a moment to adjust to the hundreds of lights flickering before his eyes.

For a moment, Shane is speechless. Then – “These are not electric,” he says.

He doesn’t sound as displeased as Ilya feared he might.

“They are not,” Ilya confirms, rubbing his hand up and down Shane’s back, “However, we are now the proud owners of no less than five new fire extinguishers.” He nods to the side, and Shane lets out a pearl of laughter that makes Ilya’s heart soar.

“Can’t have you distracted while I give my speech,” Ilya whispers.

Shane goes quiet beside him, taking in the sight of the candles covering the dock. There’s a picnic laid out in the middle and an arrangement of pillows and blankets placed at a safe distance from any candles.

“You have a speech?” Shane whispers. He turns to look at him, and as he does, Ilya kneels before his husband.

“Oh my god.” Shane’s face screws up, and Ilya takes a steadying breath to control his own.

In an attempt to preserve some sort of decorum, he reaches into his pocket and pulls forth two rings. Immediately, Shane’s eyes light up.

“I thought those were still at the jeweler’s,” he exclaims.

Ilya gives him a private smile. They had been for a long while, so long, in fact, that Shane had filed no less than two complaints, and admitted to Ilya that he felt naked not wearing it.

To tell the truth, Ilya hadn’t expected for two engravings to take as long as they did, but it had given Ilya time to come up with this plan.

Looking at Shane’s face now, Ilya thinks it was worth it.

“Shane –“ Ilya starts and then immediately tears up. Shane offers his hand to steady him, and Ilya takes it gratefully.

“My love,” he begins again, and Shane smiles, “You are everything to me. You are my best friend, the love of my life, my soulmate. Whichever endearment exists out there in the world, you are it for me. And you have been for a very long time.”

“You are going to make me cry,” Shane warns him, and Ilya gives him a wobbly smile.

“I might have been confused that day in Saskatchewan,” he continues, “But my heart was not. It was like it recognized its other half and for the first time learned what it meant to be whole.”

“Ilya –“ Shane’s breath hitches, and Ilya forces himself to stay where he is.

“I give you this ring,” Ilya says and holds it out in the light, “Not to tell you that I want to bind myself to you, but to show you that I already am. To tell you that I have been for thirteen years. To tell you that I will be for the rest of my life and any eternity that follows.”

“Jesus Christ.” Shane lets out a sob, his hand shaking beneath Ilya’s. “Please,” he says, words barely audible between the tears, “Please give me that ring.”

“I am not done –“ Ilya protests.

“I don’t care.” Shane shakes his head. “I need you closer.”

And as he has been since he was seventeen, Ilya is helpless to do anything but follow Shane’s commands. He rises, and Shane just about lets him slip on the ring, before he throws his arms around him. He latches onto his neck, kissing anywhere he can reach, continuing until he reaches his heart. Then he lets out a teary laugh, words muffled against his chest.

“Your proposal is so much better than mine,” he says.

“No,” Ilya shakes his head, tangling his fingers in Shane’s hair, urging him to look at him, “Yours was perfect, my love, absolutely perfect.”

“Can I – ?” Shane’s voice is unsteady, “Can I do yours?” he asks, so shy that it’s all Ilya can do to stop from kissing him.

Ilya hums and transfers the ring to Shane. His husband takes it with shaking hands and slips it on, smiling as he does. “It fits this time,” he whispers.

“It does,” Ilya confirms, “And with its proper name, too.”

“Ilya Hollander-Rozanov.” The words sound like music falling from Shane’s lips, “You really don’t regret it?” he whispers. He turns his gaze on Ilya, and Ilya wants to obliterate any uncertainty present in those eyes.

“Never,” he says, hands coming to rest against his cheeks.

Still, Shane bites his lip, and it makes Ilya’s heart lurch. “I am serious,” Ilya continues, “You are my love. You are my life. There is no me without you. Not anymore.”

“Ilya –“

“Shane.” Ilya needs to get this off his chest. Needs for his husband to understand him. “I want to share your name, not because I feel lonely, but because I don’t. I feel like – you are part of me. I feel like Ilya Hollander-Rozanov and so, I want to be Ilya Hollander-Rozanov. I need it because anything else would be a lie.”

Shane is beyond words now. He squeezes Ilya’s hands so hard that it borders on painful, but Ilya doesn’t care. He squeezes back and tries to pour every emotion into that one grip. His husband tries and fails to say something, and Ilya shushes him, encourages him to breathe.

“You can’t – “ Shane chokes, and it takes him another two tries to get the words out. “You need to stop,” he says, and for a moment, Ilya freezes, afraid that he’s overstepped. Afraid that, finally, Shane has come to realize that he wants too much.

But then, Shane continues.

“If you keep going, my heart is going to explode with how much I love you,” he says. The words are accentuated by a sob, and Ilya surges forward to pull him into his arms.

Shane is absolutely wrecked, and Ilya rocks him gently back and forth. “Is all right,” he whispers, “I will pick up the pieces. Stitch them back together.”

Shane lets out a shaky laugh. “I don’t deserve this,” he says, “I love you so much. I don’t – God – I don’t know how to show you how much I love you.”

“You already have,” Ilya whispers, “Every day. I know.”

Shane’s breaths come in small gasps, and Ilya traces soothing circles across his back. “You love me so well,” Ilya continues, “Don’t you ever think that I don’t know it. That I take it for granted.”

For a while, neither one says anything, simply reveling in the feel of each other beneath their hands. Eventually, however, Shane’s breathing evens out, and he pulls back just enough to look at Ilya. He lets out a small sniffle. “Your English is too good,” he declares, and the statement is so unexpected that Ilya can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

“I have a very good teacher,” he says.

“No.” Shane shakes his head. “Your words are too beautiful. You did not learn that from me.”

“Sweetheart.” Ilya reaches out to trace the freckles across his cheek. “Who do you think taught me to love like this?”

For a moment, Shane freezes. Then, he lets out a whimper and follows it up with a kiss that Ilya is only too eager to respond to. It tastes like tears and tenderness. Like love and warmth and family. Mostly, it tastes like home, and Ilya never wants it to stop.

When they come up for air, Shane continues, peppering kisses across his brow, his temple, his cheek. “How do you know me so well?” he whispers. A stray tear escapes his eye, and Ilya wipes it away.

“Moya lyubov.” Ilya tilts his chin so that he can look directly into those beautiful orbs. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am a little bit obsessed with you, Shane Hollander.”

A small pout overtakes Shane’s features as Ilya knew it would. “It’s Hollander-Rozanov,” he huffs, and he looks so indignant that Ilya cannot help the kiss he presses against his lips.

“I know.” Ilya’s voice is unbelievably fond as he looks at his husband. “My angry little kitten. But beautiful words sound even more beautiful rolling off your tongue.”

A blush creeps across Shane’s cheeks, and Ilya is sure that he, too, is going to combust with how much he loves him. “Shane Hollander-Rozanov,” he repeats, “Most beautiful words in the world.”

“Second-best,” Shane whispers. He lets his hands trail up his chest, until they come to rest above his heart. “Yours are the best.”

Ilya hums, a feeling of absolute bliss spreading throughout his body. He brushes their noses together, teasing Shane as he attempts to chase his lips.

“It’s a tie,” Ilya declares, and this time, Shane catches him, slotting their lips together before Ilya has a chance to pull away. Not that he wants to.

Ilya moans into the kiss and tightens his arms around him. He can feel the cool metal of Shane’s wedding ring as his fingers tangle in his curls, and for the umpteenth time, Ilya wonders how he, Ilya Hollander-Rozanov, came to be the luckiest man on Earth.

Chapter End Notes

Every time I think I’m done with this, I keep coming up with new ideas, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Let me know what you think of Ilya’s “proposal”. I love that Shane was the one to propose in The Long Game, but seeing as he did essentially “steal” Ilya’s idea, I thought our resident romantic deserved the chance as well.

Chapter 5: Third Year of Marriage (Shane's POV)

Chapter Summary

And we’re back for a third year of Hollanov marriage! Get ready, as Shane fumbles his way through Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Family Day and Ilya’s 33rd birthday, the last of which may or may not coincide with a certain Stanley Cup final. Also, I cried while writing this, so warnings and apologies in advance.

Chapter Notes

For their third year of marriage, Shane has a new goal: to get Ilya to initiate PDA without worrying that Shane is going to pull away.

It turns out to be surprisingly difficult. Mainly because Ilya is so painstakingly perfect. The man would never do anything if he thought that it would make Shane uncomfortable. A fact that is both very sweet and very unfortunate given Shane’s plan for the year.

And because Shane still hasn’t gone so far as to learn to use his words… Shane must resort to drastic measures.

He must do something that overwhelms Ilya to such an extent that he has no choice but to pull him in and kiss him – despite an audience.

Which is how Shane ends up in a tattoo parlor a week before Halloween.

The plan is very simple: when Ilya throws his yearly Halloween party, Shane will come dressed as his husband. He will wear his jersey, he will wear fake tattoos in the form of a bear and a loon and, most importantly, he will wear a real one.

A very real, very permanent, very visible tattoo.

The fake tattoos Shane has ordered online, but the real one… is a work-in-progress. Or at least it will be once Shane stops spiraling. He is mature enough to admit that that is what is currently happening.

“Hollzy… Shane.” Wyatt looks at him where he’s perched on the edge of the cot. “You had a plan, man. Just stick to the plan.”

Shane is in the process of biting his nails and rethinking every single plan he’s ever made so sticking to it is easier said than done.

“I don’t know where to put it,” he says.

“Sure, you do.” Dykstra, this time, makes a show of positive reinforcement which is quite frankly scary so early in the morning. “You showed us the drawings.”

Shane frowns. He does have eight possible drawings in his bag with him, but now that they are here they all seem wrong.

And he’s not sure if his teammates are helping. In fact, he’s not quite sure why his teammates are here. He’d asked Young for recommendations last months, because he has a lot of tattoos, and that… might actually have been the first mistake.

Somehow, Shane had turned up to the parlor this morning to find no less than nine teammates ready to support him on this “most special day”.

“Hollzy’s very first tattoo,” Dillon had exclaimed upon seeing Shane’s horrified face, “Cap won’t know what hit him.”

Shane’s not entirely sure whether they’re here to support him, or whether they’re here to hold it over Ilya. He hopes it’s a combination of both.

If nothing else, they’ve helped him realize that the only thing he’s truly overthinking is the actual placement. Apart from this, he knows what he wants. He wants Ilya’s name in Cyrillic letters. He wants it in sleek, black lettering. He wants it on his body, and he wants it today, preferably.

“I don’t know what to do,” Shane says helplessly.

“You need to not overthink it,” Chouinard says, which, if Ilya was here, his husband would say was easier said than done.

“But what if – ?” Shane trails off, not knowing exactly what to ask. What if Ilya doesn’t like it? What if he doesn’t like its position? What if he doesn’t notice it? What if he doesn’t care? What if he thinks it’s ridiculous? What if he thinks Shane is too sappy? What if –

“Hollzy.” Barrett lays a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, man.”

“How about this?” Young looks at him, arms crossed, “Think about Ilya’s favorite part of you. Where would he appreciate it the most?”

Shane scrunches his nose. He doesn’t think Ilya would appreciate it if he tattooed over his freckles. Also, Shane would never be able to go outside again, and that would be quite inconvenient what with hockey and life in general.

“You’re going about this wrongly –“ Holmberg interrupts, “Asking the wrong questions.”

And then, before Shane has time to spiral further, Holmberg highjacks the conversation.

“Top or bottom?” he asks.

That is so not the question that Shane had expected anyone to ask and he’s momentarily stunned into silence. “Excuse me?” he says.

The room has gone dangerously quiet, Holmberg seemingly the only one not realizing that what he has just asked is Not Okay^TM. He’s looking expectantly at Shane, eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer that Shane is not going to give.

In fact, Shane is about to embark on quite a sizable monologue about the sanctity of privacy when Hayes steps in.

“He’s asking if Roz is into boobs or butts.”

“I – what?”

“Although I suppose the correct term would be pecs or butts,” Hayes trails off.

A blush starts spreading across Shane’s cheeks with alarming speed. It’s quite similar to the one Holmberg develops a few seconds later when his own words catch up to him.

“Oh my god –“

Holmberg attempts an apology and Young smacks him over the head. “Asking the wrong questions,” he mimics, “You idiot.”

Not quite able to form any words, Shane waves his hand in an effort to convey that all is forgiven.

“Seriously, Hollzy, I didn’t think –“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Seriously –“

“Seriously –“ Shane speaks through gritted teeth, wanting the conversation to end as quickly as humanly possible.

Bood raises his hand to cut off whatever Holmberg is about to say. “It’s a misunderstanding,” he placates, “No harm done.”

Shane’s about to offer him a grateful smile when Bood continues.

“We have much more important matters to discuss.” He turns towards Shane and asks him, “Pecs or butts?”

“Oh my god.”

“We are simply trying to help.” Wyatt nears him with his arms out, trying to show that he isn’t a threat, “It might be vital in order to determine proper placement of the tattoo.”

“You should listen to them.”

Haas of all people joins in, and Shane throws him a dirty look, missing the days when he was too scared to speak in his presence.

“Pecs or butts?” LaPointe repeats, and when Shane looks around every single Centaur is looking at him, waiting for his answer.

Shane grows, if possible, even redder. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation,” he mumbles. He is, however, saved from answering when Dillon of all people declares “pecs” and with such total conviction that once again the room goes quiet.

Nine heads swivel to look at the defenseman.

He meets their eyes, not an ounce of regret on his face, and Shane lets out a sound not entirely unreminiscent of a growl.

Barrett takes an unconscious step away from him and steps on Tanner’s food. Tanner’s about to tell him off, but then he sees Shane’s face and pulls Barrett closer, out of the line of fire.

“Now, hang on a second –“ Dillon raises his hands, “I cannot be the only one who’s tried and failed to have a conversation with Roz while Hollzy’s shirtless.”

Shane splutters, but around him his teammates begin to nod, slowly agreeing with Dillon’s assessment.

“When have I ever been shirtless?” Shane asks.

There’s a brief pause, and then an echo of voices all start talking at once.

Shane lies back, his head hitting the cot with a thud. “I hate you all,” he says.

“Pecs means you should go with the original plan,” Dykstra says.

“However,” LaPointe raises his hand, before Hayes tells him to put it down, “Has anyone tried having a conversation with cap while Hollzy’s butt is out? That is the real question, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ.” Shane hides his face behind his hands, doing his best to tune out the conversation around him.

“You might be on to something,” Chouinard says, “If Roz is an ass guy, he will appreciate something closer to the – rear end.” He waves his hand in the general vicinity of Shane’s butt.

“I’m not going to get a – tramp stamp.” Shane hisses the words, and Bood lets out a snort.

“Cap would love that,” he says.

“Property of Ilya Rozanov,” Dykstra imitates, and Shane thinks that he would like to die now, thank you very much. Sure, Ilya will be sad, but if it gets Shane out of this conversation, he figures his husband will just have to learn to live with it.

He briefly wonders whether the parlor offers general anesthesia, but then the tattooist reenters the room.

She stops upon entry, taking in the group of Centaurs. They’re all pointing towards various parts of Shane’s body, all talking over each other, and Shane doesn’t remember the last time he felt so embarrassed, except it’s also sort of – nice?

He tries to imagine Comeau and Drapeau engaging in a serious conversation over which of his body parts Ilya might find more attractive. He lets out an involuntary snort, effectively stemming the flow of conversation. They all turn to him with purely disguised anticipation.

“I have a plan,” Shane says.

The plan, it turns out, is strikingly similar to the original one although it does require a quick phone call to Lisa, Hayes’s wife. She joins them on FaceTime which Shane refuses to feel self-conscious about. It’s important to him that the tattoo is placed in its proper, anatomical position.

Once done, every singly Centaur insists on taking a selfie with Shane to tease Ilya about later.

“Later” is exactly eight days after the appointment when every single Centaur turns up to the Halloween party freakishly early, not wanting to miss the reveal. Shane gives them a non-plussed look as they’re standing on the porch. Ilya, too, is mildly perplexed but lets them in all the same.

However excited their teammates look, none is more so than Shane. He has had a hellish week of it, trying to convince Ilya that he wasn’t interested in any extracurricular bedroom activities.

Ilya, of course, had been perfectly gentlemanly, almost managing to convince Shane that he wasn’t disappointed and pretending to believe Shane’s excuse that his ribs “hurt too much”.

Ilya’s in the process of hanging up Chouinard’s and Selena’s coats when Shane gives him a peck on the cheek. “I need to change,” he whispers.

“Don’t be gone too long,” Ilya replies, “I’ll miss you.”

“Blah.” Young pretends to gag and Ilya gives him a good-natured ribbing.

“Your single ass is jealous,” Ilya says, and as they begin to bicker, Shane leaves them to it.

He goes upstairs and shuts himself in the bedroom. Now that it’s time, he is irrationally nervous, even knowing that Ilya is going to love it. Knowing he’s probably going to have to pry his husband’s lips away from his skin next time they need to leave the house.

Shane squares his shoulders. He’d applied the fake tattoos of the bear and the loon earlier in the day, and he’d snuck one of Ilya’s jerseys from the laundry basket, making sure it was clean for tonight.

Pulling it over his head, he regards himself in the mirror. He doesn’t exactly look like Ilya, not now that he, too, plays in his own Centaurs jersey, but of course, the jersey is not meant to be the main event.

He must have taken more time than he thought, because next he knows, Shane is pulled from his thoughts by a knock on the door.

“Sweetheart?” Ilya peers inside.

“You can come in.”

Ilya does, carefully, looking Shane up and down.

“I’m here to stave off any panic-induced costume breakdowns,” he says, and Shane has to bite back a smile at how well his husband knows him. He extends his arm to Ilya, letting him turn him in front of the mirror.

“You’re going as – me?” Ilya’s eyes darken as he takes in the name on his back.

“That was the plan.” Shane bites his lip, awaiting Ilya’s reaction.

It comes a moment later when Ilya pulls him to him, trailing kisses down his neck. “Very hot,” he says, “Everyone else will be jealous.”

“Everyone else is here with their wives and girlfriends – or their Harris.” Shane protests, but Ilya shakes his head.

“I have hottest spouse,” he says, “And with my name? No competition.”

Shane lets out an embarrassed huff, but he’s also secretly pleased. “Is my name, too,” he whispers.

“Oh, I remember.” Ilya leaves a lingering kiss at the spot behind his ear.

They stay like that for a moment. Then, Ilya sighs.

“We should go downstairs probably.” He sounds regretful even as he says it, but Shane supposes that it is a bit too soon to leave their own party.

He hums in acquiescence, accepting Ilya’s hand.

They descend the stairs to find that the rest of the guests have turned up. They tease them as they show up, hand in hand, and Ilya tells them to fuck off. Apart from this, everyone oohs and ahs at the decorations, and even Shane can admit that Ilya has outdone himself this year. The living room is nothing sort of stunning, and the food tastes like it was curated at a Michelin restaurant.

Shane doesn’t, however, miss the less-than-subtle looks that everyone keeps giving him as the night progresses – players and WAGs alike. Ilya, bless him, doesn’t notice anything, simply reveling in having Shane by his side.

Ilya has told him, now, about the breakdown he’d had three years ago. How he’d cried himself to sleep after Shane had driven away. It had pained Shane to hear it, and it pains him now, how he’d missed how sad he’d been back then.

It’s almost midnight when Shane decides that it’s time.

Shane squeezes Ilya’s hands, pulling him closer on the makeshift dance floor.

“I have a surprise for you,” Shane whispers. He has to stand on his toes to press his lips against Ilya’s ear, and he sways a bit as he stands back down. He’s had more to drink than he thought, but Ilya tightens his arms around him to keep him steady.

His husband hums. “Better than the costume?” he asks.

“It’s part of the costume,” Shane tells him, and this, more than anything else, garners Ilya’s attention. His eyes trail not so discreetly down his body.

Shane nods before leaning back to pull the jersey over his head, and Ilya lets out a protesting noise. Shane has to bite back a grin as he reveals the button-up underneath.

“Is sad,” Ilya declares, “My name on you was very hot.”

“That so?”

Ilya hums, and Shane takes hold of his hand to nudge it towards his top button. Ilya’s eyes widen and he gives Shane a sharp look.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“It’s very hot in here,” Shane says, “And I thought you might like to see your present.”

Ilya regards him carefully. “How much have you had to drink?” he asks. His hand rests against the buttons but hasn’t moved to open them yet. Every so often, his eyes stray to their teammates and their partners, every single one of whom is looking at them.

“It’s okay,” Shane says, “I want you, too.”

Ilya does not look entirely convinced, but he complies, opening the first one and the next before –

“Sweetheart.” Ilya lets out a bark of laughter. “Is this what I think it is?”

He’s caught sight of the bear tattoo, and he continues down, a bit less hesitatingly this time. He pulls the fabric to the side, not pulling it off entirely, but moving it enough to reveal the last of the makeshift tattoo.

“I had it made online,” Shane tells him, “But pretty neat, don’t you think?”

“It’s hot, is what it is.”

Shane smiles, pleased with himself.

“Did you know about this?” Ilya raises his voice to address the rest of the room. They’re all hiding various versions of the same smile, all waiting for the true reveal.

“I might have needed some emotional support.”

“Da?” Ilya laughs, “Scared it won’t rub off again?”

“Hmm, no…” Shane trails off, “That one will, I think.”

Ilya doesn’t miss his emphasis on that one, and very quickly the grin disappears from his face, replaced by thinly veiled curiosity.

“You have a loon, too?”

Shane hums. “Among other things,” he grins, and Ilya looks like nerves are cross-firing behind his eyes.

“Hollander,” he says slowly, “You hate tattoos.”

“That’s true…” Shane trails off, “But there’s an exception to every rule, isn’t there?”

Ilya’s gaze is on fire. Shane feels it burning through the fabric, searching inquisitively, hungrily, across his skin. His husband looks like he wants to devour him, and he hasn’t even seen it yet.

“Go on,” Shane whispers, feeling more emboldened by the second, “Open your present.”

Ilya doesn’t need to be told twice, although his fingers are trembling in a way that they weren’t before.

Shane keeps his eyes trained on Ilya, seeing the exact moment that he finds it. His mouth falls open, and there’s heat spreading across his cheeks, faster than Shane is able to track it. His pupils dilate, eyes turning glassy as they do.

“This – is real?”

It takes Ilya a few tries to formulate the words.

Shane nods. “It’s real,” he tells him, “And very, very permanent.”

Ilya lets out a shaky laugh. “Christ Hollander.”

Shane has more he wants to say, but he doesn’t get the chance. Ilya crashes their lips together in a show that’s definitely indecent in the middle of the living room. It doesn’t seem to bother their friends, though, who let out a cacophony of wolf whistles.

When they finally pull apart, Ilya addresses the room at large, although his eyes stay trained on the tattoo. “You knew about this,” he tells them accusingly, “All of you before me.”

“Someone had to hold his hand,” Dykstra says.

“They did not,” Shane protests amid the laughter, although it doesn’t matter. Ilya is very obviously not noticing anything besides the ink on Shane’s skin. He runs a careful finger across his chest.

“This is very obvious,” Ilya says, absolutely enthralled, “Very visible.”

“It is,” Shane nods.

“I always figured – if you got one – that it would be more discreet. Somewhere you could hide it.”

Shane hums. “I thought about it,” he says.

“But?” Ilya looks up at him, eyes going impossibly soft as he does.

Shane squeezes his hand.

“My heart belongs to you,” he whispers, “Why would I want to hide that?”

Ilya looks like he’s been run over by a truck. Like he can’t quite believe the words that Shane is saying. His fingers run across the name, slowly, cherishingly, like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

“Can I kiss you?” Ilya asks, forgetting the fact that he already has. His question is so earnest that Shane’s heart flutters a little. He sneaks his arms around Ilya’s neck, nodding as he does.

“Yes.” His hands tangle in his husband’s curls because they are right there, and Shane thinks it might be a crime not to touch them. “Yes, please.”

Ilya rewards him with a smile that has Shane’s heart doing somersaults in his chest.

The ensuing kiss is slow and reverent and not something that they should be engaging in in front of their teammates. It is also, however, exactly what Shane was aiming for, and so he lets out a pleased hum and deepens it.

Ilya tightens his arms around him, and Shane forces the intrusive thoughts away. They are not in Montreal. They are surrounded by teammates who support them. They are in the comfort of their own home. Their marital bed is just upstairs, and Shane and Ilya can do whatever they damn well please.

Shane sneaks his tongue into Ilya’s mouth, and although he is sure that the party continues around him, Shane doesn’t notice.

Based on Ilya’s reaction, neither does he.

Coming off of the high of the Halloween party, Shane and Ilya decide to throw their first – and last – ever Christmas party. To Ilya’s surprise, Shane is the one who is most enthusiastic about it, although Ilya is only too happy to support his husband in any and all enthusiastic endeavors.

Of course, either is yet to know that this will turn out to be Shane’s biggest PDA blunder to date and that, by the end of the night, Ilya will have come close to contacting law enforcement himself. This time, to report his family missing rather than the other way around.

Previous to this, however, Mr. and Mr. Hollander-Rozanov think that they are about to throw quite the party, thank you very much. They have been up since sunrise – Shane’s decision, not Ilya’s – and by the time the sun sets, their living room looks like a real-life winter wonderland.

The fire’s crackling in both of their fireplaces, an abundance of food is spread out on just about every conceivable surface, and Anya is wearing a bow that Shane had custom-made online. It matches Ilya’s tie, and Ilya has taken about seventy selfies with her so far.

To put it another way, Shane is exceptionally pleased with himself.

He’s also been working on the next steps of his plan for nearly a month, and he’s certain that this will be the night that it comes to fruition. The goal, of course, being for Ilya to initiate PDA without worrying that he will send Shane into a tailspin.

To achieve this particular goal, he has hung up an obscene amount of mistletoe so that it’s impossible to pass through an entryway without passing beneath a bundle. Shane is certain that his plan is foolproof. The perfect continuation of tattoo night.

Tragically, however, it is also what ends up ruining the night.

Unbeknownst to Shane, his husband has managed to spend nearly fourteen years in North America without picking up on the tradition of the mistletoe. More specifically, the kissing-part.

It means that when Ilya descends from the stairs, he takes a single glance at the bundle above Shane’s head, tells him it looks pretty – “like you, moya lyubov” – and then continues past him without so much as a peck on the cheek.

Shane, of course, does not realize that a cultural misunderstanding is underway and stares open-mouthed at the back of Ilya’s retreating form. In fact, he’s forced to watch as his husband picks up Anya, gives her a kiss and then three more “just to be thorough”. He’s recently learned the word from Jackie, and for the last week or so, Ilya has been unable to declare that his actions are anything but.

True to form, he gives Shane a proud smile which Shane attempts to return, all the while wondering what on Earth he has done to piss off his husband. He looks above his head, double-checks that it is indeed mistletoe, and then straightens the bow as if that might have caused Ilya any form of offense.

Shane’s spirits don’t improve as the night progresses, and their guests begin to arrive. In fact, Shane has to watch up close as every single couple stops beneath the mistletoe to kiss each other. Some, longer than others, and some, more than once.

Bood and Cassie engage in an entire make-out session beneath the entrance to the kitchen area, and Shane nudges Anya to not-so-gently pull at their trouser legs until they move.

At one point, Shane accidentally catches Ilya’s gaze, and Ilya merely gives him an amused smile before returning to his conversation with Barrett and Harris.

It’s more than Shane can handle, and before he has time to think through his actions, he’s left the living room and the house, stomping down the steps to their garden with alarming speed.

If Ilya doesn’t want to kiss him, Shane’s going to hang up so much mistletoe that his husband will have no choice, either to kiss him or to tell him why he won’t.

It’s unreasonably cold outside, and an unreasonably stupid idea, but Shane continues until he reaches the very back of their garden.

When Shane had first found the clump of mistletoe, he had thought it a stroke of fate. He couldn’t wait to surprise Ilya with it, but staring at the bushes now, Shane feels nothing but a dank, stale taste of humiliation burning at the back of his throat. He realizes, too, that he’s forgotten to bring the gardening shears along with him and swats angrily at the bush.

A branch catches Shane’s arm, and he lets out a hiss of pain as the thorns cut through his skin. He hadn’t brough a jacket with him, a fact he’s beginning to regret, and now his shirt is ruined too.

He yanks on his arm, but he miscalculates the grip that the bush has on him. He stumbles forward and before he’s able to catch himself, he falls headfirst into the mess of branches.

It takes him a moment to gather his surroundings, and once he does, he lets out a pained moan. A blackberry bush has hidden itself among the mistletoe and Shane is thoroughly stuck. One branch is caught near his throat, and Shane can’t move for fear of hurting himself further.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

He yells out loud but knows that it’s fruitless even before he opens his mouth. Literally everyone is in the house, including Anya, and the music is loud inside the living room. Besides, their garden is enormous and there’s a cluster of apple trees obscuring the path to the mistletoe.

Shane almost can’t believe how ridiculous this is.

He tries, again, to get free, but it feels impossible to move. He doesn’t usually consider himself to be particularly squeamish. He once finished a match with broken ribs, but somehow this is too much.

‘“Ilya!”

Again, there is no answer.

Shane tries and fails to quell a sob.

Everything hurts and he’s freezing and no one is near enough to hear his yells. He still can’t reach the branch that’s caught near his clavicle, and for the first time in a long time, Shane feels exceptionally stupid. He curses himself and his plans and wonders whether Ilya wouldn’t prefer to be with someone whose brain doesn’t work in constant overdrive. Someone who could kiss him without needing a fucking spreadsheet to coordinate it.

Shane stares helplessly into the night. Then, he closes his eyes.

He must have dozed off, he realizes, because when he opens them again, there are voices around him. He thinks one of them might be Dykstra and another might be Bood. They’re yelling for someone although Shane isn’t sure who. He tries to move but finds that the branches of mistletoe still cling uncomfortably to his skin.

He winzes and then there’s a voice that he would recognize anywhere.

“Shane!”

It’s off to the distance but becomes progressively louder as Shane tries and fails to move.

“Shane? Is it really – where is? – oh my god.”

Ilya must be speaking to Dykstra and Bood, but then the branches are moving, pulling on Shane’s skin. Shane tries not to hiss too loudly, tries not to let it show, because suddenly, Ilya is gloriously there.

“Sweetheart?”

Ilya crouches in front of him, taking in the sight of Shane which, Shane is sure, must be quite pitiful. Sure enough, his husband lets out a wounded noise and extends his arm to touch anywhere that he is able to reach.

“You s-shouldn’t b-be out h-here,” Shane says. His teeth are chattering and he sees that Ilya, too, has left the house without a coat.

“My love.” Ilya sounds absolutely scandalized. “Of course I should, what – what are you doing here? What happened to you?”

When Shane doesn’t answer, Ilya turns to Dykstra and Bood and barks at them to go get the gardening shears from the shed. Shane can discern a growing number of people next to them and tries his best not to let his mortification grow.

Thankfully, they all scramble off upon Ilya’s orders

Their gardener won’t appreciate this come April, Shane thinks, but he knows better than to point this out to his husband.

Ilya’s eyes are upon him yet again, and Shane gestures pathetically to the branch caught near his throat. His arm is still unable to reach it, and Ilya understands immediately.

He leans forward, hands ever so careful as they disentangle Shane from the plant.

It’s barely gone before Ilya leans forward, soothing the skin beneath his lips. Shane lets out a relieved moan, and Ilya turns to look at him.

There’s an almost feral expression on his face. “Are you okay?” His husband’s voice is frantic, hurried, and he keeps touching him, hands trailing across his arms, his legs, his torso, his chest. He doesn’t listen to Shane’s assurances, seemingly not able to trust anyone but himself, not even Shane, to make sure that Shane is okay.

Shane answers in the affirmative, but Ilya does not seem satisfied.

“Did someone –“ Ilya breaks off, forces himself to take a steadying breath, “Shane, sweetheart,” he tightens his grip around him, “You need to tell me if someone hurt you. Whether a stranger or – or a guest.” Ilya’s hands have settled against his cheeks, forcing Shane to look at him.

Shane frowns for a moment before reaching out as best he can to touch his husband. “I promise you,” he says, “I am okay. No one has hurt me.”

Ilya stays silent for a few moments, taking his time to determine whether Shane might be lying. His gaze doesn’t leave his, and Shane meets it head on, doing his best to soothe him. Finally, Ilya seems satisfied and his shoulders fall, just the tiniest bit.

“Then why - ?” Ilya seems at a loss for words, gaze flickering around before coming to land on Shane again, “Sweetheart, what are you doing out here? Why are you – hiding in the bushes?”

Shane gives an impatient huff as Ilya fails to name the parasitic plant.

His husband looks imploringly at him. Then, a different thought passes across his face, and a green hue overtakes his features, “You’re not hiding from me are you?” Ilya pulls away as he says the words, and Shane hurries to reassure him.

“Ilya, no.” The words leave Shane in a rush, “Never, my love, never.” He lets his fingers tangle with Ilya’s and gives them a reassuring squeeze.

“But then why – ?” Ilya’s voice breaks.

“It’s dumb,” Shane says, and Ilya hurries to reassure him.

“It’s not dumb if you’re sitting out here,” Ilya tells him.

Shane bites his lip. Ilya looks at him with such concern that Shane almost can’t stand it.

“You didn’t kiss me,” he says finally.

There’s a pause where Ilya simply blinks at him. So long, in fact, that Shane repeats the words. He’s immediately cut off, however, when Ilya surges forward and presses their lips together. It’s frantic and messy and it tastes like salt. Shane realizes that Ilya must have been crying and he pulls back to look at him.

“Better?” Ilya asks.

He looks so earnest that for a while Shane doesn’t understand what he’s saying. Then –

“I meant earlier.” Shane furrows his brow. “You didn’t kiss me inside.” He emphasizes the last word, hoping that Ilya will understand his meaning.

Ilya, it would seem, does not, and looks just as confused as he did two minutes ago. “I’ve kissed you,” he trails off.

Shane lets out an impatient huff.

“You didn’t kiss me under the mistletoe!” he says.

Ilya stays silent and Shane brazes for whatever his husband is about to tell him. Except Ilya doesn’t answer. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all, and when he finally reacts it is to angle himself closer, a feat which quite frankly should be impossible given their current predicament.

Shane thinks he’s about to kiss him again, but while Ilya is close enough to do so, he doesn’t lean forward.

Instead, his husband’s fingers trail across the freckles on his cheeks before coming to rest on each side of his face.

“Sweetheart,” Ilya whispers, “Did you hit your head? Does it hurt anywhere?” He tilts his head gently from side to side, fingers checking for bumps as he does.

“Ilya.” Shane tries his best to keep the impatience out of his voice, but Ilya’s hands are warm against him, doing nothing to quell the coldness seeping through his body.

“It’s all right,” Ilya assures him, “You have hit your head, but I will take you to the hospital. Don’t you worry, my love.”

“Ilya – “ Shane’s voice grows more insistent, “Baby. I promise you I haven’t.”

Ilya makes a small noise. “You are confused,” he says, “I will get you help. I won’t – I won’t let anything happen to you.” There’s an edge of desperation to Ilya’s voice and Shane realizes that he must resort to harsher methods.

“Ilya Hollander-Rozanov,” he says, “Will you please just stop and listen to me?”

It doesn’t carry the bite that Shane’s aiming for because his teeth are still chattering. Ilya does, however, shut up so Shane takes that as a victory.

On the other side of the bush, people are beginning to return with the gardening shears, and Shane realizes he has to hurry if he isn’t to be carded off to the hospital the minute they’re out of here.

“You are familiar with the Christmas tradition?” It’s intended as a statement but comes out sounding more like a question. Although, looking at his husband, Shane realizes that that might not have been a bad thing.

Ilya’s fingers curl in Shane’s hair, and he knows that Ilya still isn’t convinced that Shane is all right. There is, however, a tiny flicker of uncertainty in his eyes now which wasn’t there before.

“Christmas tradition?” he asks.

Shane wets his lips. “If someone is standing under the mistletoe you are supposed to kiss them,” he says, and judging by Ilya’s expression, he can conclude that no, his husband is not in fact familiar with this tradition.

Shane feels simultaneously mortified and relieved by this revelation.

“It’s tradition to hang up mistletoe for Christmas time,” he says.

“The ones that were hanging inside?”

“Yes.” Shane wets his lips. “When you didn’t kiss me, I thought – you might be mad at me. Or you might not be comfortable doing it in front of the team.”

“So – “ Ilya looks around – “You went to sit in bush?”

“I went to get more!” Shane hisses, aware that his cheeks are absolutely flaming by now. He tries to hide his face, but Ilya doesn’t let him.

“Sweetheart.” Ilya’s voice is gentle but firm as he pries Shane’s fingers away from his face. “Tell me you are not this stupid.”

“Fuck off.”

“I am serious.” Ilya places his fingers under Shane’s chin so that he’s able to look at him. “When have I ever said ‘no’ to a kiss?”

“I thought you knew!”

“You think I knew of super-secret-kissing-plant and would not have spent entire evening standing beneath it waiting for my husband?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to!”

Shane’s words come out louder than intended, and Ilya goes completely still. Then, it’s like his face shatters, absolute heartbreak overtaking every single feature.

“Sweetheart,” Ilya whispers.

His voice is so sad, so miserable, that Shane feels his eyes begin to sting.

Ilya seems to realize that he is reaching his breaking point and leans forward to press kisses to his eyelids, one after the other. He effectively stems the flow of tears, and Shane gives him a wobbly smile.

Ilya returns it before looking away. There is a frown on his face, Shane thinks, but Ilya does a good job at hiding it, and when he’s handed his own pair of gardening shears, he spares no time cutting Shane free.

Shane wants to ask him what’s wrong, except it has become nearly impossible to form words by this point. Ilya seems to realize it too and he works with determined efficiency until Shane is free again.

Ilya helps him out of the bush but avoids his gaze in the process. Shane doesn’t have time to dwell on it, however, because suddenly he’s standing, surrounded by a group of Centaurs, one more worried-looking than the other.

Thankfully, no one talks to him, letting Ilya take the lead, saying things that Shane is too tired to listen to.

It feels colder outside of the bush, and Shane is unsteady on his feet. He barely registers that he’s falling before Ilya catches him. His arms encircle him and before Shane has time to protest, Ilya’s lifting him, bridal-style.

“I can walk.”

Shane’s protest is feeble, and Ilya ignores it as he leaves the circle of Centaurs and starts carrying him towards their house.

“You’re freezing,” Ilya says, something undistinguishable in his voice, “Fuck, Shane, if we hadn’t found you – “ He cuts himself off, eyes still refusing to meet his.

“I’m sorry.”

Shane apologizes, and Ilya shakes his head. He presses a kiss to Shane’s temple and speeds up as they near the veranda.

Shane is mortified to discover that the rest of their guests are still here, many of them with their flashlights out, and all of them looking concernedly at him. He hides his face in Ilya’s neck, and Ilya makes a soothing noise.

Shane maintains that he’s able to walk, but Ilya simply tightens his arms around him like Shane weighs nothing. Their teammates and their partners all ask if Shane is okay, but Ilya doesn’t answer, asking them instead to move so that he’s able to pass.

Then, they’re in the house, but Ilya refuses to let him go even as they ascend the stairs. Not until they reach their bedroom does Ilya put Shane down.

Everything happens quickly from here on out. Ilya deposits Shane on the bed and drapes a blanket over him. He moves into the ensuite to run a bath, and then he disappears downstairs to get rid of their guests.

When, finally, he’s back again, Shane’s teeth chatter just a little bit less than they did outside.

Ilya offers to carry him into the bathroom, but Shane puts his foot down this time.

In the bathroom, they undress in silence. Ilya helps Shane with his buttons, pressing quick kisses to his shaking fingers. Then, he helps him into the bathtub, and Shane emits a moan of relief as the water surrounds him.

A few more seconds and Ilya’s sitting down behind him, enveloping him in his arms.

Once he begins to defrost, Shane lets Ilya wash his hair, his husband’s fingers tender as they massage his scalp.

Ilya keeps checking in, keeps asking Shane if the water is all right, if he’s cold, if something’s hurting him. Every so often, he pauses to press a kiss to a cut, to whisper sweet nothings against his skin. Whenever Shane shivers, Ilya’s hands are there, warming him, caressing him, never wavering until Shane is warm and soft and pliable against him.

When the water begins to cool, and their fingers begin to wrinkle, Ilya helps him out of the water and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. He wraps him in towels and leads him into the bedroom.

Still, Ilya doesn’t look at him.

Shane is pulling on his pajama buttons when he concludes that yes, something is wrong. Ilya moves in jerky gestures, and whenever Shane tries to catch it, Ilya avoids his gaze.

“Baby?” Shane’s voice is soft, barely audible, but Ilya tenses all the same.

Shane stops to look at him. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Ilya says, voice decidedly not fine.

Shane bites his lip. It’s in moments like these where he wishes he was better at understanding social cues. Ilya has just spent hours looking for Shane, saving him from his own stupidity, nursing his cuts, washing his hair, and now that Ilya needs him, Shane is utterly at a loss. He aches to reach out, to comfort him, but he’s not sure if that is what Ilya wants. Not sure how to be the husband that Ilya needs.

“You don’t sound fine.” Shane’s voice is unsure, and Ilya shakes his head, except he also brushes away a tear.

Shane shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “Are you angry with me?” he asks.

Ilya’s lips are drawn into a thin line, and when he finally answers, his eyes are closed. “I wish you’d told me about your plans with the mistletoe.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shane wishes that Ilya would open his eyes. Wishes that his husband would look at him. Wishes he knew what he was thinking. “I’m sorry I ruined the night.”

“That’s not –“ Ilya cuts himself off with a shaky laugh, “That is not the problem here.”

“Then what is?”

“I did not know about the mistletoe.” Ilya repeats the words, but his eyes are open now, gaze settling on Shane. “Did not know what you wanted me to do.”

Shane has the distinct feeling that he’s missing something, although he doesn’t know what it is. “I thought you knew,” he says, a bit desperately, “I didn’t – I wanted it to be a surprise. I just…” he trails off, feeling embarrassed as he does, “Just wanted you to kiss me.”

“Then you need to tell me!”

The words come out as a yell, and Shane is so stunned that he takes a step back, his back hitting their closet as he does.

For a devastating moment, both men freeze.

Shane realizes belatedly that it is the first time in nearly fourteen years of being together that Ilya has raised his voice at him.

Ilya seems to realize the same thing, and a sudden look of horror overtakes his features. His hands begin to shake, fingers curling into fists, and he starts muttering the same thing over and over again.

It takes Shane a few moments to realize that it’s the word “sorry”.

“Ilya.” Shane’s voice is gentle, and Ilya shakes his head, eyes trained on the floor.

Shane doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he doesn’t like it, “Please look at me,” he whispers, voice breaking as he does.

Ilya shakes his head. Then he gasps. His legs give way underneath him and he sits down on the bed. “I am sorry,” he says again, seemingly oblivious to Shane’s words, “I don’t –,“ His hands clench around the bedspread, pausing only when Shane reaches out to stop him. “I scared you,” Ilya cries, “I did not mean to yell.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Shane assures him, “You startled me, that’s all.”

Ilya repeats the words like a mantra, and then – “I acted like my father.”

“No.” The word is punched from Shane before his mind has time to catch up. “Ilya, baby, no, you are nothing like him. Okay? Nothing. You are – God – you are so good to me, baby, so good.”

Ilya’s face is one of complete devastation and Shane swears he can feel his heart breaking. He tells him again that he is okay, that he understands, but Ilya is beyond reach.

“Last year –“ There are tears in Ilya’s eyes, and Shane aches to soothe him. “Last year when the police called, I thought something had happened to you.”

Shane makes a distressed noise, and Ilya shakes his head. “I thought you had been in an accident or that – someone had hurt you. I thought –“ He’s unsuccessful in suppressing a sob, “I thought I had lost you sweetheart, and then tonight – “

Ilya’s entire body is shaking by now, and this time, Shane doesn’t hesitate. He walks around the bed to bridge the gap between them. He sits down next to Ilya and pulls him into his arms.

“You need to tell me.” Ilya’s voice is hysterical. “You need to tell me when you need something from me. I can’t – I need –” Ilya gasps, the words getting caught in his throat, “I need to be there for you,” he says, “I need you to trust me – please trust me, moya lyubov.”

Shane had known that the ordeal of last year had hurt Ilya. Had known that Ilya had quelled his own feelings to soothe Shane’s. Naively, Shane had hoped that it had resolved itself. Had hoped that Ilya’s talks with Galina had been enough to ease his distress. But Shane is Ilya’s spouse, not Galina, and he should have known better.

He should have sensed his husband’s hurt. His fear. He shouldn’t have let it come to this.

While Shane attempts to calm him, Ilya presses kisses to his hair, his temple, his cheek. He kisses down his neck, his shoulder, his chest. He continues until he reaches Shane’s heart, lips warm where they press against his skin. “I can’t lose you, moya lyubov, I can’t.”

Shane shushes him, but he’s not sure that Ilya’s consciously listening right now.

“You’re my family,” Ilya says, “You’re my everything, I can’t do it again Shane, please don’t – “ his words are broken by a sob – “Please don’t make me. I’m begging you, please don’t make me do it again. Please don’t, I can’t – I can’t.”

Ilya’s hands tighten around Shane, and Shane can’t help the sound that escapes him. He holds his husband, making no attempt to quell the tears even as they’re streaming down his face.

“I’m right here.” Shane’s voice is gentle but certain, “I am right here, and I am never leaving you, you understand? My darling?” He presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I am never going anywhere without you.” He traces gentle patterns across Ilya’s scalp in the way that he knows his mother used to do. “Can you feel my heart?”

Ilya lets out another sob, but it’s accompanied by a faint nod of the head.

Shane continues with shaking breath. “It beats for you, my love, always for you. And as long as you are here? It is never going to stop.”

Ilya is wrecked by now, tears and sobs mingling in helpless abandon. He’s shaking beneath his fingers, and Shane holds him, rocking gently back and forth. He whispers sweet nothings in his ear, sometimes in English, sometimes not. Sometimes in that shared language of love known only to them.

Shane cries, too. He cries for his husband. For the mother that loved him too shortly, and the father that loved him too badly. He cries for the brother who didn’t love him at all, and he cries for himself. He, who had to wait his turn, heart stuttering helplessly with every painful parting. Aching always to stay. Aching always to bridge that gap between them, to merge two halves so obviously meant to be a whole.

“How I wish you could see it,” Shane whispers, “How I wish I could show you. Oh, we are going to have such a beautiful life, my love.” Shane fights to get his voice under control as he cradles Ilya against him. “So many summers spent at the cottage. House filled with our children’s laughter. Taking them to the ice rink on Saturdays and eating too many pancakes on Sundays. Hearing about their school days. Seeing them grow up. Watching them bring home our grandchildren. Huddling together on couches that grow too small beneath the weight of our family.”

Ilya is struggling to breathe at this point, he’s crying that badly.

“And the two of us…” Shane doesn’t stop, refuses to let up until Ilya sees it too. “Thousands of nights spent falling asleep in each other’s arms. And when the sun rises, we’ll kiss each other and tell each other that we love each other. Not because we have to, but because we want to. Because it’s true. On the good days and on the bad days and on the sad days. On the days when we are so incandescently happy that we can’t stop smiling as our lips meet. Again and again and again ‘till we’re breathless and mindless with love.”

Slowly, miraculously, Ilya’s sobs begin to subside. Even then, Shane doesn’t slacken his grip, doesn’t lessen his kisses. “We will share a lifetime together,” Shane tells him, “Because nothing less is enough to contain the love I feel for you.”

He continues to talk, to comfort, until finally, Ilya gains control of his voice again.

“Pancake Sundays,” he whispers, “I like that.”

The words are quiet, whispered against the warmth of Shane’s skin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” There’s another nod, faint but there. “You will make banana pancakes,” Ilya says, “Worried they’re eating too much sugar. We will protest, and you will lose.”

Shane lets out a shaky laugh. “You think so?”

“Yes.” Ilya hums. “Our children’s pouts are too adorable.”

“I have no doubt,” Shane says, and then, as an afterthought, he asks, “How many children?”

“Five.” Ilya’s answer comes so quickly that Shane’s momentarily taken aback. It’s an obscene number considering the fact that their current tally is zero. However, once the number gets a chance to settle, it’s not as scary as it sounds.

“Five, huh?”

“Yes.” There’s a determined edge to Ilya’s voice. “Can’t let Pike win.”

It is so very Ilya wanting to one-up Hayden even in this that Shane can’t help the snort that escapes him. Immediately, because that’s the way Shane’s brain works, he starts running through logistics.

Their house doesn’t have enough bedrooms for five children, but the property is big, so building an extension shouldn’t be a problem. Also, they’ll have to buy a minivan, but his preferred brand does make a lot of those, all of which come highly recommended.

Before that, however, he’ll have to check the quality of the school district. Anya won’t be happy to leave her home, but Shane won’t compromise on their education.

“You’re thinking.” Ilya says.

“I like the sound of five,” Shane tells him, because suddenly he can’t imagine their family without them. Five small Hollander-Rozanovs running around the backyard.

“I’m glad.” Ilya’s voice is soft. “Your genes are too beautiful not to pass on.”

“You want – to use my genes?” Shane’s breath stutters.

“Yes.” Ilya’s voice is quiet. “Yes, I think so.

“For – all of them?”

“Yes.” Ilya sounds even surer now.

There’s another conversation to be had there, Shane thinks, but not now. For now, he doesn’t argue. “You know they’ll be cautious and anxious the whole bunch of them.”

“Good.” His husband’s hand finds his and gives it a squeeze. “Then I’ll love them all the more.”

It takes all of Shane’s willpower not to break down in the face of such certainty. To know that Ilya loves him not despite of the way his brain works but because of it. To know that Ilya doesn’t look at him and sees the flaws that others do. To know that Ilya treasures him so much that he wants five children just like him.

As if he can sense Shane’s unrest, Ilya turns his head and presses another kiss above his heart. His fingers trail a gentle pattern across the name below it, and Shane feels so loved, so seen, that he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Ilya whispers, and Shane shushes him.

“It’s all right,” he says.

“No.” Ilya shakes his head. “I should have told you what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have let you guess. I’m sorry sweetheart.”

Shane presses a kiss to his hair, knowing Ilya would never do anything to deliberately hurt or confuse him. In fourteen years of being together, he’s yet to see this, too.

They continue to talk, sharing dreams of a future that will one day become reality. And every time a tear escapes his husband, Shane is there to kiss it away.

He promises to do better. Promises to let Ilya inside. Promises to explain what he’s thinking, also when it’s hard, especially when it’s hard.

Eventually, they settle next to each other, arms and legs tangled so that it’s impossible to tell where one begins and the other one ends.

Shane prefers it like this. He knows some people don’t understand it. Don’t understand how they can live together and work together and never tire of being together. Don’t understand how a peck on the lips still makes his toes curl after fourteen years.

Shane feels sorry for those people.

That Christmas, Shane makes another vow never to see such devastation cross his husband’s face again. For this reason, he takes great care keeping his promise to Ilya, however awkward he might feel about it.

The first true test comes as January turns into February, and the stores around Ottawa turn simultaneously pink. Initially, Shane is mildly confused about the shocking display of brightness. Then, he’s ashamed to admit that it took him that long to realize what was happening.

For so many years of their relationship, Valentine’s Day was nothing but a cruel reminder of everything that they were not allowed to have. Then, when they finally got together, Shane and Ilya were always apart on that day. Of course they’ve shared two such days as a married couple, but on the first they both embarrassingly forgot, and on the second, they were sick with the flu.

This year, however…

Shane makes up his mind before he leaves the store, and when he comes home, he just about manages to put away the groceries before he pulls out his trusted binder. It’s been a fair amount of time since he last looked at it, but the lists are still there in their proper places, calling to him as he rifles through them.

Ilya is carrying out captain’s duties at the rink and so, Shane has three hours to complete his plan. Anya supports him in her own quiet way, snuggling up against him as he scribbles a first, a third and a fifth draft. Their bond has grown stronger since the ordeal at the police station, and more often than not, Ilya is the one who must uphold their rules when it comes to her. He complains about Shane taking the role of good cop, but Shane thinks that he’s secretly pleased.

Once he is done, Shane reads it out loud for Anya. She wags her tail, and he nods, taking it as support for his plan.

That night during dinner, Shane presents Ilya with the first-ever list intended for both their eyes. Ilya takes it, scans it, and furrows his brow. “What is this?” he asks.

“It’s a PDA list for Valentine’s Day,” Shane says, “I’ve listed all the things that I would be comfortable with you doing. PDAs and DAs, whatever you want. You can look it over and choose your favorite one. If you want to, of course.” Shane’s quick to add the last bit and bites his lip. He knows that he’s rambling.

For a while, Ilya doesn’t say anything, eyes scanning the paper. Then, he looks up at Shane, a slow smile making its way onto his face. “You made this for me?” he asks.

Shane can feel the beginnings of a blush crawling its way across his face. “I’m going to do something for you, too,” he tells him, “An item from the list but I won’t tell you which one unless you want me to.” Secretly, Shane’s planning on doing two, but there’s no reason to tell Ilya that.

Ilya rises from the table, and for a horrible moment, Shane thinks he’s going to leave. Then, he leans down and presses a kiss to his cheek. “This is the greatest gift,” he tells him, “You do not need to do anything else.”

Shane can only imagine how this might look from the outside, one spouse handing the other a list of requests for Valentine’s Day. Ilya, however, looks so devastatingly happy that Shane thinks he’s done it right this time.

Then, as if to prove his point, Ilya presses a kiss to his mouth, too, deepening it when Shane attempts to protest. “Perfect gift,” Ilya repeats as he leans back, “I will frame it.”

Shane feels embarrassed now, but Ilya’s already jumping up the stairs, two steps at a time.

He looks at Ilya’s plate, his dinner half-eaten and fully forgotten. Then, he shrugs and digs into his own meal, listening to the sounds of his husband’s footsteps running back and forth across the floor above him.

True to his words, two weeks later Shane is ready to execute the first of his own two items. Embarrassingly, however, it goes to shit no more than a few moments after he wakes.

The plan was to make Ilya a candle-lit breakfast in bed. He’d gone to five different stores on the previous day, making sure to pick out every single condiment that he knows Ilya loves but doesn’t always buy because they’re difficult to get in Canada. Initially, Shane would have made dinner, but they have an away-game tomorrow and so, they have to fly out tonight.

This means that when Shane wakes up and finds Ilya already gone, he’s momentarily put out. Not nearly as put out, however, as he is thirty seconds later when the door opens, and Ilya comes in bearing a tray.

“Are you kidding me?” Shane asks.

Ilya pauses for a second, before continuing forward. “Good morning to you too, moya lyubov.” He deposits the tray in Shane’s lap before leaning forward to give him a kiss.

He’s brushed his teeth, Shane notes, and he hums appreciatively as Ilya deepens the kiss. It is tender and loving, and it makes Shane groan in frustration when his husband pulls away.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Ilya whispers, and Shane tries to quell his disappointment at not being able to do this for him.

“I borrowed some of your, ah, purchases,” Ilya continues, looking a little sheepish as he does, “Did not want them to go to waste.”

Shane shakes his head. “You should have stayed in bed,” he says, “Let me do this.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Ilya says, and he looks so earnest that Shane can feel his disappointment melting away, “A voluptuous breakfast for my forever valentine.”

Shane can’t help the snort that escapes him. “Has my dad been reading you the New Yorker again?”

Ilya nods solemnly. “Two-hour podcast while doing our latest puzzle.”

“My poor baby,” Shane leans forward to rest a hand against his cheek, “We’ll make you boring yet.”

Ilya uses the opportunity to plant a kiss against his knuckles.

“Seriously though,” Shane pulls back to look at the food before him, “This looks delicious.”

“Good.” Ilya gives him a shit-eating grin. “You’ll need your sustenance for our next activities.”

Shane throws a grape at him, which Ilya somehow catches. It does nothing to dampen his husband’s mood, and Shane has to look away if he is to digest his food without a racing heart.

Later, after Ilya’s more-than-exhaustive morning itinerary, Shane shows up to practice only to find that his stall has been decked out in flowers. The sheer amount is quite frankly ridiculous, especially taking into account that they will be getting on a plane after practice to fly to New York.

It is especially embarrassing because he’s arranged for a bouquet to be delivered to Ilya’s stall, too, and it is mortifyingly small in comparison.

Ilya, of course, does not react to the difference in size. In fact, he turns positively red at seeing the lilies and pulls Shane into a kiss the minute he’s within arm’s reach.

“I hate this day,” Young grumbles. His girlfriend has broken up with him, and Shane attempts a sympathetic look while simultaneously trying to recover from the kiss his husband’s just given him.

In an attempt at finding a middle ground, Shane pulls open the top locker only to be hit over the head by a box of chocolates.

“Ah.” Ilya is quick to catch it before depositing it into Shane’s arms, “Sorry, my love.” He presses a kiss to the top of Shane’s head and then continues pulling out his gear as if he hasn’t bought out half a store to decorate Shane’s stall.

There are a few raised eyebrows as the rest of their teammates begin to trickle in, but all the comments are nice, albeit teasing, and Shane appreciates that no one makes a big deal about it. A few declare that they’re glad that their own partners aren’t here to witness Ilya’s grand gestures, but that’s about the end of it.

At least, Shane had thought that that would be the end of it.

They are about halfway through morning skate when Ilya beckons him out into the middle of the rink. The rest of the team is hydrating near the rafters, so Shane merely gives him an amused look before taking his hand.

It takes Shane a moment to realize what Ilya is pointing at. Once he does, he feels himself turn dangerously red.

Ilya has drawn a heart on the ice, using his skates.

“Ilya.” Shane looks at him. “This was not what I meant by that item.”

Ilya, of course, knows this but does not appear to give a damn.

Shane looks between the heart and Ilya’s way-too-pleased expression. Wiebe is shaking his head somewhere in the background, but Shane can’t pay attention to that right now.

There’s a thought nagging him, growing ever louder with every passing second.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and then – he realizes what is happening.

Shane has spent so much time curating it that he doesn’t need the actual list to be able to run through it. To know that Ilya’s working his way through it, too.

Every.

Single.

Item.

“Ilya.“ Shane lowers his voice, absolutely scandalized, but Ilya’s smile grows somehow bigger, and he looks so very pleased with himself that Shane barely knows how to respond.

“Baby,” he tries, “That was not – You aren’t – You can’t.” Shane splutters, and Ilya responds by pressing a kiss to his cheek. It is loud and sloppy, and normally, Shane would tell him off for doing it in the middle of practice, except, Shane also sort of wants to snog him, to put into action what he’s failing to put into words.

He settles for a glare instead, but judging by Ilya’s facial expressions, his husband knows exactly what he’s thinking. He wriggles his eyebrows, and Shane tells him to fuck off.

It makes Ilya laugh even louder.

“Why are you so perfect?” Shane groans, and he literally has to look away in order not to jump his husband at center ice. He’s vaguely aware that the break must be over by now, but Shane can’t find it in himself to care.

They get a few more seconds of peace, and then Wiebe’s voice sounds across the ice, telling them to get their asses in gear. Ilya gives Shane a final wink, and then he’s skating away, leaving his husband more than inordinately flustered.

The rest of the day progresses in a similar fashion. Every time Shane thinks that now, surely, Ilya must be done, his husband presents him with another surprise. He orders food from Shane’s favorite restaurant during lunch break, and he puts candles on the table while they eat, throwing dangerous looks at any teammates who so much as breathe in their direction. There’s another travel-sized bouquet for Shane to take with him on the plane, and it is still somehow bigger than the one Shane bought him.

When they land in New York, Ilya has booked the penthouse at the hotel – much to their teammates’ relief – and he has made reservations at one of the fanciest restaurants in town. During dinner, Ilya presents him with a new state-of-the-art fitness watch and a gift card for a weekend getaway to Tofino.

Shane flinches as he opens that final one, and Ilya looks at him in distress.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, already half out of his chair, “Don’t you like it? We can go somewhere else. Only, you mentioned last year how you’ve always wanted to visit, and so I thought…”

Ilya trails off, and Shane shakes his head.

“It’s perfect,” he chokes out, “Absolutely perfect.”

Ilya drags his chair closer to Shane and sits down again. “What is it, moya lyubov?” His voice is quiet, suddenly filled with worry, and Shane feels stupid for ruining the mood.

“This is too much,” Shane whispers, and Ilya frowns.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya says, mouth turning down in a frown, ”I just – I was so happy when you gave me the list. I shouldn’t have tried to do them all.”

“No, that’s not –“ Shane takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, “You misunderstand me,” he whispers, “Everything is perfect. I just wish that I had given you more than a failed breakfast and some half-ass lilies.”

Ilya makes a wounded noise. “Lilies were beautiful,” he says, “I had Harris put them in water before we left.”

“Yes, but –“

“No buts.” Ilya raises a finger and rests it against his lips. “I wanted to do this for you because of all you do for me.”

Shane goes to protest, but Ilya doesn’t listen.

“I know what the binder looks like,” he says, “I know how many hours you’ve poured into – this.” He waves his arm in the general direction of the restaurant. “I know your brain, Shane Hollander.” He presses a kiss to his temple. “I know how much you do for me.”

“It’s Hollander-Rozanov,” Shane corrects him, and Ilya smiles the smile that has Shane’s heart doing somersaults in his chest.

“I know,” his husband tells him. He trails a finger across Shane’s chest where the tattoo is hidden.

Embarrassingly, Shane’s lip begins to quiver. “You’re not tired of my brain?” he whispers.

“Shane, sweetheart.” Another kiss replaces the first one, and then another and another. “I love your brain,” he says, “I am its number one fan. It is … Christ, darling, so beautiful. I wish you could see it yourself.”

Shane can’t help himself. He leans forward and kisses him, more deeply than he should be doing in the middle of the restaurant.

He’s sure there’s a waiter or two glaring daggers at them, but Shane doesn’t care. Let them throw them out if they want to. Shane will drag Ilya back to their penthouse and show him just how much he loves him.

“Tofino is a beautiful idea,” Shane whispers, afterwards, “I can’t wait.”

Ilya hums. “Neither can I, my love.”

Ilya had been absolutely ecstatic upon discovering that Family Day was an official holiday in the province of Ontario. While he might have forgotten Valentine’s Day that first year, Ilya had gone all out for this particular holiday. In fact, his excitement might have contributed to forgetting the former which was celebrated only two days before the latter.

While Shane had never done anything to recognize the day, he did not have the heart to tell Ilya that for most Ontarians, Family Day was nothing but an extra day off work. But of course, Shane had always been able to take a family for granted, while Ilya had lost his on the day his mother died.

Accordingly, Shane let Ilya do whatever he wanted to do on this day, and for the third year in a row, this included a family outing to the local dog park. Anya, too, he argued, had been abandoned by a family once and should not feel neglected on this day of all days.

This year, however, Shane thinks that Ilya might be regretting the outing, because this year Anya has decided to fall in love.

She doesn’t do it gracefully, either. She does it head-over-paws, unblinkingly, unashamedly, in a candid Romeo and Juliet-imitation.

They see each other across the pond, and Shane watches in astonishment as the two freeze before running around it at alarming speed. They meet somewhere to the left of it, colliding as they do. Shane’s astonishment, however, is nothing compared to the abject horror that overtakes his husband’s features. The dog – Duke, they will come to learn – is an Australian Shepherd, slightly bigger than Anya, and, according to her, an absolute stud.

At least, this is Shane’s assumption based on Anya’s behavior. She throws herself down in front of him, and Shane can only pray that he himself had looked slightly more dignified upon encountering Ilya for the first time. He knows better than to ask his husband, though, not that he thinks Ilya is currently capable of conversation.

He whistles for Anya to return, and for the first time in his life, Anya doesn’t answer. Shane reaches for Ilya to try and comfort him, but Ilya breaks into a run, not stopping until he’s reached the dogs.

He is, once again, ignored by their sweet, innocent girl.

Shane reaches Ilya at the same time as a couple who, Shane presumes, must be the other dog’s owners. They are both young, looking to be around Shane and Ilya’s age, but opposed to Ilya they appear amused rather than abhorred at their dogs’ antics.

That is, until the man looks up and visibly pales at the sight of Ilya.

Hockey fan, Shane supposes, a fact that is confirmed when the man’s eyes flicker to his, and he loses the rest of his color. Shane gives them a small smile, hoping to offset the anger that’s currently rolling off of Ilya in waves.

“Oh, hello!” The woman gives a slight wave, and she very obviously does not know who Shane and Ilya are. “Gotten a new friend, have we? We were so worried that he wouldn’t after leaving Toronto. We just moved here.” She adds to Shane and Ilya.

Shane’s about to welcome them when Ilya takes a step forward, all rigid posture and bared teeth. “And what exactly is your intentions with our dog?”

“Jesus, Ilya.” Shane is about to tell him off, except Ilya isn’t looking at the couple. He’s glaring daggers at the dog who’s currently sniffing Anya.

A single glance at Anya tells Shane that it is very much consensual.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re honorable.” The woman laughs, not put off by Ilya in the slightest. This, in contrast to the man by her side who’s visibly taken a step back at Ilya’s words.

“Let me apologize for my husband,” Shane says with a pointed look in Ilya’s direction. Ilya ignores him. “He can be a bit intense when it comes to Anya.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” The woman leans down to pet Anya. “She’s absolutely gorgeous, isn’t she? No wonder our Duke’s enthralled. I’m Mary,” she says, “This is Léo.” She points towards her husband who has yet to regain the power of speech.

Shane makes their own introductions, and he learns that Mary and Léo have moved here for work. They’re both to work as nurses at the local hospital.

“Then you might meet Lisa Hayes,” Shane supplies, “She’s the wife of one of our colleagues.”

Léo lets out a squeak that Shane politely ignores.

“Why don’t the two of you come over for dinner?” Mary asks, “Bring Anya along? We know absolutely no one in this town. Feel free to say no, of course!”

The question is addressed to the both of them, but only Shane hears it. Ilya is still busy staring at Duke, arms crossed. Shane tries not to let his exasperation show while simultaneously pretending that Protective Ilya isn’t credibly sexy.

“We’d love to,” Shane says, hoping that his blush isn’t as apparent as it feels.

As if she understands his words, Anya lets out a small bark and wags her tail. Ilya gives her a pained look, but her face is one of such happiness that even he can’t be impervious to it. A bit of tension leaves his soldiers, and Shane sneaks an arm around his waist, hoping to alleviate the rest of it.

As expected, Ilya melts against him, and Shane smiles in satisfaction.

“Tomorrow at 7?” Mary asks, and Shane nods.

“Sounds perfect.”

“If you give me your number, I can text you the address.”

Next to Mary, Léo looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. Mary gives him a confused look, but doesn’t otherwise react while finalizing their plans.

Shane only hesitates for a second before rattling off his phone number. Léo looks surprised by this and so, in fact, does Ilya, who has finally torn his gaze away from Anya to partake in the conversation. Shane merely smiles and gives Ilya a comforting squeeze.

Mary seems nice. She reminds Shane of Rose a little bit, and Shane doesn’t want to live his life in fear. He has spent too many years doing that already. If he and Ilya are to start a family, they can’t send their children out into the world without the ability to trust. Besides, he and Ilya don’t have a lot of non-hockey friends and maybe this will be good for them. Although, judging by Léo’s face, he’s not entirely ignorant of the hockey world.

Once Shane confirms that he has received the address, Mary lets out an excited squeal. “Our very first Ottawa friends,” she says. She grabs Léo’s hand who makes an honest attempt at matching her excitement.

Even Ilya can’t quite ignore it, although it’s soon quelled when Mary whispers that they might soon call themselves in-laws.

Shane gives her a tight smile, only too aware that this was not the right thing to say.

“Anya!” Ilya quips.

Anya is still enthralled by Duke but Ilya, it would seem, has reached his limit for the day. She dutifully returns to her papa’s side, giving him one of the saddest looks Shane thinks he’s ever seen cross her little face. Bar, perhaps, when Shane had gone and gotten himself arrested.

“Well, “ Mary looks conspiratorially at Shane, “Might be too soon, but you never know!”

Ilya looks positively ill, and Shane tugs on his hand, before Mary and Léo come to think that it has anything to do with them.

They say their goodbyes, and as they walk away, Ilya keeps Anya on a leash so short, Shane worries they’re going to trip over each other. Every so often, she looks at Shane, hoping that he might be more reasonable than Ilya, but judging by Ilya’s face, now is not the time to plead her case.

Shane gives a small shake of the head and Anya miraculously seems to understand. She behaves all the way to the car and Shane promises to give her an extra treat when they return home.

Not until next evening, when they’re on their way to Mary and Léo’s, does Shane broach the topic.

“You know,” he says, eyeing the way Ilya’s knuckles grab the steering wheel, “Duke does seem like a nice young… male.”

Ilya’s answer is only partly in English and entirely incomprehensible.

“What was that?”

Ilya speaks through gritted teeth as he repeats himself. “No man who looks at a woman like that does it with honest intentions.”

“Speaking from experience, are you?”

Ilya lets out another growl, and Shane extends his hand to Ilya’s. He coaxes him to slacken his grip, and Ilya does, reluctantly.

“Anya’s allowed to have friends too,” he placates.

“Of course she is.” Ilya scoffs. “But does she need to have friends?”

Shane bites his lip. He’s just about to remind him of a certain pair of teenagers but Ilya interrupts him.

“Not a word, Hollander.”

Shane fails to suppress a smile. He literally can’t wait to give this man some children. Can’t wait to raise a family with him. He knows that it’s still a few years off. Knows that they’ve only just started talking about it for real. Knows that it won’t be as easy for them as it is for other couples. But the thing is that now that they’ve started, Shane can’t stop thinking about it. Sometimes, he catches himself looking forward to retirement, finding that the prospect isn’t nearly as scary anymore.

He doesn’t say any of this out loud, though.

“I love you,” he says instead.

Ilya shoots him a surprised look, and Shane tells him to mind the road.

“I love you, too,” Ilya says, because he has never once failed to say those words when given the chance.

A few minutes later they’re parking. Ilya moves to leave, but Shane holds on to him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says.

Ilya leans back in his seat. He turns to face Shane, but doesn’t say anything, which Shane appreciates.

“I want you to hold my hand,” Shane says.

Ilya quirks his brow, looking down to where their hands are currently clasped together.

“Inside, I mean.” Shane bites his lip, not quite looking at Ilya as he speaks. “I want you to hold my hand inside the house. They were holding hands yesterday and it looked… nice.”

For a moment, Ilya just looks at him. As always making sure that what Shane says matches how he actually feels.

“You’re not just saying this for Anya’s sake? To distract me?”

“I’m not just saying this for Anya’s sake.”

“I understand if you are.” Ilya grimaces. “I was a bit, ah – much, yesterday.” He looks to the back seat where Anya’s looking excitedly at them.

Shane makes a disapproving sound. “You are never too much,” Shane assures him, “Never. I want you. Just as you are.”

“Yeah?” There’s a dimpled grin on Ilya’s face, and Shane nods.

“Very sexy,” Shane whispers, and Ilya’s grin turns into a full-blown smile, the sort that sets Shane’s nerve-endings on fire. It’s entirely inappropriate right before their dinner date.

And then, because Ilya still looks a bit confused, Shane raises Ilya’s hand to his lips and gives it a kiss. “I want you to hold my hand,” he says, “Because I want to be someone who’s not afraid to hold your hand in public. I want to show you off. I want people to be jealous because I pulled Ilya Hollander-Rozanov, and everyone else must be content to settle.”

“Christ, Hollander.” Ilya’s voice is rougher than usual. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“That depends,” Shane leans forward, “Is it working?”

“I don’t know.” Ilya grins. “Might need some more convincing.”

Their lips meet in the middle, and Shane lets out a moan. Ilya smiles into the kiss, and Shane flicks his cheek, although he doesn’t pull away. Ilya reaches up to tangle their fingers together, and for a while Shane doesn’t think about anything except the taste, the smell, the feel of his husband. He almost forgets that they’re parked in Léo and Mary’s driveway. That is, until the lights turn on and Anya starts barking at the sight of Duke in the doorway.

Ilya pulls away with a tortured groan, and Shane gives him a short peck, wiping away any residue spit from his husband’s lips.

“Would you deny her this?” he asks.

“Yes.” Ilya doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, I would.”

“I really do love you, you know.”

Ilya lets out a long-suffering sigh. Then, he exits the car and lets Anya out too. She darts away without a single backwards glance. Shane tries to quell his own unreasonable jealousy at being discarded in favor of a dog she’s known for all of fifteen minutes.

Shane won’t even fault Ilya for running after her, except Ilya lets her go when he reaches the door to the passenger’s seat. Instead, he waits for Shane to exit the vehicle extending his hand as he does. Shane takes it, feeling irrationally giddy.

His husband’s hand in his own should not be able to bring about such feelings. Not when they’ve shared a bed for fourteen years and yet, all Shane wants to do is drag him back to the car and find the nearest one available. Be it their own or a hotel variety, Shane doesn’t give a damn.

But of course he doesn’t do that. Instead, he and Ilya reach the front door in an orderly fashion and greet Léo and Mary who are, themselves, holding hands.

Judging by the blush on Mary’s cheeks, Shane gathers that Léo has let her in on who they are. Shane does his best to ignore it, and Ilya, of course, is his own charming self, refusing to let anyone feel uncomfortable in his vicinity. He’s so charming, in fact, that by the time they’ve reached the main course, he and Léo are arguing about hockey, Léo brave enough to voice his own opinions before Ilya and Shane.

Mary apologizes to Shane for having come off so strongly the day before, confirming that she really had no idea who they were. Shane waves her off and assures her that they are only too happy to make new friends.

It is, all in all, a perfect evening. Ilya never lets go of Shane’s hand, not even when eating, and if Léo and Mary think that this is strange, they do not show it.

The only bit of awkwardness arises during dessert when Shane struggles to pierce a piece of berry pie using only one hand. Ilya, of course, notices immediately and very gallantly does it for him.

Shane knows that he’s blushing a furious shade of red when Ilya raises the fork, a shy expression on his face. Shane gives him a small nod, and then Ilya guides it into his mouth. Shane swears it’s the best bite he’s had all evening, acknowledging that he’s an absolute sap for even thinking it.

Anya, he thinks, enjoys the evening too, although Ilya refuses to let her into the garden unsupervised. Shane supposes that this is quite fair, and the four of them settle on the porch, Ilya leaning against Shane like that night around Bood’s bonfire. Shane presses a kiss to Ilya’s neck, and this time, he doesn’t check to see whether anyone is watching.

This year, Ilya’s birthday coincides with the Stanley Cup final, and to make up for his lack of gifts on Valentine’s Day, Shane buys just about every item that Ilya has off-handedly mentioned wanting since February.

Ilya lets out a stunned laugh at seeing the monstrous pile, face equal parts fond and exasperated. He knows the exact thought process that has led to this and gives Shane a lingering kiss when he comes down for breakfast.

“This is very unnecessary,” Ilya says as he sits down at their table.

“Is that so?”

Ilya hums. “Your love is the greatest gift of all, moya lyubov.”

Shane lets out a rather undignified snort.

“So you don’t want the new game console I got you for the living room?” he asks.

“Well…” Ilya trails off, “I suppose it would be rude to return it.” There’s a shit-eating grin on his face as he eyes the square package that lies in the middle of the table.

Shane shakes his head and Ilya reaches for it first.

Of course, there is one gift that Shane wants to give Ilya above anything else. One gift that is unfortunately not wrapped and ready.

Ilya hasn’t raised the Cup since 2014, marking a stark contrast to the three times that Shane has done it.

Shane blames himself for this, knowing that Ilya would have won at least one more had he stayed with Boston. Instead, he signed with Ottawa to be with Shane, arguably the worst team in the entire league, and Ilya had done it with a smile. It didn’t matter how many times Shane asked him whether he regretted it. Every single time, Ilya would maintain that he’d give up his entire career for a chance to be with Shane.

Still, Shane hopes that tonight will be the night that Ilya gets to raise that Cup again. Despite his husband’s assertions that Shane is the better of the two, Shane maintains that Ilya, too, is a generational talent. He needs to win another Cup, and Shane will be damned if he doesn’t help him do it.

Besides, if Edmonton wins tonight, Scott Hunter will have three, and that will be happening over Shane’s dead body. For once in his life, he agrees with his husband that that man needs to hit retirement already.

Both Ilya and Shane had thought that that was bound to happen the previous year when Hunter became a free agent at the same time that Kip accepted a research fellowship in Canada. Instead, Scott had shocked the hockey world by signing with Edmonton.

Shane thinks that Hunter might announce his retirement tonight, should he win, adding to the pressure between the teams.

Scott Hunter, however, falls very low in Shane’s affections when compared to Ilya Hollander-Rozanov and so, he will simply have to start his retirement in tears.

“What are you thinking about?”

Ilya pulls him from his thoughts and Shane raises an eyebrow in question.

“You were looking rather murderous, my love.”

For once the blush doesn’t touch Shane’s cheeks. “I was thinking about putting horses out to pasture,” he says.

The windows are open, and Shane is sure Ilya’s subsequent laugh may be heard all the way down the street.

The rest of the day passes in relative quiet. Both are aware of the importance of the evening, but both have seen this show before. They know the name of the game by now. They know how to quiet their nerves. Know how to keep from riling each other up.

It’s not until they reach the arena that Shane’s nerves begin to show their true colors. Still, Ilya is there to calm him, to remind him how to breathe. He knows exactly what to do, what to say, when to touch and when to leave him be.

By the time the game starts, Shane is ready to play, and he is ready to win. So, he knows, is Ilya, and his husband winks at him before skating to center ice to take the draw against Hunter.

A few seconds later, Ilya has won the faceoff, and he and Barrett are racing towards the goal.

Shane sometimes wishes that he and Ilya weren’t both centers, but he knows that it’s a greedy thought. They are together on the power play and that is more than he had ever dared dream of three short years ago.

It’s a brutal game. The teams are evenly matched and for nearly two periods, neither team scores a goal. This changes towards the end of the second period, however, when Shane scores off a pass from Ilya. It is heady fucking stuff, and Shane feels almost drunk with it when they disappear down into the lockers for the final intermission.

Ilya pulls him into a bathroom and snogs the living daylights out of him. Their teammates are polite enough to ignore it, and then they’re ready to get back onto the ice.

Unfortunately, Edmonton evens the score right at the beginning of the third, and from there on out it’s touch and go. It’s Game 7, and both Ilya and Shane play some of the best hockey of their careers, but so, unfortunately, do Scott Hunter and his teammates.

Time is almost running out when, right at the end of the third period, Haas passes the puck to Ilya who fires a slap shot into the net. The puck rockets right past the goalie.

Shane is certain he screams louder than the rest of their teammates combined.

Ilya has scored the winning goal, giving them a 2-1 lead. Edmonton gets hold of the puck, but it’s no use. Hayes blocks their shot effortlessly.

Then, the whistle blows and the next thing Shane knows, sticks and helmets are flying into the air. A huddle forms near Wyatt, and the goal falls over, but Shane doesn’t join it. He steps onto the ice. He only has eyes for one, single Centaur who turns away from the huddle to seek Shane’s gaze.

Shane has won the cup before. He knows what this feels like. Knows what it is supposed to feel like and yet, this feels somehow new. It feels like his body is on fire. It feels like the breath’s been punched from his body, and Ilya is the only person with the power to revive him.

They slam into each other at center ice, Shane a little faster than Ilya.

It gives him the momentum he needs to dip Ilya before diving into the kiss to end all kisses. He manages to take his husband by surprise and Ilya is laughing as Shane crashes their lips together. Shane’s arms sneak around Ilya’s waist, and Ilya’s hands tangle in his hair.

It is, objectively, a great fucking kiss. Shane is in no hurry to end it and neither, it seems, is Ilya.

Shane is on cloud nine. He is euphoric and ecstatic and in love, so ridiculously, preposterously in love.

He’s aware of nothing except Ilya. Ilya’s lips against his own, Ilya’s breath against his cheeks, Ilya’s voice inside his ears.

Memories are flicking past his eyes, quicker than he’s able to categorize them.

A handshake in Saskatchewan and a kiss in Toronto. Shaky laughs and hidden smiles. Hockey games and hotel rooms and award shows and love. Always love.

Shane looks at his life, at his career, at his family, and everywhere there is Ilya. Always, always Ilya. That wonderful, impossible, remarkable man who stole Shane’s heart and was courteous enough to give his own in return.

They part eventually and join their team. The crowd is roaring, chanting their names, and Shane can’t quite believe he’s standing here, husband in tow, and that everybody knows. Can’t believe he gets to win a cup side by side with Ilya Hollander-Rozanov, and that everyone is okay with it.

At least, the Ottawa fans are.

The opposing players are a bit more subdued when they line up for the handshakes.

Shane is next to Ilya when Hunter shakes Ilya’s hand. He leans in, and Shane thinks that he is about to congratulate him, except that isn’t what Hunter does.

“You win,” he says instead, and Shane watches as Ilya’s brow quirks in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

Hunter looks at him, exasperation clear across his face. “The kiss,” he tells him, a bit louder this time. He gives Ilya’s hand a rough shake. “You guys fucking win.”

For a moment, Ilya freezes. Then, a smile spreads across his face, a genuine one, and for once, he doesn’t answer with a chirp. In fact, Shane watches as Ilya takes a steadying breath before answering.

“We wouldn’t have this if not for your bravery,” Ilya says.

“Oh,” Hunter laughs, “That I know.” There’s a shit-eating grin on his face, and Ilya merely shakes his head.

“You are a good man, Scott Hunter.” Ilya repeats his words from three years ago.

Hunter looks almost touched before Ilya continues.

“You’ve aged well – like fine whiskey.”

“Fuck off, Rozanov.”

“But even good men have their expiration dates, you know.”

Hunter merely shakes his head before continuing down the line to shake Shane’s hand. “I will coach your camps this summer,” he tells him, “Despite your lesser half.”

Shane bites back a grin and accepts the hand that’s offered to him.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says, “The kids love you.”

“The kids love their grandparents, too,” Ilya yells over his shoulder.

Shane swears that Hunter’s face looks almost fond before he turns away to face Dykstra.

After, it’s time for the Cup to be brought onto the ice. Shane watches Ilya’s face as he first catches sight of it, and Shane can visibly see the effort it takes to keep his emotions in check.

Shane gives his hand a squeeze, and then a gentle push as the captain’s called forward.

Ilya is openly crying now, and Shane is losing the battle against his own tears. He still remembers the first time he’d seen Ilya hoist it into the air. He’d been watching on the TV at Hayden’s house, but he’d been just as proud then as he is now. The only difference is that now he doesn’t have to hide his tears.

Ilya lifts it into the air, and the arena collectively loses its mind. The roar is deafening, so loud that Shane can’t hear his own screams, although he knows he’s screaming louder than the rest of them.

Then, Ilya’s turning around, beckoning for Shane to come closer. When Shane isn’t quick enough, Ilya skates towards him to meet him halfway.

Together, they lift the cup and yes, doing it together is better than doing it apart. Infinitely better. It’s the sort of thing Shane might get addicted to.

They kiss again with the cup above their heads. This one, Shane thinks, is slightly less dignified than the last. They’re both crying and they’re both laughing, and they’re saying words that neither hears yet both understand.

When they wake in the morning, it’s the front-page picture of every single sports media outlet.

Chapter End Notes

The Stanley Cup-kiss was highly requested, so I hope it did not disappoint. I honestly can’t say whether this is the final chapter. It was originally meant to be a one-shot, but every time I hit “post”, I come up with more ridiculous ideas. Also, you have no idea how happy your comments make me, knowing that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. I have another couple of WIPs in my Hollanov folder, so watch out for those too. For now, though, thank you SO MUCH for your response to this – not to sound like a broken record, but it really means a lot!